Serve Me, My Lord

The morning air was freezing. Emmett walked out of the massive iron gates of Patterson Manor. He wore his oldest clothes. A faded gray hoodie and worn-out jeans. He held a copper tram token in his hand.

He stopped on the sidewalk. He turned around and looked back. The manor sat on a hill, surrounded by morning fog. It looked like a giant, beautiful tomb.

A loud screech of brakes pulled his attention away. A rusted city tram stopped in front of him. The doors rattled open.

Emmett stepped up. He dropped his token into the slot. He walked down the narrow aisle and sat in the very back row, pressing his shoulder against the cold window.

The tram drove away from the wealthy suburbs. The scenery outside the window changed. The perfectly cut green lawns disappeared. They were replaced by cracked sidewalks, brick walls covered in soot and grime, and the tall, dead smokestacks of abandoned factories.

The inside of the tram smelled like cheap cigarettes and unwashed clothes. A baby cried loudly two rows ahead.

In his past life, Emmett would have covered his nose. He would have looked at these people with disgust. Now, he just closed his eyes and leaned his head against the vibrating glass. He let the noise wash over him. It was real. It was alive.

An hour and a half later, the tram stopped in the middle of the industrial district. Emmett stepped off. The cold wind whipped a dirty newspaper across his boots.

He walked down the broken pavement. He headed toward his family's tenement housing complex.

He stopped at a corner grocer. The bell above the door jingled.

He walked down the narrow aisles. He grabbed two loaves of fresh bread, a large carton of milk, and three boxes of the expensive chocolate his younger siblings loved. He carried them to the counter. He pulled out the few dollar bills he had saved.

The store owner, a heavy man with a dirty apron, scanned the items. He looked Emmett up and down. He sneered.

"What's wrong, pretty boy?" the owner mocked. "Did the rich folks kick you out? Couldn't cut it in the big house?"

Emmett's face didn't change. He didn't feel the hot flash of anger he used to feel. He just looked at the man's tired eyes.

"Thank you," Emmett said politely. He picked up the heavy canvas sacks and walked out.

He walked two blocks to a peeling brick building. He took a deep breath. He walked up the wooden stairs. Every step groaned under his weight.

He reached the third floor. He stood in front of a door with chipped white paint.

He raised his hand to knock. He stopped. His fist hovered in the air.

For five seconds, he couldn't move. His chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice. The guilt was suffocating. The last time he saw his mother in his past life, she was lying in a cheap coffin, dead from a sickness she couldn't afford to treat. Because he had kept all his money to buy tailored uniforms.

He swallowed hard. He knocked on the wood.

He heard hurried footsteps inside. The lock clicked. The door opened two inches.

His fifteen-year-old sister, Elspeth, peeked out. Her eyes were sharp and guarded.

When she saw Emmett, her eyes went wide. Then, her face hardened into a glare.

"What do you want?" Elspeth asked coldly. "Did you come to beg Mom for more money to buy your stupid fancy clothes?"

The words felt like a knife twisting in his stomach. He deserved it.

Emmett didn't argue. He just lifted the heavy grocery bags and held them out to her.

Elspeth looked at the food. He saw her throat move as she swallowed. She was hungry. But she kept her hands by her sides. She was too proud.

A weak cough came from inside the apartment. "Elspeth? Who is at the door?"

Emmett pushed the door open gently. He stepped past his sister.

The apartment was tiny. The air smelled heavily of damp mold and old cooking oil.

His mother lay on a sunken, ripped sofa in the living room. She wore a faded blanket over her shoulders.

When she saw Emmett, she gasped. Tears instantly filled her eyes. She pushed her weak arms against the cushions, trying to sit up.

Emmett dropped the bags on the floor. He crossed the room in three long strides. He dropped to his knees on the dirty carpet. He reached out and grabbed her hands. Her skin was rough and freezing cold.

"Mom," Emmett whispered. His voice shook. The emotion broke through his flat mask. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. For everything. I was a selfish bastard."

His mother looked shocked. She pulled one hand free and touched his cheek. Her thumb brushed his skin.

"Emmett," she cried. "You're home. As long as you're safe, nothing else matters."

Two small heads peeked out from the bedroom door. Maeve and Tobin. They stared at him with big, scared eyes. They barely recognized their older brother.

Emmett turned his head. He reached into the grocery bag. He pulled out the boxes of chocolate. He looked at them with the softest expression he had ever made.

He waved the boxes.

The kids couldn't resist. They ran across the room and crashed into his legs.

Emmett dropped the chocolate. He wrapped his arms around their small bodies. He pulled them tight against his chest. He buried his face in their hair.

Elspeth stood by the door. She watched them. Her eyes turned red. She wiped her face with her sleeve and quietly closed the front door.

Emmett looked around the cramped, poor room. The block of ice inside his chest finally melted.

He squeezed his siblings tighter. He made a silent vow. He didn't care how much blood he had to spill. He didn't care who he had to destroy. In this life, he was going to rip the Patterson family apart, take their wealth, and build a fortress for his family.