The Things That Matter Most Chapter 2

The second chapter.

Chapter Two: Dreadful Happenings

When Charles’s father arrived home, he went to his wife, and as they were heading to Charles’s room, they heard about the storm incident from Mr. Brunski. The horse keeper apologized so many times that Mr. and Mrs. McHills had to shush the man, assuring him that it was not his fault.

They continued their trip upstairs to Charles’s room, and knocked.

“Don’t come in,” the ten year old snapped. He was sitting at the edge of his bed, trying to think his way out of having a play date with this Landon Bromsday II. He had done it before with other rich children, and he could do it again.

Mr. and Mrs. McHills sighed outside the door, clearly tired with their son’s attitude, but entered nonetheless.

“Charles, Landon is coming soon. Are you ready?” Mrs. McHills asked, preparing for her son’s snappy answer.

But Charles did not reply.

“Charles, answer your mother,” Mr. McHills ordered, fed up with Charles’s behavior.

Charles sighed, scowling. “Yes, Mother,” he replied, and perhaps a hint of sarcasticness showed up in his tone.

His parents left without a word.

*****

I wanted to let you know (and prepare you for) that dreadful happenings are coming. Something huge is coming that would change young Charles in ways that he never dreamed of.

*****

After his parents left, Charles decided that he would run away.

He actually had tried to run away many times before, but his parents always caught him before he made it out the door.

Charles was rich, after all. He could run away to someplace where no one could tell him what to do, and then get whatever he wanted by bribing. He knew that if you waved a high sum of money at anyone, they would do anything for you in a heartbeat.

So, confident with his plan, he packed a suitcase full of his things, and rolled it out the door.

Maids and butlers looked up as Charles marched by, and they could practically see a dark storm cloud looming above his head. But before going down the stairs, he stopped at his parents’ room, let go of his suitcase, and walked in.

He went to his father’s desk and opened the second drawer on the left. In it was a thick stack of green dollars which he snatched up in an instant and slammed the drawer shut, stomping away. This money is for emergencies, Charles. And emergencies only, his father had told Charles a few years back. But Charles didn’t feel a bit of guilt as he stuffed the money in his suitcase.

In his eyes, it was an emergency. He was running away, and that counted as one.

He wouldn’t have to have another play date. He wouldn’t have to study his history books. He wouldn’t have to see that rude horse keeper again.

He would be free.

But as Charles pulled his suitcase down the steps (struggling of course), he couldn’t help but feel a sense of longingness to stay. This was his home where he had grown up at. This was the place where he could tell everyone what to do and they would obey.

But nonetheless, he reached the bottom of the steps and then went out the front door. Some servants who were dusting nearby paintings called after him, “Master Charles! Where are you going?” in frantic yet unsure voices.

Charles didn’t answer.

Charles didn’t look back.

He rolled his blue suitcase down the front path, down the driveway, out the gate, and onto the sidewalk going down the street. It had stopped raining, but everything was still wet and slippery. The sun was hidden by sad clouds, and the wind was beginning to pick up.

Now, you are probably wondering several things, yes? Like, Is Charles really running away?, or, Will Charles be found by the police or his parents and taken back home?, and most importantly, What happens next?

Just be a little more patient and you’ll know.

Charles didn’t know where to go first. He hardly left his property except if he had to attend one of his parents’ meetings at the bank or someplace else.

He didn’t know what to do next.

The ten year old stood there for at least twenty minutes until he got the courage to go farther.

He edged a little farther down the sidewalk, looked around uncertainly, when a strange but strong odor reached his nose.

Smoke.

The boy turned around so see his mansion on fire.

It looked like hell itself. The flames roared around the windows with bright oranges and reds and yellows, eating up everything in its path.

Charles stood in shock, his feet as frozen as Antarctica.

I should do something, he thought. But he didn’t know what. So the ten year old ran back to his mansion, bringing his suitcase along with him. When he reached the front door… well… it was already too late.

You see, inside his home, a servant had brushed a candle against a slim curtain and it caught fire. After that, things went into chaos.

The front doors to the mansion had been almost smoldered to nothing. A cloud of lead-colored smoke was circling in the sky. Charles saw that his mother’s front garden which she had put so much love into was sere, the colors burned away. The mansion was still burning heavily, and Charles knew that whoever and whatever that had been inside was certainly dead and destroyed.

Like his mother.

Like his father.

Like his maids and butlers.

Like his library which he actually liked a little bit.

Like his neat but lonely room.

Everything.

Charles didn’t know what to feel. Should he be sad that his parents were gone? Should he be angry that he lost everything to a fire?

All he knew next was that fire trucks were pulling up into his driveway, men jumping out with hoses.

Sirens blared like screams.

Some firefighters raced up to him, asking him if he was alright, while others tried to douse the fire with their hoses.

“Boy, are you alright?” a man asked Charles for the fifth time.

Charles glared at the smoldering doormat. “I’m unharmed, if that’s what you mean. But no, I’m not alright,” Charles snapped, feeling anger course through him. His parents shouldn’t had died and left him on his own. Now he had nothing. “And I never will be. Leave me alone.”

The firefighter was confused with this child’s behavior. Shouldn’t the boy be sad that his house had been burned down? The man guessed that the boy’s parents had been inside when the fire started, and now they were dead. It didn’t make any sense that this boy was more angry than sad.

The man figured that it was just shock.

But it wasn’t. Charles was just being Charles.

“Now,” the firefighter began, “Let’s get you somewhere safe. A burning mansion isn’t someplace for a young lad like yourself to be.” He directed Charles towards a police car that had just pulled in.

A police officer stepped out, looking as serious as one could get. “Is the child harmed?” he asked, studying Charles so intensely that Charles believed the officer was looking into his soul.

“No, sir,” the firefighter said.

The police officer took Charles by the shoulder, his fingers tight. “Good. Now boy, what’s your name?”

Charles scowled at the man. “Charles McHills III, a known billionaire.”

The officer blinked in surprise, his mouth making an ‘o’. “Well, Mr. Charles,” he drawled, “Come with me and I’ll get you somewhere safe.” He opened up the passenger door, and Charles slid in with his suitcase, not saying a word.

As the car pulled out, Charles took one last empty glance at his ignited home. What did he feel? Mostly anger.

He would remember this grim day forever.

The car got on the muddy street, and Charles turned away. He didn’t look back.

Later, he would wish that he did.

Author's Note

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