They watched him as he sank deeper and deeper into a depression complete with periods of neurosis…periods of amnesia; where he never remembered who he was or what needed to be done in that particular moment. He was never bold…always a pusillanimous character in matters of life, and too fearful to even consider suicide. There were a select in the family that felt he should at least exhibit one moment of unadulterated courage in his life by ending it all; even though they would never come out and say it, but alas it seemed as though he didn’t seem to share their same viewpoint.
Mid May saw his rapid decline in mental stability and it wasn’t until close to a fortnight later that Everson found him dead; hanging from the great beam of the ceiling in his room. The details of his death were shrouded in tight-lipped secrecy and the newspapers only reported that after dealing with an intense 4 year sickness, Tiresias Wallace had succumbed. It was ironic that a man most noted for his ‘visions’ of coming attractions, and having the name of a most noted ‘seer’ of Greek mythology; had failed to ‘see’ or discern his own impending death.
3 years later….
Priam LaFayette placed a call. After pacing the length of his spacious office located in Troy, New York; the Export/Import magnate quickly placed a panicky phone call to Basel, Switzerland. To one casually glancing at the phone records…things didn’t seem mysterious or out of the ordinary. The call was placed to one Fraulein H. M. von Struss. The nature of that conversation was never documented or recorded…as his phone was un-listed and bug proof. Within 5 hours Priam was alerted that his nephew, Beriasis Morgan, on business in Andalusia, Spain had been gunned down and was pronounced dead upon arrival at the Nuestra Madre de S. El Hospital de Catherine. No explanations…no understanding of it except that it was an ‘unfortunate accident.’ The family never fully recovered from it.
The Gilbeaux family, rather the husband and wife, Agamemnon and Klytemnestra, both socialites of the New Orleans upper crust attended an operatic performance of Strauss’ Die Frau Ohne Schatten performing at the New Orleans Opera. It was there that one of Agamemnons’ trusted friends approached him during the intermission. They quickly made their way toward one of the rooms in the upper gallery.
‘And you’re not exactly aware of what is going on?’
‘No sir…got the phone call from Andalusia about a week before. Decided to get down there myself and see what the ruckus is about…no one’s saying anything, and it’s most bizarre. Priam’s son is gunned down and the Spanish police as well as Interpol have labeled it an ‘unfortunate’ accident.”
Agamemnon glanced away briefly. “You don’t believe it was unfortunate?”
The other man smirked giving his agreement. Agamemnon lowered his head in thought, he sighed.
‘What else do we know?’ He spoke.
‘Not too much sir…your guess is as good as ours. We’re all in the dark about this, but there is a little situation that I’m not sure if it’s important but apparently according to the time frame established, Priam had been on the phone with someone in Basel, Switzerland. We’re looking into that right now although from all accounts it appears to be a cold trail.’
Agamemnon’s face held a grim look…
‘The house lights are lowering…let us return.’ He paused briefly ‘Meet me at Parisian’s around 1am.’
Both men headed back to their seats.
tbc
I just write.
