The Mother's Plan

By the time the sun arose the next day, Virgil had gone to work already, Zariah awoke a bit late and decided to host a livestream—and Michael blinked himself awake as sunlight peeked into his room from the window, pushing upright and yawning before he collected a cleaner white shirt and black pants than the ones he was already wearing from his dresser. With clean clothes draped over one arm, he stepped out of the room and entered the bathroom to his right.

Feeling refreshed and oddly inspired today, Michael stood in the round, elegant tub as he let the hot water wash over his skinny body. Once he was dressed in another pair of sleek black pants, and a baggy white shirt with older and more elegant frills on the collar than his previous shirt, he sauntered out of the bathroom with a smirk, holding his new smartphone and gazing down at it, preparing to type a morning text to Zariah. He started down the hallway and adjusted his grasp on the phone with both hands—just when he looked up and realized that two people were directly in front of him.

Rose and Orville stood there, the mother’s hands coiled lovingly around the father’s arm, both of them staring at their eldest son almost expectantly.

Michael paused and lowered his phone, squinting at them questioningly. “Ah… what’s up?”

Rose and Orville exchanged glimpses.

“We want to speak to you, dear,” Rose said softly. “Just you.”

Michael made a thoughtful face, then a slow nod. “O… kay.”

His parents turned and marched down the hall, his father waving lazily for him to follow. Michael walked off after them, following them to the farthest doorway at the end of the hall, directly opposite his own bedroom; it was the thick double-doors that led into a seldom-used study, complete with many bookshelves along the wounded walls, a tall, shapely window in the very center.

The three of them entered this room, Orville lumbering over to the round table in the middle and sinking into one of its chairs. Rose stood at the end of the table, Michael gently closing the doors before facing them and giving them a curious sort of stare.

“Now.” Rose gingerly placed her fingertips to the top of the table, raising her eyebrows at her son. “What… exactly… was your experience yesterday?”

Michael slowly opened his mouth, wondering where to begin.

“Ahhh… well… it was good,” he shrugged. “I left, and walked around town, and came back up the hill… I made a friend, and went and looked for Zander… and… that’s it.”

Rose nodded. “And… you had no issue with bringing Zander home once you found him?”

“Uh… no,” Michael replied. “Not really. He didn’t argue with me on it at all.”

Rose and Orville traded subtle glances again. Then, Orville made a meager wave at his wife, as if gesturing for her to go ahead with something.

“All right. Then… I believe we can take a chance on allowing you three outside on a regular basis,” Rose determined, leaning slightly forward and staring into Michael’s eyes quite intently. “If… and only if… you take your brother and sister out with you for a practice run.”

Michael gave her a strange look. “What… do you mean?”

“You can escort Zander and Verity out into the town… and the three of you can spend some time together, under your supervision,” Rose explained. “And… if that goes well… then we will explore the possibility of ending the sleep schedule.”

Michael nodded slowly. “Oh. Okay. Um… so they have to behave all day?”

“Yes… and I’m sure they will, so long as you’re watching,” Rose remarked. “And I will be sending Will out with you three as well. You and Will can be trusted to report to us honestly . Zander and Verity will know full well that they cannot act out without us hearing about it.”

Michael made another nod. “Okay. So… when are you wanting us to do this…?”

“Anytime this week,” Rose informed.

Michael blinked. “But not today, right…?”

“No… not today, but I would like to gauge this soon,” Rose told him. “If we go forward with this, then your father and I need to head down to the school and enroll Verity. The school year should be starting soon, if it hasn’t already.”

Michael squinted at her. “You guys are gonna go out there? In the sunlight…?”

“Fuckin’ell… we’re not gonna burst into flames,” Orville mumbled with a laugh.

“It doesn’t do much more to us than it does to you, dear,” Rose assured her son. “We’ll get a little peckish if we’re exposed to it for too long, and it happens a little faster and harder to us than it does you… but we’ve had plenty of practice navigating the world outside with our own health in mind. That’s not something you need to worry about.”

Michael fell silent, looking down and thinking of what William had told him last night. Yes—apparently, his parents certainly did have more experience leaving the manor than he’d ever previously thought of them.

“I’ve been around a long time,” Orville commented, resting his face to his hand. “Sunlight doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Well…” Rose nodded sideways. “It will if you push it, Villy. You know that. Point is, we know how not to do that.”

“Um… okay,” Michael muttered, fidgeting with the ends of his sleeves. “How long do you want me to take them out?”

“However long you all want to be out,” Rose replied.

Michael sighed heavily.

Suddenly, a distant, muffled noise echoed from somewhere else in the manor, a hard, steady musical beat that was just loud enough to vibrate some areas of the home.

Michael turned and stared at the doors, then shook his head before facing his parents again.

Rose flashed a warm, motherly smile, looking to her husband and patting him gently on the hand. “Oh… now… see? They’ve all got it in them, just like you do.”

Orville managed a lazy nod and shrug in agreement.

Michael didn’t comment on this, though he knew fully well what they were talking about. It was the one thing that he and his siblings all had in common; a love for singing, dancing, and music in general. Now, it sounded as if either Zander or Verity were blaring music from one of their bedrooms again, just as they often did during their awake spells.

“I really think it’s time for them to get accustomed to the outside world… and that,” Rose said, jabbing a finger at the closed doors. “ That is why. They’re all old enough to go out and start finding opportunities if they actually do want to get into music… and I can’t imagine anyone would turn Villy V’s three children away. Zander and Verity have been on about it for ages . I think they would love to finally go out and try.”

Orville nodded and mumbled something in reply, and Michael merely stood in silence, leaning on the doors and letting out another breath.

In reality—he had a special adoration for music just as much as his brother and sister did, especially for dancing—but he never talked about it much, and never did it outside of his bedroom. After all—there was usually very little point in thinking about pursuing any gigs or careers related to his skills or talents. Not when most of his life was dedicated to a time-consuming sleep.

“You rang, Madame?” William’s voice entered the scene, and he walked in from a side door behind the nearest bookshelf, stopping near their table and cupping his hands together.

“Yes… you and Michael are going to be in charge of a field trip this week,” Rose told him.

She went on to explain the rest, and she told the butler precisely what she had planned for this week. When she was finished, William nodded mildly, looking down and making a thoughtful sort of expression.

Michael glanced over at him, reading the look on his face and knowing for certain that he was about to voice his concerns about something that Rose or Orville might have overlooked, as per the usual routine for all of them.

“I don’t necessarily find that plan to be a bad one. However,” William began, raising his finger and arching his brow. “Have you both given some serious thought to what this will mean for the two of you in the near future?”

Rose and Orville exchanged glimpses.

“If you finally reveal your children to the world… it will be to the public world,” William said to them, his voice taking on a serious tone. “You remember that world.”

Rose was expressionless, Orville nodding softly and lowering his hand to the table.

“I do agree with them having their freedom, as well they should,” William continued. “But if you actually plan to encourage them to pursue musical careers… then the spotlight is sure to come back. We will run the risk of garnering extra attention no matter how the children behave outside… but if they actually go out and seek fame, then it will not be a risk. It will be a sure thing, an absolute fact that the impetuously nosey public will start focusing on this family in just the same way they did before. Are you prepared for that?”

Rose and Orville stared at one another again.

“Do remember… the problems it caused,” William said intensely, his eyes shifting between the two. “The media slander… the nutters skulking about at night… and the officials who thought it necessary to poke around in all of your personal business. It’s quite easy to manage things right now, just with us being on friendly terms with a few of the influential people in this area, and nobody paying us any real mind most of the time… but it may become much more difficult to conduct our business privately if we have another media circus clawing at our door.”

There was a long pause in the air, everyone seeming to think intently on everything William had said.

Michael gazed over at the butler quizzically for a second, then looked to his parents again. He could tell that William was speaking rather vaguely on purpose, and he seemed to be alluding to certain things that Rose and Orville had likely never spoken about to their children.

“What… um,” Michael mumbled, scratching the side of his brow and eyeing his parents curiously. “What… private business? What is he talking about?”

Once more, the parents shared a deep look with one another, seeming to have a whole conversation through mere eye contact, which was something that they often did. Then, Orville tossed up a hand and gave a nod to his wife, shrugging dismissively before adjusting in his seat.

“Go on,” Orville said. “He’s old enough to know…”

Rose continued staring at him for a second, then made a nod and faced her eldest son.

“All right… well, this doesn’t leave this room,” she started, lowering her voice.

Michael nodded and took a step closer to her, leaning forward and listening attentively.

“But… when we came to America, we had to make some… friends,” Rose explained, placing her hands together. “We needed to know that a certain few people here would be friendly with us, given our… special needs.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Now… it has become something of a… routine,” Rose said, motioning while she talked.

Michael stared blankly at her. “I… I have no idea what we’re talking about right now.”

“You’re speaking a bit too cryptically, Madame,” William chuckled. “Perhaps be more direct.”

Rose sighed and rolled her eyes. “All right… well, I’ll be blunt as a spoon , then. The old Villy V way. Michael… the thing is… your father and I… mainly your father… have certain dietary needs that need to be met. Now, they can be met in a number of ways, with certain bloody foods, or with animal blood… but, every now and then, at least once in a blue moon… he does need the real thing.”

Michael slowly straightened up, swallowing and feeling his stomach churn.

“Human blood…?” he guessed.

Rose nodded. “Yes… and we have a special arrangement worked out with someone in the town to… deliver.”

Michael reeled slightly back, trying to mask over the wave of disgust he felt, and only halfway succeeding.

Rose read his face and laughed, shaking her head and swatting the air. “No, now… don’t get in a fret. We don’t have anyone kidnapped. We’ll just have… the occasional death row inmate… delivered to our home.”

“Like pizza,” Orville added, flashing a grin.

Rose scoffed and smacked him on the arm.

Michael didn’t speak, looking down and wearing a particularly troublesome visage. He’d always known that his father must have been feeding somehow, but he’d never given it much thought—and there was a reason. He simply didn’t want to know, and didn’t want to think about it.

“There’s that… and there’s our deal with the mayor,” Rose spoke on. “You see, the thing is… your father and I do deal with people outside of this home.”

“Therein lies my concern,” William mumbled.

“Well… Willy… we shouldn’t have anything to worry about, so long as those three behave themselves,” Rose said, waving over at Michael. “I think it would be perfectly fine to have our family back up on the radar again. Verity could bring friends home, and she and Zander could both use that overdone basement of ours to make their own music…”

“No… that basement’s mine,” Orville griped. “That’s my music bat cave…”

“Okay, well… there’s the garage, which nobody uses,” Rose suggested. “That could be a studio… and, if all of this goes well this week, then I can pop off down to the town and sign Verity right into school.”

“You’re really gonna go into town, Mom?” Michael sighed.

“Yes,” Rose replied calmly, flashing a curt half-smile at him. “This may surprise you to learn, sweet pea… but I have actually been outside before.”

Michael made a caustic face, and Rose gave him one more run-down on everything she expected to happen this week.

Later—after his parents dismissed him—Michael walked out of the room and wandered the manor for a while, pondering on what it would be like whenever he had to take his brother and sister into town. He hoped he could keep them under control.

He passed the time by venturing the great, echoing halls, gazing up at family portraits, peeking into rooms like the kitchen, the dining room, and the old play room with the huge box-shaped television, rooms that were tied to nearly all of his memories, good and bad.

And, as he stood in the doorway of the play room, with once-blue wallpaper, the walls and floorboards now dust-coated with long-forgotten toys sitting in old wooden chests along the walls, he let out a sigh, remembering the time when Zander attempted to crawl out the play room window at age seven, a window that was now boarded shut.

Michael huffed out a breath and turned on his heel, marching onwards through the hall.

As he walked on, he found himself pondering on more—on Zander trying to jump the gate outside several different times through their childhood, he and Verity once attempting to tunnel under it together, both of them fighting with one another so fervently that they fell down the stairs, a battle that, like many others, Michael was forced to break up.

He gazed down at his shiny black shoes as he walked, sighing heavily again.

These walls, these hallways, and these rooms—this was all that they’d known until recently, and now, the time had finally come for them to venture outward, and to establish some kind of lives outside of Voltaire Manor.

Michael was fairly confident that he could do it himself—but the thought of Zander and Verity doing so put an anxious knot in the pit of his stomach. He’d already seen how Zander behaved in the outside world—and he couldn’t imagine what problems would arise from Verity’s experiences out there.

And—if either of them caused any problems outside, then they might bring that trouble back home to their parents, which could complicated or even ruin their lives, given their fairly special circumstances.

Michael winced and let out another stressed breath, leaning against the wall and running both hands down his face as a sense of pressure began to weight on him.

It all fell onto him to ensure that nothing could ruin their safety and security here at their longtime home.

Throughout the rest of the day—Zander and Verity were mostly locked in their rooms, jamming to music and screaming along to it, both of them seemingly delighted by the idea of finally obtaining their freedom.

While the hours went by, Michael spent some time reading in his room before the evening came around. When his windows began to darken just the slightest bit, he set his book on his nightstand and crept out to the hallway, sneakily making his way downstairs.

As he quickly moved down the rounded stairway on the edges of his toes, he pulled back his silky white sleeve and narrowed his eyes down at his silver wristwatch, seeing that it was just after six-thirty.

“Almost time,” Michael breathed, reaching the bottom of the stairs, his eyes locking onto the front doors.

Just when he speed-walked toward them and reached out to grab them—

“Michael,” a curt voice said from behind.

Michael paused and sealed his eyes shut, swallowing a sigh before slowly turning around.

William stood there, hands cupped, brow perked, and expression coy, giving him a knowing sort of look.

“Going somewhere?” the butler inquired.

Michael stared at him, his visage flattening.

“I thought you were my friend,” he said softly, glimpsing around to ensure no one could overhear. “I wouldn’t think you’d call me out.”

“Oh… I wouldn’t dare,” William replied, taking a step forward. “However… I would be remiss not to remind you that dinnertime is upon us, and your parents will surely notice your absence. I don’t intent to tell on you… I just think you might benefit from… not telling on yourself.”

Michael hesitated, combing his hairs back and rolling his eyes. He’d somehow forgotten about their family dinners—and they always took place between six and six-thirty.

William read his face rather astutely. “I presume you’ve got other plans.”

“ Shhhh ,” Michael breathed, pressing a finger to his mouth and glancing around again. “Yeah. I do. I’m supposed to be at my friend Zariah’s at seven.”

“Oooh.” William’s perched brow seemed to rise even higher. “Well… you’ll certainly be cutting it close, then, because I believe your parents plan to announce their little field trip plans to your brother and sister during dinner… and that conversation might drag on for a bit.”

“Uuugh.” Michael tossed his head back with aggravation.

William’s mouth curled into a half-smile. “Perhaps I can invent an illness for you if you inhale your dinner a bit too quickly. By accident, of course.”

“Tch… like hell it’s an accident,” Michael griped, marching swiftly toward the back hall. “I will make myself sick for real if it gets me out of this house…”

William chuckled before he followed suit.

“Oh… Michael,” he said, raising a hand as he followed him toward the back doorway. “I believe Zander and Verity are still in their rooms. They haven’t yet responded to their parents calling them for dinner, I’m afraid.”

Michael released an audible groan into the air—then whipped around and speed-walked back the way he came even faster, thundering up the stairs and racing to the second floor.

He marched over to the two doors on the right side, each fairly far apart from one another, and he hammered on both of them roughly and impatiently, yelling for Zander and Verity to hurry up and join them for dinner.

When the two of them finally turned their music off and emerged from their rooms, Zander and Verity each shot their older brother an annoyed look—but he didn’t care. Michael simply walked off without listening to their irritated utterances, wanting to get this dinner done and over with.

By the time everyone was entering the dining room—Michael stopped in the doorway and checked his watch, seeing that it was already six forty-five. He quickly took his seat beside his father at the head of the table.

The dining room was a long, comfortable space with a lush crimson carpet, complete with two double-armed sconces on either wall, several family portraits, and a single chandelier hanging over the center of the table.

Rose sat beside her husband and across from her eldest son, Zander and Verity a little further down the table sitting opposite each other, and William pushed a large cart into the room from the kitchen, which contained all of the platters of food. He first placed a wide, ovular saucer on the center of the table—which had about ten fresh burgers on them—and then, he set out the side dishes, first and foremost, the pot of mashed potatoes and the bowl of hot, special gravy that William always fashioned for Orville alone. It was a dark brown gravy with a reddish hue, a gravy that the family had always simply called “Villy Gravy,” but now, as Michael gazed down at the bowl of it, inhaling a whiff of its peculiar scent, his face fell expressionless again, only just now realizing what made his father’s gravy so unique and tailored to him.

He felt a touch of disbelief as William continued laying things out on the table around him; Michael gazed into the gravy almost trancelike, feeling incredibly foolish for thinking nothing of the butler’s homemade Villy Gravy all these years. It was so obvious what that gravy contained—and why only his father ever partook in it.

“Mmm.” Orville leaned slightly forward, raising the ladle from the bowl of gravy and giving it a long, pleased sniff. “What we got ‘ere, Will…?”

“That is from the latest and the freshest batch, sir,” William told him.

Orville raised his brows from behind his sunglasses. “Take out the trash…?”

“Of course, sir. Ages ago,” William replied with a nod.

Orville nodded as well, then placed a large lump of mashed potatoes onto his plate before drizzling it with an incredible amount of Villy Gravy.

Michael stared over at his father for several seconds before thinking to look away. He glanced over at Zander and Verity, who were both listening to their respective walk-mans, not paying any attention at all.

So, Michael merely stared down at the table with a disturbed look on his face, rethinking every family dinner he’d ever had all over again. He’d heard William and Orville say these things before—countless times, during nearly every family dinner throughout his life—but he’d never pieced together what any of it meant before now.

The latest and freshest batch was referring to the latest batch of blood that had been delivered to their home—and the trash that had been taken out was likely the body of the death row inmate from whom that blood was derived.

Michael began to feel sick, glaring down at his plate, almost nauseated by the smell of all the food around him. While everyone else began making their plates, he simply sat there, mulling over his thoughts in silence.

It wasn’t as if he hated or judged his father for it—after all, his father had very little options, as far as feeding, and this simply made logical sense to do—but something about the situation just set him on edge, made him feel sick to his stomach, knowing that people were sometimes delivered here, to his family home, where he was born and raised, only to be killed and fed to Orville Voltaire.

It almost tainted the place; the welcoming and beautiful architecture, the wallpaper, sconces, rooms, portraits, and more—this wonderful, comfortable home, where he’d always felt safe and secure, and where all of his memories resided—it was actually a slaughterhouse in secret, a place where routine murders regularly took place, and yet, here he sat, expected to undergo a regular family dinner, as if nothing at all had changed, and as if he still felt just the same here.

Rose gazed across the table at him, gently tapping her fingers to the surface of the table.

“Michael,” she said softly, leaning forward and eyeing him. “You look a bit ill.”

Michael’s eyes flickered up and fixated on her, letting out a breath and saying nothing at first, though his stomach was tightening even more. It seemed that he wouldn’t have to fake or manufacture any sickness in order to escape from this dinner early, because he very much felt it for real.

He glimpsed over at his father without thinking, then quickly looked down again, frowning even deeper.

Rose turned and observed her husband for a second, watching as Orville scooped up large lumps of gravy-slathered potatoes with his spoon, eating it almost feverishly. When she looked to her son again, she wore a face of understanding, making a few mild nods to herself.

“All right… family announcement. You two, headphones down,” Rose announced loudly, raising her hand and snapping her fingers, gathering her children’s attention.

Zander and Verity both placed their headphones onto the table and turned to her. William made himself a plate and sat farther down the table, and there was a brief silence.

Then, Rose took a deep breath and spoke on. “Your father and I have decided to allow all of you a single trip into town in order to determine whether or not we will permanently end the sleep schedule and allow you to roam freely.”

Verity stared at her interestingly, Zander’s eyebrows raising, and Michael showed no reaction.

Rose continued—and she explained everything to Zander and Verity that she had already explained to Michael and William earlier in the day, including all of the rules attached to her plan. When she was finished, Zander and Verity exchanged faces with one another before either of them replied.

“Okay, but…” Zander mumbled, taking a bite of his burger and motioning over to his brother. “Why does he get to be in charge? I’m pretty sure I know more about the outside world than he does.”

“Because I can trust Michael not to lie to me,” Rose told him firmly. “Just as well as I can Will.”

Zander glimpsed between Michael and William before shooting his mother a disapproving look.

“Yes… I did account for your whole point, there,” Rose said smugly, reading his face and smirking. “I thought you might argue that I should put someone in charge who’s had more experience in the outside world. Well… you can consider it done, because Will is going to be in charge, too. He and Michael will be supervising the pair of you.”

Verity didn’t appear to be opposed to the idea, but Zander was ogling his mother as if she had just said the most offensive thing he had ever heard.

“Mom… you do know that I actually have a job out there now, right?” Zander snarked. “I’m not just some irresponsible retard who can’t function outside.”

“Wouldn’t call that a job,” Michael murmured.

Zander snapped his head around and glared daggers at his brother. “ What? ”

“You sell drugs from a freaking crime outfit,” Michael quipped at him. “That’s not a job.”

“You sell drugs…?” Orville mumbled, licking gravy from his finger. “Mmm… bring me some.”

“ Hush ,” Rose hissed, swatting him on the arm.

“Um—I work for people, and they pay me, so yeah, it is a job, you fucking retard,” Zander growled.

“Oh, yeah… sure… and I guess that makes you totally perfect and responsible,” Michael chided irritably. “Selling drugs and beating the holy hell out of half the people in the club… yeah, you looked like a winner out there.”

Orville choked out a laughing sort of noise.

“All I’m saying is—I’m the one who knows people, I’m the one who has a job, and I’ve already been living out there for weeks ,” Zander stated, cocking his head at his mother. “So I don’t see why I need him as a babysitter .”

“Zander… shut uuup! ” Verity shrieked, kicking him under the table.

Zander shot her a look. “What’s your problem?!”

“You’re arguing with Mom when she’s giving us what we want!” Verity exclaimed. “But you have to bitch about it because it’s not exactly how you want it?! God… you are such a fucking baby! Just shut up and be happy!”

“You three won’t be picking a day for this little field trip until you can calm down and accept my terms, Zander,” Rose said, giving her younger son a serious look.

“See?!” Verity shouted, gesturing down the table at her mother and frowning at Zander. “Now you’re ruining it for the rest of us! Just stop complaining!”

Zander leaned farther back in his seat, folding his arms and sighing, finally falling silent.

There was a pause.

“Um…” Michael mumbled softly, swallowing and reaching his feet. “I don’t feel very hungry… so…”

“I’d suggest you lie down if you’re not feeling well, Master Michael,” William said, motioning at him with his spoon. “Either that, or just step outside for a touch of fresh air.”

Michael stepped toward the door, glancing back at him with a nod and a meager smile. He paused for a split second, waiting to see if either of his parents would call him back. When neither of them did—he walked out of the dining room and let out a massive breath of relief as he strolled away.

He made his way through the manor, putting all of his troubling thoughts to the back of his mind.

When Michael reached the front doors, he checked his watch, seeing that it was five after seven. He glimpsed back over his shoulder, opened the doors, and slipped outside, slowly closing them with ease.

Then—he turned around broke into a brisk stride, heading straight for the gate, eager to make his getaway.