Debt
Callum
They say that legacy is an honour, but no one talks about what it’s like to carry the burden of a name that you didn’t ask for. Mine is a brand, burned into my skin.
I walk down the halls at Langford University to my Strategic Management class. I can’t wait to finish this year. After I graduate with my business degree, I’m expected to work for my grandfather’s tech company—another jail they can contain me in.
No one makes eye contact with me as I walk down the hall. Even if they wanted to, they know better. I’ve never felt the need to be liked but I’ve always known what it’s like to be wanted. There’s a difference—one’s about control and the other is irrelevant.
My phone vibrates in the front pocket of my jeans.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“There’s been a situation. We need you here.”
I already know what’s happened.
“I’m on my way.”
I turn and walk toward my Jag instead. I don’t care about grades, I care about understanding the game.
The numbers, the power, the psychology behind the power— that’s the only reason I’m here.
Half of these kids are just learning how to play business, but I’m learning how to use it… how to control it.
The door unlocks as I pull the handle open to my car.
It’s the latest gift from my gracious father after I handled another one of The Society’s problems. I grab a cigarette and press it between my lips.
I hate smoking. Although I could quit anytime I want, today is not the day.
I roll my window down and let the breeze roll over me as I flee from the parking lot.
Pebbles crush under the weight of my car as I slowly enter the driveway. I’m already frustrated before I enter the mansion.
As I stand at the dark red door, dread washes over me. This house was once so beautiful. Now, it’s a place of secrets and sin.
I tread into the lounge upstairs, the tension is palpable. Deluca, one of the Highers, sits in a chair while everyone else stands. He looks annoyed.
“We’ve got a problem, Mercer,” his words hold urgency. “A girl is in bad shape. One of the pledges got out of hand and she overdosed.”
I sigh. They either want me to deal with the pledge, deal with the girl, or both.
“What do you need me to do?” A knot tightens in my stomach as I wait for the response.
“I need your help with the girl, we can talk about the rest after.” He nods toward the back of the house and sips on his drink.
Of course, I’m the clean-up crew.
“She’s in the back room.”
I don’t waste any time. I want to deal with this as quickly as possible and get out of here.
I open the door to the back room and see an unconscious girl. Her skin is pale against the dark wood floor. Her lips are blue. Women are discarded like objects in The Society. Only certain women are untouchable, and even then, I’ve seen boundaries tested.
As I get approach, I realize it’s Emily Black. She was in a couple of my first and second year business classes. I’ve seen her at a few parties recently, and she was always quiet and shy. She doesn’t deserve this—they never do.
I crouch to feel her neck. There’s no pulse.
“Who did this?” I look back to a couple of the pledges, Josh and Kyle, who stand behind me in the doorway.
No answer.
“Get her the hell out of here. We don’t need a scene. Her body can’t be found.”
Josh and Kyle move into action. One of them brings in a clear tarp, while the other brings tape and bleach.
“Take her to the basement.” I search her for any personal belongings. Then, Kyle wraps her up and Josh throws her over his shoulder, like she doesn’t weigh anything.
The estate used to be a funeral parlour. In other words, it was part of a front and The Society only allow the wealthy and powerful to step foot inside. Now, there’s a crematory in the basement for when things like this happen.
My jaw tightens as they take her downstairs. I head toward the parlour. This wasn’t an accident. It’s a sign that things are slipping and order isn’t being followed. I won’t stand for it.
I barge through the door and see Deluca, still sitting in the chair.
“Who was it?” My tone is flat and cold.
He doesn’t say anything but his eyes flash to Jasper, a second-year pledge.
“It’s just a fucking game, Callum. She knew what she was getting into. No need to do anything stupid.” His words are loud and sloppy.
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” The room is dead quiet. All eyes are on me.
Jasper opens his mouth to speak but I beat him to it.
“You don’t talk about women like that, you don’t talk about The Society like that, and you sure as hell never let things get this far.”
Just looking at him fills me with rage. This is why Deluca called me.
I grab Jasper’s collar with my hands and shove him. He stumbles and falls against the floor. Before he can move, I pin myself on top of him. My right fist meets his jaw, and I hit him in the face, again and again. I lift him up off the ground, just enough to slam him back down.
“Get your shit together. You want to play this game, you play it right. You don’t make it personal, and you don’t get sloppy.”
I push myself off him and kick him in the ribs as I stand. I straighten my ironed shirt. No one moves. Jasper coughs and gasps for air. He doesn’t look at me, but I stare straight into his eyes.
I have zero sympathy for him.
“Next time you forget your place, it will be worse. You won’t get a second chance.”
“Everyone out.” Deluca drawls, unimpressed. “Callum, come have a drink.” He motions at me with his glass.
I walk slowly over to the bar and pour myself some scotch. I take a few steps toward the bookshelf and lean against it, facing Deluca.
“He needed that,” Deluca says, lifting his eyebrow.
I don’t need a pat on the back. I chug my drink and put the glass down on the shelf.
“I’ll go deal with the body.”
I look up at him and wonder what made him so controlled, but I already know the answer—legacy, family, and expectations.
Matthew Deluca has been in The Society for over ten years.
He knows about earning respect and keeping order within The Society.
He’s an investment banker by day, and a cold-blooded monster by night.
I nod and hasten down the spiral staircase to the main floor. Thick red curtains fight to block light out as I head toward the back of the house, down another set of stairs. Guilt tries to creep in, but I force myself to block it out.
I turn the lights on and flick a switch to heat the oven. Emily’s still body lies on a cold metal table. The sound of the furnace heating up hums in the background.
I need to do this. I check the temperature.
I open the door and slide the wheeled table in. The steel table scratches against the walls of the machine as I close the door.
My eyes are drawn to her through the small panel of glass, not able to look away as the fire clicks on. I stare at the flame and try not to think about my actions, because I know if I do, they will consume me. This isn’t justice, this is a crime. My jaw tightens.
Heat surrounds me, but I don’t flinch. It’s muscle memory by now: load the body, turn the dial, walk away. But this time I can’t leave.
There’s no grief, just the hollow pain in my chest that’s been there for years. This is the cost of silence, and the price of legacy. I accepted that debt a long time ago.
Minutes turn to hours. I stay until the fire finishes what I started. When there’s nothing left, I finally walk away. I turn off the machine, head up the stairs, and flick off the lights.
Just another day.