"Stay in the car," Griffin commanded.
He saw Catriona's mouth open to object, but he didn't wait for her to speak. He had heard enough words for the evening. He wasn't even in the mood to hear the words from the police officer or Rose, or to show his true compassion for the whimpers and outbursts of Mrs. Greene.
"Furious!" Mrs. Greene cried. "Absolutely furious! How those demons got in the gate and in our yard, I can't imagine! All I heard was the windows shatter, and I rushed to make sure the girls in the kitchen were alrigh– I hadn't the chance to go find the scoundrels who did this and –"
"It's unwise to continue that thought," Griffin interrupted.
The police officer turned away from Mrs. Greene to catch Griffin's eyes. Being the same height as Griffin, it wasn't difficult for them to face each other equally, but there was no softness between their stares; a mutual disinterest of the officer and the vintner visible in the dead of night.
"What happened?" Griffin asked, still looking at the officer but not actually speaking to him.
"All the windows on the first floor were shattered," Rose replied.
"How? I was only gone for a couple of hours."
"Those workers!" Mrs. Greene replied. "Those same devils that came not so long ago! Terrorizing and harassing honest people – Careful of your steps, Mr. Griffin, you never know where a lost shard may be."
Griffin glanced at the ground automatically, not concerned. His shoes were too thick to needlessly worry about glass.
"Did they just take a bat to all the windows and run off?" Griffin asked, looking at the damage.
"Possible," the police officer said with a grunt. "No way to know at this time of night. We'll have to come back in the morning."
They shared another look, both of them understanding that a morning visit was not something either one of them was interested in.
The officer turned back to Mrs. Greene.
"We have your reports, M'am," he said. "We'll come back to take a look in the morning, and then track them down."
Mrs. Greene nodded while patting her heart in an unsteady rhythm. The officer nodded warmly to both women, then shifted to lukewarm while nodding to Griffin. There was a stretch of silence as the officer went his own way.
Then a car door slammed.
Griffin didn't have to turn to know who it was and why, but he looked over his shoulder anyway.
"I told you to wait in the c–"
"Oh, are you two alright?" Catriona asked, racing up the walkway towards Mrs. Greene and Rose. "If I had known that you two would be–"
Crunch.
Catriona stepped back suddenly, and Griffin reached out to grab her by both arms and pull her back further. Under her feet was a large cut of glass that had somehow made its way out to the driveway. Griffin sighed, the night weighing heavily on him.
"This is why I told you to stay," he said only for her to hear. "You never have any idea what landmines you could step on."
Catriona looked at him over her shoulder. Realizing his hold on her, he released her, acting as if his heart was beating the same as it was just moments before. His eyes met Rose's and she glanced between him and Catriona, taking a moment before speaking.
"Tell us what to do, Nathaniel," Rose said softly.
His eyes wandered around the house. "Find some tarp and seal up the windows. It shouldn't be too cold, but we don't want to invite any unwanted guests. Don't sleep alone. Lock the doors to your rooms."
He turned back to Catriona. She looked at him, eager; far too eager as if she wanted to say something more.
But he couldn't handle anything more at the moment.
"Just watch where you step," he said to her.
He walked past Rose and Mrs. Greene, not wanting to hear any more words from them or his own heartbeat.
---------------
He was drinking whiskey again.
The bottle was almost empty, and he wasn't sure he could get another reserve, but part of him was happy to get rid of the damn thing if it meant not being tempted by it any longer.
He wasn't an alcoholic. He wasn't a mean drunk either. He knew people that were – people in his own family – and had seen them unraveled into their worst selves. It was hard to avoid in his business.
Regardless, he knew more than anyone that alcohol didn't make people demons... it just made people stop fighting against the demons already lurking in their souls.
There were plenty of other things that did exactly the same thing. Alcohol was only one of many addictions. He had his own addictions that he was quite fond of, but alcohol had never made the list.
But as Rose, Patrick, and ... she... lived here, he felt the need for the whiskey more and more.
Not to drown the pain. But to remind him that the pain was not worth having.
"I've never seen you empty a bottle in the dark, Nathaniel."
Griffin didn't even look up to the doorway. "You're late."
Patrick's shadow passed by Griffin's feet, but Griffin remained slouched in his armchair, swirling his empty glass.
"Mrs. Greene filled me in on the events of the evening," Patrick said. "I tell you, Nate, if there's anything at all I can do –"
"Why did you do it?"
There was a breath of silence.
"Do what?" Patrick asked.
"Change her." Griffin tapped his glass against the arm of his chair. "You took a whimsical girl who sleeps under the stars and turned her into..."
He stopped, uncharacteristically finding himself at a loss for words.
"A successful, independent woman," Patrick finished. "Don't you want the girl to become her best self?"
"She can become anything she wishes," Griffin replied. "As long as she doesn't become like us."
There was another breath of air, Patrick's normal light-hearted tone darkening.
"She's not Samantha."
Griffin hissed. "Don't say her name."
"What are you going to do then?" Patrick said sternly, stepping in to meet Griffin at his chair. "Carry that name around with you like a knife in your side until you can best your own father?"
Griffin's eyes clouded, a mix of the alcohol and bitterness taking over.
"We can all see your hatred, Nate," Patrick continued. "Damn the Prohibition. You're the reason your business is falling apart."
Griffin jumped to his feet, his glass crashing on the floor as he took Patrick by the collar and jerked him forward.
"I'm more than capable of taking care of this business," Griffin growled. "I'm more than qualified –"
"Bitterness and pride override your capabilities," Patrick threw back. "Even if you had the business sense to run this place, you wouldn't be able to see straight enough to do it."
"Are you trying to piss me off? Do you want me to hit you?"
"If it makes you feel better. It won't fix any of the things you're drinking about though."
Griffin pulled his hand back, ready to deliver a punch that had been saved for nearly a decade.
It never connected, however.
"Please don't!" a soft voice rang out.
Griffin's hand released before he even saw Catriona's silhouette in the doorway. Her voice was enough to convict him.
Patrick - noticing Griffin's silence - turned to face her.
"Don't worry, my dear," Patrick soothed. "He wouldn't have hit me. It's not in his nature, even when he's drunk and I deserve it."
Patrick left Griffin to meet Catriona, and Griffin chewed his lip in anger.
Patrick was right.
Griffin was a pushover. He had always let his family and friends walk all over him.
Just as Catriona did.
He summoned up the courage to look at her, her shadow even reminding him of his own.
There was so much in her that reminded him of the young, naive man he used to be. The same desire to please. The same ignorance of deceitful people. The same inability to set boundaries.
But there was also the dreamer, the laugher, and the hard-worker. She also had her own soothing energy about her, one that he couldn't create for himself. One that no one he knew could create.
Every time he saw her, he was reminded of who he used to be.
Every time he saw her, he was reminded of what he had become.
"It was awful of me to leave you with that brute from earlier," Patrick said to Catriona. "I had no idea he was such a – well, anyways, Nate has every right to yell at me for my irresponsible behavior."
"I want to talk to him," Catriona said. "Alone."
Patrick gave an exasperated laugh. "I'm not going to leave you alone with a drunk man who almost sucker-punched me."
"You said he wouldn't hit you. And I believe it. If you really meant it, then it shouldn't be a problem."
Patrick looked between them, Griffin not saying a word. He fell back into his chair, his hand over his eyes.
"Very well," Patrick said. "But I'll be right outside if you need me. Just say the word."
Patrick's footsteps faded into the hallway, as softer steps made their way toward Griffin. Griffin removed his hand from his eyes but didn't open them.
"What is it?" he asked, exhausted both emotionally and physically.
"For starters, tell me why you're so upset."
"Now's not the time –"
"When is, then? Perhaps I can make an appointment."
He opened his eyes, looking at her blurry shadow for a brief moment before laughing and looking out the window.
"It must be a full moon tonight," he muttered to himself. "It seems you've come into your full form."
"Was that supposed to be a joke?"
"I'm not sure anymore."
He watched her blankly as she looked around the room, her eyes stopping once at the broken whiskey glass on the floor, and then stopping again at the whiskey on the desk. She stepped over the broken glass towards the desk, meeting his eyes once before grabbing another glass on the bookshelf and pouring a shot into the glass. She stared into the glass for a brief moment before knocking it back, swallowing slowly, her tongue swiping her full lips to savor it. She then put the glass down on the table, turning back to him.
He smirked at her even though she looked even angrier now than before.
"Careful," he warned. "Remember the last time you met me after drinking."
Even in the darkness, he could hear her blush despite her stern stance. He knew she wasn't drunk enough to forget that night, but he had never spoken about it until now.
She took a step towards him. "That won't happen this time."
"Oh? Then what will happen this time?"
She stepped in close to him until she was standing directly in front of his knees, the whites of her eyes and curve of her skin visible as she stared straight into him. It was somehow eerie and breathtaking – looking into the shadows and light at the same time.
"Do you hate me?" she asked.
He laughed. "No."
"Then do you dislike me?"
He paused before answering this time. "No."
"Then how can I make you happy?"
He looked at her for a long time, sliding his feet in to signal that he was going to stand. She took a step back to let him. He rose to meet her, looking down into her eyes.
"You're not even happy with yourself," he said. "How do you expect to make me happy?"
She seemed to lose her words, the silence lingering longer than he expected.
"I'm swarmed by people who either want to make me happy or make me miserable. In both cases, those people are just like us..." He pointed to the broken glass on the floor, and then to her glass on the table. "They're just trying to fill empty glasses, not realizing that they're bottomless; that whatever they fill themselves with will only make them ill."
Her eyes searched his for a long moment, and he rubbed his fingers against his side to keep himself from reaching out and touching the side of her face.
"That sounds like the perspective of a man who's been locked in a tower for too long."
He laughed painfully. "You really don't understand the rumors? How they're true? I really am the Beast of Napa, Catriona. The business world has made me that way."
To his agitation, she didn't seem afraid or concerned at all. He wished it was bravery so he could applaud her, but he knew it was naivety and that's why he couldn't.
"Should I run then?" Catriona asked him, in a soothing voice he wished he could keep so he could sleep at night. "Should I fear the dreaded beast that has been consumed by the bitter way he sees the world from his tower?"
He leaned down to meet her closer in the eye... to hold her attention as much as she held his.
"No," he whispered, "you should fear becoming my successor."