The Grave Shadows

8. The Summons

It appeared to be one of the coldest nights in Colt, although winter was months away. Perhaps Everett's nerve reacted to the summons. The air was still, but the chill crept through him. He nudged Luke with a punch as they hastened to the glow at the end of the hallway.

The summonses were the check-ups, the Watts boys' many judgment days, the dreadful appointments, the momentary evaluations of which son was the most disappointing. Everett remembered every muster before this one. When the boys misbehaved, Bill Watts hushed them with a sharp glance. Prime Branch boys raced in a loop of one exquisite steeplechase. It had no finish line, but many fences. Like circus animals, they soared across the barriers to prove themselves to their master—ferocity was the core of the Watts family's parenting.

The Watts family library, old and imposing, was more prominent than Colt Watts University's. The main chamber was 200 feet long, shelving old books and rare volumes, the ancillary aisles holding all knowledge of the world. The library dominated the mansion for it served as Bill Watts's office, and its lounge accommodated the Watts seniors and favorable guests. Moreover, this multi-purpose chamber was a court Bill Watts disciplined his brats.

Everett fumbled at the formidable entrance. If the mansion was a hospital once, the library's past was questionable.

Colt and Rosalind reigned on the focal wall. Everett took a deep breath and gazed at their gentle eyes. The couple looked like angels in church paintings. Everett caught his mother said, I love you to the portrait once. Mary often reserved her opinion on Colt, whom the Watts Clan worshiped like God, so the dark-haired, blue-eyed queen was whom she admired.

"That's quite bold even for your standard," said Everett.

Mary chuckled, blushing, and said to Everett that he should be loyal to his great-grandmother. Everett wondered how someone who had been dead for more than a century still required devotions. Mary, a strong-headed feminist, stated that Rosalind gave all of them lives. To avoid another debate on gender equality in making babies, Everett kept his head down and giggled.

Next to Mary's beloved Rosalind was Colt. He was pale, light-haired, and sapphire-eyed—a look bestowed on the majority of his bloodline. Colt and Rosalind were angels, and angels protected people. This particular portrait soothed Everett's mind when the punishment was atrocious. He wondered if Colt and Rosalind were kind and warm like their portrait or another couple of the Watts hellions who were beautiful only on the outside.

Near a fireplace, Bill Watts posed on a club chair, his gold hair more precious than a crown. The eminence of the Watts Clan influenced the elites and politicians. He had eyes and ears everywhere, but that prying proficiency derived from other resources than two of his satellites. His name plastered on every esteemed committee in the state. For a 62-year-old man, a father of six boys, Bill Watts put senescence to shame. The townsfolk said Bill Watts won everything, including the battle against time. He looked half his age, meridian and sharp.

The king's seat positioned Bill Watts near the fire to accentuate his powerful eyes while he stared down the attendees. The century-old brown leather was as resilient as him. The light cast his shadow over the wall, making another thing, another monster. When Bill Watts moved, the blackness advanced. Everett loathed this spot where he endured, learned lessons, and suffered.

William Watts, the third son, finally showed his face, standing by Bill Watts's side with an empty glass swirling in his hand. He was the reflection of Bill Watts, exteriorly at least—sophisticated, intense, and powerful. Will determined to sit on the throne one day, but he was only an underwear model in a businessman role. While Will put on a paper crown, imitating the king, his soul was delicate. William Dexter Watts was a cutthroat. William Felix Watts dressed the wounds. But even with his inherent fragility, Will was excellent at loading the family's treasury. He was the president of the wealthiest bank in the region. And though his office was six miles from the Watts Estate, Will stayed at a hotel far away from his daily route.