Stepping out the car, Ronan was once again face to face with his childhood home, rising before him like a resurfacing memory. His hands dug into the pockets of his oversized coat as he gazed upon the manor.
The rain splashed onto the concrete floor just outside the main gate.
The Wytte Manor sat at the crest of the street, a sprawling skeleton of stone and timber that made any passerby look twice at it. With its grande presence and intimidating grace, it towered over the other rich houses close by. The gardens around it were vibrant and luscious while the building itself was dark and royal.
The building itself had been built in the late 1800s and had been the family house of the Wytte family since Ronan's older brother, Viktor was small.
The house was a lot quieter without the bustle of Ronan's father and the several maids hurrying around him. Now it was dark and cold. Only Ronan stood outside now.
His hands fumbled over the gate before he pushed himself in and knocked on the large front door.
There was a shuffle before a short old blonde woman opened it. Olga, the old house maid. One of the few that stayed since Ernest Wytte's passing.
Her expression softened upon seeing him.
"Ronan," she smiled.
He gave her a small smile. "It's… good to see you." Before he said anything else she embraced him quickly before backing into the house.
"Viktor is already here," she said.
"Great," he muttered in annoyance. "Viktor."
Ronan already wanted to turn away. Viktor. His older brother. Much older. Viktor, now 40, had probably already grown tired of his 25 year old brother. The New York detective was everything compared to a 50s' style diner waiter.
The two were nothing alike. Viktor had made himself in charge since they were little and Ronan hated it. No matter what he did Viktor was always that bit better.
He bit his lip as he walked through the old halls he once called home.
"Viktor?" He called.
"In here," a gruff voice responded. Ronan made his way over to see his older brother by the fireplace.
He sat neatly on the couch, reading the newspaper with a cigarette in his mouth. His short dark hair was slightly ruffled and his smart, rectangular glasses sat at the bridge of his nose. He wore a black suit and tie, fitting for the funeral, Ronan guessed.
Something he'd been wearing for the past few years was a small part of his hair braided with colourful little beads. Ronan didn't need to guess who'd made that.
He took a seat next to Viktor, running his fingers through his own scruffy brown hair that went down to his neck.
"You smell like beef," was the first thing Viktor said, attempting small talk that sounded more like a quip.
"Just got off my shift," Ronan responded.
Viktor's brow arched. "You didn't ask for time off?"
"Can't make time. I need this job," Ronan responded simply.
Viktor glanced away. "Did you see Olga on the way in?"
He couldn't help but smile softly. "She hasn't aged one bit. Still the same lovely old lady."
Viktor joined him with his own small smile, then ruffled through his jacket for something. Ronan watched in curiosity.
"I have the report from the coroner," he said, placing it down.
"Why?" Ronan asked. "He was an old man. Probably died from heart failure in his sleep."
"Don't be so casual about it," Viktor hissed, a little surprised from his brother's rudeness. "Our father just died."
"Adopted," Ronan corrected, pointing a long finger at him. "And aren't you a little too busy with the pigs to care?" Ronan questioned. "Is that why you got the report from the coroner? To start an investigation to prove how much smarter you are?"
"Calm down, Ronan," Viktor sighed. "Let's not make our dad's death about yourself."
Ronan made a mocking noise. "Is Quinn here?" He then asked, trying to change the subject he'd started. Ronan glanced around the room.
"Lydia's picking her up today," Viktor spoke, referring to another maid.
"She's in prison again?" Ronan asked with a scoff.
"Rehab this time," Lily corrected. "From what I've heard."
"Are you guys talking about me?" A voice from behind asked, making the four jump. Viktor hadn't even noticed her enter the building.
Behind the couch stood their sister, Quinn. She was tall and had scruffy black hair that went down to her shoulders. While she wore an eyepatch to cover a scar and missing eye, her working eye was red and wide with excitement, although the bags under showed her exhaustion and her teeth were bared in a manic smile.
"Jesus, where'd you come from?!" Ronan exclaimed, clutching his chest in fright.
"Aw did I scare you?" Quinn asked with a laugh, flinging herself onto the couch between him and Viktor. "Admit it, you've missed me."
Ronan wouldn't quite use those words. She was a nutcase, always getting herself in trouble wherever she went.
"How was rehab?" Viktor asked her.
She shook her head and waggled her fingers. "Oh, you know. A lot of talking about feelings… that kind of bullshit. But that doesn't matter! I'm here now! Let's celebrate!"
"Our father died, Quin. At least pretend to be sentimental, would ya?" Viktor snorted.
Quinn paused for a moment. "He died?!" She exclaimed. "I was in rehab for one week!"
"Five months," Viktor corrected.
"Are we having a funeral?" Quinn questioned.
"Why should we?" Ronan snorted, standing up. "He wasn't there for us in life? Why should we be there for him in death?"
"Ronan, calm down," Viktor scolded, attempting to ease the stress.
"No, don't tell me to calm down!" Ronan shouted. "You only care since you were his favourite."
Viktor scoffed. "No I wasn't."
"Yes you were!" He said, towering over Viktor, making the taller stand up, as if to assert dominance. He stood back as the others stared at him. "Come on, you know you've always been dad's special perfect boy."
"Well then, maybe I was his favourite cause I actually did something with my life," Viktor argued. "Maybe cause I didn't peak in Highschool."
"That's all about that isn't it," Ronan scoffed. "Work. Tell me, Ronan. When you clock out of work, who do you go to? What do you actually have to live for now?"
"Now? What's that supposed to mean?" Viktor said with an arched brow, now more defensive, as Quinn watched the drama unfold with an uninterested look as she wove her finger through a curl of her hair.
"You know what I mean-."
"That's enough, Ronan," Olga said firmly, reaching out from where she'd stood next to a newly arrived Lydia, observing the conversation.
Ronan swiped away. "Don't touch me!" He glared at Viktor before storming off upstairs.
"Ronan, come on!" Viktor called as Quinn rummaged through the living room; but Ronan had already fled.
Storming upstairs he tore open the door to his old room and slammed it shut, letting himself sink down the wall.
He looked at the walls of his childhood room. Posters of his favourite movies, and female models were scattered across the walls. Old text books from classes he failed lay in stacks, with no bookshelf to cage them. His bed was freshly made, probably by Olga who'd assumed he'd be staying tonight.
He growled to himself angrily, a habit he'd grown into since he was a baby and threw his head back. He didn't want to be back here. Back where all his issues started.
He stared up at his old clock as the hours went by before there was a knock on the door.
"What?" He huffed,
"It's Olga," the voice responded.
"Oh, come in," he spoke more softly this time.
She opened the door and stood there with a worried, almost pitying expression for a moment before straightening up.
"Viktor and Quinn are still in the living room," she said. "They're saying a few words for your dad."
"Viktor will be, sure," he snorted. "But Quinn?"
Quinn never really cared for her father all that much either. Or anyone for the matter. At least that's how Ronan saw it. Of all his siblings she was the most difficult to understand. He hated Viktor to his core but Quinn was an odd case.
Olga paused. "They'd like you to join them when you're ready."