Chapter 46
THE NIGHT BEFORE
THE HAMPTONS
“Bilal, you can’t be serious,” Fola said, looking at the very serious face of her older brother.
“If Dad wants to die so much, I can do it,” Bilal said.
A stillness settled over Olympus.
“If Dad wants to what?” another voice called out. They all turned to find an anxious-looking Perdita in the doorway next to Romeo, who looked just as concerned.
“We got your text,” Perdita said to Octavius. “Are you okay?”
“No, he isn’t. Dad asked Octavius to kill him,” Bilal said bluntly.
“Why would he ask that?” Perdita questioned, her eyes narrowing now at the old man still sitting at his desk, idly playing chess, obviously choosing to ignore them all.
“He’s dying. Cancer, apparently. Octavius doesn’t want to kill Father, even though Father has offered an increase in his inheritance if he does, and so I decided I would instead. Not that I necessarily want the increase. I don’t really care about the inheritance,” Bilal replied, numbly now.
“Oh my god,” Perdita said.
“I don’t think anyone should kill Father,” Romeo said.
“I agree. We need to look into chemotherapy and drug trials, or palliative care, not freaking murder,” Fola said.
“He said he wants to die. Shouldn’t we respect his wishes?” Bilal asked.
“No, not when what he essentially wants is for Octavius to help him complete this suicide mission of his!” Fola replied, not noticing the way Bilal flinched at the word suicide.
“Whatever. I’m good with any outcome. Just let me know what you guys decide,” Bilal said, making a start for the door.
“You’re not seriously leaving right now, Billy?” Perdita asked.
“Yes, why would I stay? That man is clearly not well in more ways than one and I’m tired of having this conversation about him and his wants and desires. What I desire is to go to bed.”
“My goodness, I didn’t realize you were so selfish,” Fola said, shaking her head at her brother. “What happened to you?”
“Me? Selfish?” Bilal almost laughed at the accusation. “You should take a good old look in the mirror before calling anyone anything.”
“Guys, please stop fighting each other, this isn’t helping anyone,” Perdita said.
“I’m sure he’s enjoying it,” Octavius said, nodding toward their father. “He loves when we fight. We’re easier to control that way—divide and conquer and all that.”
“Stop it, Tavi,” Fola said.
“Why should he? It’s true, Father does prefer it when we hate each other’s guts. He’s twisted like that,” Bilal said, slurring his words a little.
Fola squinted at him, realization dawning on her. “Billy, have you been drinking?”
“Yes, why?” he said.
“I thought you were on pain medication … You shouldn’t be drinking.”
Bilal rolled his eyes. “I’m aware. I didn’t have too much, and I can look after myself. Besides, you’ve seen me actually drunk before, you’d know if I was not doing well.”
It was true. She had seen him in a much worse state before, and that was kind of what concerned her. It seemed like Bilal’s tolerance had gone up, like this was something he might regularly be doing … drinking while on his medication. It was like Bilal was trying to harm himself on purpose.
“You really should still be careful,” Fola said.
“Fola, I’m fine. You don’t have to baby me the way you baby Octavius. I’m literally turning eighteen in two months.”
“Fola doesn’t baby me,” Octavius said just as Fola was saying, “I don’t baby him!”
“Enough!” a loud voice boomed over everything else, silencing the room.
Their father was standing now, glaring at all of them.
“Your bickering is giving me a migraine. My wishes for how I go about my life and death are only the concern of those who I have explicitly expressed those wishes to.” Mr. Button stepped out from behind his desk.
“I will say, Octavius, I am disappointed in you,” their father continued.
“You have so much potential and yet you always manage to disappoint me. You’re almost as useless as Romeo,” he finished, gesturing to their brother, whose expression was unreadable.
Octavius tensed at his father’s words, feeling the little boy who lived and breathed inside of him, the boy who always wished to make his father proud, shrivel up and die.
His vision atrophied, blurring as he blinked back tears that had been building for what felt like eons.
“Don’t speak to him like that,” Bilal said, standing tall above all of them. “Don’t speak about any of them like that. Romeo isn’t useless. Just because you don’t see worth in him doesn’t mean he isn’t a person, and a great one at that.”
“You’re one to talk,” Mr. Button spat. “Wasting all of your potential, literally throwing your life right out of the window.”
“Father—” Fola tried to step in, but Mr. Button held his hand up to her, silencing his eldest daughter.
“I’m still speaking, Fola, please wait your turn,” Mr. Button said.
Fola nodded, shrinking back in a way she only ever did around her father.
“After everything I have done for all of you, you repay me with constant disrespect and incompetence. I sometimes wonder why I bothered in the first place,” he said, shaking his head, while squeezing his eyes shut like he had some sort of headache.
“A bunch of good-for-nothing disappointments,” he muttered gruffly.
“Why did you, then?” Perdita said.
“Why did I what?” Mr. Button replied, opening his eyes in a way that seemed like the lights were hurting him.
“Why did you bother with us? Seeing as we are clearly such a burden. We didn’t ask to be here and we shouldn’t have to feel grateful to you for the rest of our lives. That isn’t right.”
Mr. Button didn’t say anything to his youngest daughter, just stared at her thoughtfully. He could tell her response could have been a lot harsher, seeing as they’d already argued earlier that evening. This was Perdita holding back.
“I for one am not grateful. I wish you’d never found me,” Bilal said.
“Me too,” Octavius agreed.
Mr. Button’s gaze scanned over the pair, a deep rage bubbling beneath its surface.
“In fact, I’d rather have anyone but you as a father,” Octavius added, and this was apparently finally enough to send Mr. Button over the edge.
“Ungrateful bastard,” Mr. Button yelled, and then suddenly he was advancing forward, his hand raised as he moved to strike Octavius. But he was stopped unexpectedly by two hands pushing the old man away from the white-haired boy.
Romeo’s hands.
And everything from that moment happened too quickly for anyone to process:
Mr. Button stumbled backward; Octavius reached out to stop his father from falling, but instead tumbled himself, bumping into the large desk and prompting multiple chess pieces to topple over.
Fola and Bilal simultaneously tried to catch Octavius; Perdita, on the verge of an acute panic attack, attempted to back away from the pandemonium.
It was a circus and, as with all circuses, freakish things always ensued.
In the chaos of flailing limbs and bodies, their father made an attempt to pull himself up, but instead tripped over someone’s foot, causing him to crash into the wall, hard.
If this were any other boat, or any other room, the collision would have barely left a scratch. But as Mr. Button had a particular fondness of taxidermized creatures, he did not hit the hard surface of a wall, no.
He found himself colliding with the horn of a rhinoceros, the sharp edge of the dead animal’s tusk piercing right through Mr. Button’s neck.
The sound that came from the old man was like no sound any living person could make. It was the sound of deep agony, of inhuman levels of pain.
His eyes were wide as he gasped for breath, writhing around helplessly like a fish on dry land as the blood-soaked horn protruded right through his neck.
The siblings could hear the buzzing of the drones and the fireworks exploding in the sky above, the orchestra playing a hauntingly beautiful melody on the upper deck as the sound of merriment filled the distant air.
Their father had got his rotten wish: He was dying … though perhaps not the painless death he had imagined for himself.
No one moved, no one tried to help him. Not that there was really any point. Blood sputtered out of the wound as he writhed and choked.
They stood in near silence, watching the life draining from their father’s eyes, his pupils shimmering around the edges with light and then suddenly dimming, as if someone had just blown out a candle.
Octavius’s eyes were trained on his violin, specifically the bow, which had snapped like a twig under the weight of his father’s backward fall.
The events that would follow were almost as quick as the impalement had been.
It was quiet for a moment before the second-oldest Button launched into strategy, as the Button Method had trained her to do.
Even in the direst of situations, she’d been taught to assess the chessboard first, draw a map of the game, play now, panic later.
And so, ever the dutiful daughter, that’s exactly what she did.
Fola, still in shock, her face wet with tears, began rambling about manslaughter, first-degree murder, and the statistics of how likely it would be that they all got at least ten years behind bars—maybe even longer—and thus, needed iron-clad alibis.
“Wh-why would we need alibis? It w-was an accident,” Octavius said, crying.
“One we can’t prove. He fell backward, who’s to say he wasn’t pushed?
And even if there was a chance that someone believes he was alone and just fell, it’s too much of a risk for us not to have any cover.
You think a judge will care, let alone believe it was an accident?
No. I don’t think a judge would care at all,” Fola said in a vicious tone, her face now streaked with fresh tears.
“Also, keep your voice down, you don’t want someone to hear us and come rushing in here. ”