Glass Houses

When I tell you I hate this shit, I mean it. The only thing funerals bring is sadness and fake concern. No one cared for my father’s life when he was on earth, but they want to celebrate his absence from the world?  That’s pretty hollow if you ask me, but hell if I’m any better.  Oldest son, Malcolm Conrad, who left home and never returned, until now. Just to escape this superficial family and the riches that blind them. Oh yeah, my family is loaded. My father, Jarard Conrad, was a business tycoon that chased success on Wall Street.  He built his empire from the ground up and made sure everyone  had no choice but to remember it. He would tell me, “I worked too hard, built myself up brick by brick, to let you tear this down.” That was the response that led me to leave the house, after I told him I didn’t want the business, and like a madman, wanted to make something out of myself for myself.  I wanted to help others in need and be of use to the world. So I opened my own clinic to assist people less fortunate than I ever was. Of course something like this wouldn’t make sense to a man such as my father.

When I arrived at the house I could see a big commotion: some woman was frantically crying and yelling at a poor bystander. That crazy ass woman happened to be my sister, Jesica. My sister was always the primadona of the family and believed the world should kneel at her feet. So basically, a living, breathing God Complex. The devil she happened to receive these traits from was walking up behind them to end the whole dispute. My loving and endearing mother. A woman who’s hoarded wealth since she stepped out of the womb. If I said my sister has a God Complex, my mother has like stage ten of it. Every and any man in her life has made the universe bend to their will because she said so. I still don’t know how I came out so sane.

I finally stepped out of my Uber to greet the madness. “Malcolm!” my sister screamed hysterically as she ran towards me. She held me so tight I thought she would break a bone. I never really knew my sister to be this affectionate and dramatic. She always seemed so into her own world and everyone be damned. Maybe my father’s death is affecting her harder than I thought it would. Or she could be upset that her yes man has passed away. Either way, I was about to find out.

Hey Jesica. How you holding up?” I asked as I patted her on the back.

“How do you think I’m doing Malcolm!”

“Don’t bite my head off it was just a question”

“Ask better questions”

“I will when you start calming down. Hysterical bitch,” I scoffed, under my breath..

“What was that last part?”

“Nothing at all sis,”  I delivered with an innocent smirk.

Her short temper, ever present under all that crying, was still something to back off from. “You two stop fooling around and come on,” my mother yelled as we walked into the house. Stepping back into the house after a year and a half felt like a cold nostalgia. No matter how much money we have,  we can never make up for the lack of life here. No color, no family achievements except for my father and mothers handiwork. My mother’s expensive artwork glittering the hallways while my father’s awards and photos with important moguls were right underneath.

I can’t believe that I willingly walked back into the mouth of hell. To make matters worse, the house is filled with other rich snobs. Tech gurus, Wall Street bankers, corporate moguls,etc. I never wanted to return and yet, I’m here for good ole dad.

“Malcolm. Jesica. Follow me into the family study please,” my mother beckoned. As we walked through the cold museum I once called a home,  faint laughs and critiques of childhood flooded the hallway. The air felt so hollow you could hear a dust bunny fall. We entered the study to see it exactly the same. Picture you just walked into Dumbledore’s office. Big twisting stairwell, extensive bookcase, old oil paintings on the wall and even a piano. My father didn’t even play the damn piano.

“What are we doing in here?” Jesica asked.

“I need to show you children something important. Yes, your father is gone but now we need to discuss his legacy.”

My mother grifted towards the piano. She tapped the B minor key twice, with a two second pause in between taps for dramatic effect, or so I thought. Suddenly, the bookcase split open revealing a dark corridor with stairs that seemed to have no destination.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“Legacy” My mother threw back. “Come along, I have a story to tell.”

Entering the corridor as if she’d done it a thousand times before, she began descending the endless stairs. Jesica and I exchanged hesitant glances before we followed along.

“For centuries our family has kept a certain tradition alive. To be able to show unity and strength for the purpose of preserving our way of life. Our family along with others in our same…class practice these traditions to bring our lives good fortune.”

As my mother’s speech continued, we surprisingly reached the end of the stairs. She lit a torch that seemed to appear from thin air. My eyes widened as I realized what I was looking at. Torches donned the walls, lighting the entire room. In the center, a table with chains and an altar with a man on a cross wearing a crown of thorns. This was some kind of demonic sacrificial room.

“My dear children. Now is the time to fulfill your responsibility as Conrads and do what needs to be done.”

“And what the hell needs to be done, Mother?” I asked. 

“This is where we become Gods among men. You see son, you think our wealth comes at ease and at little consequence because you have never had to go to the lengths your father and I did to maintain this precious lifestyle of yours. Well, the truth of it son, is that we are takers. We take everything that we need from everyone that we can to maintain our power. Why push our bodies and minds to the limit when it can be stripped from another? For years we have come down here to sacrifice some poor wretch and strip them away of their future and dreams and consume them for our own desires.That is the way the rich operate. That is the way the Black Crown survives!” As she said this, hooded figures separated from the shadows. They wore long black and red gowns with golden crowns on top. All of their faces were covered with animalistic masks, hiding their identities.

“The order of the Black Crown are the real elite” my mother continued. “We sacrifice these souls to our God and he gives us the tools for success. Praise him and serve him and we shall all prosper!”

“You’re insane!” I said. You built your entire life, your legacy, off of a lie. You and these people are murderers! The lives of the poor shouldn’t be snuffed out because you need to sustain your lifestyle. Your wealth. Your vanity. I refuse to believe you and dad were into this sadistic shit!”

“Your father was our leader Malcolm.”

“You’re lying!”

“I can assure you I am not. Your father led us to the faith that we believe in today. He was a faithful servant of our lord until he grew...resistant and combative. He voiced feeble regrets when it was too late and so, we had to do what needed to be done to preserve our way of life.” 

“Well we won’t be a part of this, right Jesica?” As I looked over at my sister her head was down and she was in shock. “Let's go Jes we don’t have to be a part of this,” I said tugging her arm at the same time. Her body stood immobile  like her feet were rooted into the ground.

“Screw this!" I turned around and made a break for it, but suddenly everything felt heavy.

Darkness crept around me as my perception got closer to the floor and then went blank.

I awoke as I felt burning heat against my face, and gained consciousness to see amber flames three inches from my eyes.. Recalling the horrific scene I just witnessed, I attempted to move but was halted by the rattle of chains. I looked down to see myself bound to a table, with only my pants attached to me. The members of the Black Crown surrounded me. The hooded figure above me and to my right removed their hoods to reveal themselves as my sister and mother.’’

“I’m sorry I hit you Malcolm, but I had no choice” my sister said to me with a sincerity I had rarely ever heard from her. I almost had no words, but then I found some.

“Jesica, what the hell do you think you’re doing?

“I’m not willing to give up my life and start over like you did. I’ve always wanted and appreciated this life while you hated every day walking around here.Now that I think about it, so did dad. You both reaped the benefits of being rich but thought you were better than all of us and looked down on us. Well how does it feel to be the one on the bottom now Malcolm?”

“Look, Jes, you don’t have to do this. You’re better than them.”

She looked at me with pity, but no sorrow, and again, with the most sincerity she’s ever employed she said, “No Malcolm I’m not.”

“Enough of this!” my mother shouted. “We have delayed our ceremony long enough. It is time to complete the ritual”

The members of the Black Crown began to unsheathe long knives from the waistbands. Each poised themselves on a side of the table and surrounded me.

“ To my sweet Malcolm. Your life will help generations after you live in prosperity. We thank you and appreciate your sacrifice.” My mother said with an innocent smile on her face.

Again, I ignorantly pleaded, “You don’t have to do this! Mom. P-please.”

Their cold blades sank into my skin as I cried out for help but it was too late, no one would come to my aid now. I was sliced, bled and then devoured by people I thought I knew. As shallow as my family was I would have never imagined their vanity ran this deep, so much so that their regard for humanity, me, their son, brother, meant absolutely nothing. As my life gradually started to fade the pain seemed to slip away. All the fear, hate and judgment were, fueling the ones I spent my life trying separate and starve. The wealthy will continue to feed off the less fortunate at the expense of their morality. Who are we to stand in their way?