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razzle-zazzle · 8 months

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Whumptober Day 12: i haven't slept for days, but who's counting?

Red + Insomnia

2394 Words; Sit Still, Look Pretty

TW for implied kidnapping

AO3 ver

There had been little warning.

Dion had wandered off of the fairgrounds some time after lunch to find a payphone to talk to Gisu. He was more than old enough to do so, and Augustus trusted that he would be back well before sundown. If anything, Augustus was happy that his son was able to hold a steady relationship.

But then Dion didn’t come back.

The sky began to shift, brilliant warm hues coloring the horizon, and Augustus had yet to see his son return. Perhaps he had just missed him? Augustus made his way to Donatella, who was going over their equipment by the caravan.

He wrapped his arms around her, greeting her with a kiss on the shoulder. “Дорогая, have you seen Dion?”

Donatella giggled, turning around to kiss him back. “I don’t believe so,” she responded, “Isn’t he usually back by now?”

Augustus nodded. The horizon had been set aflame by the falling sun, and yet he hadn’t seen Dion return. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he started, “But I can’t help but worry.” Dion was strong. But with everything that had happened over the summer…

“Oh, mio caro,” Donatella put her hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go look for him. I’m sure our little bambino just lost track of time.” She set the clipboard on one of the crates.

Yes, that would put Augustus’ worries to rest. He took Donatella’s hand, then stopped.

“Wait, let me—” He raised a hand to his temple, and with a burst of mental effort—he was still getting used to his powers, still trying to wrap his head around them—he reached out to Frazie.

Солнышко, can you hear me?

This is still so weird, Frazie’s mental presence responded. But yeah.

Augustus concentrated. Watch the kids for us, okay? Your Mom and I are going on a little walk.

Ooookay. And with that, Frazie’s mental presence left the conversation.

Augustus removed his hand from his temple. “Let’s go.”

Donatella snorted. “I sometimes wonder if you love your new abilities more than you love me,” she joked.

Augustus leaned into her. “Я люблю тебя всей душой.” He murmured. And it was true—he loved his wife with every fiber of his being. It was impossible not to.

Donatella chuckled. “Ti amo anch’io.” She returned. “Now let’s go find our son.”

+=+=+=+=+

The sky had long darkened by the time they returned. There had been no sign of Dion anywhere—the payphones were abandoned.

Frazie had realized what their “walk” was for by the time they got back; Augustus wouldn’t have kept the truth from her, regardless.

Still, Augustus held hope that Dion would return come the morning. Surely, after everything that had happened over the summer, after all that the family had been through, they were at least owed some degree of luck by the universe. Surely.

But the sun rose again with no Dion in sight, and Augustus could deny it no longer—

Something had happened to his son.

+=+=+=+=+

Queepie didn’t like it.

Seven days. Seven days of that icky sticky feeling that Queepie abhorred. Seven days of it permeating the entire camp like fog, clinging to every surface.

The last time Queepie had felt like this, had felt this anxiety-nausea coiled in his stomach and making it impossible to dance, was when Raz had run away. He hated it. It clung to everything and everyone, even him.

He wondered if Dion had run away. He couldn’t imagine why, though. But Raz’ example was the only one Queepie had to go off of—he couldn’t fathom any other reason for this icky sticky feeling.

The radio blasted some nameless song—Queepie wished they were close enough to the quarry to catch K.L.O.B. Morris had been talking about getting new songs before winter—Queepie wondered what it’d sound like when the family returned.

But Morris wasn’t here, just like Dion—though at least Morris wasn’t missing.

Queepie leaned back, closing his eyes against the bright blue sky. Even up here, on top of the caravan, everything felt icky. The radio kept playing, the birds kept chirping, the leaves kept falling, the world kept turning—

“QUEEPIE! How many times have I told you not to climb up there!”

—and Donatella’s voice cut right through the air, icky sticky.

Queepie stuck out his tongue. He knew how to fall, and the caravan wasn’t even that hard to climb. If anything, it was safer up here.

(Dion had told him, once, that a bird might swoop down and snatch Queepie up if he sat on top of the caravan. Queepie had thought that sounded so cool, but no birds ever came. So even still, the caravan was safe.)

“Don’t make me come up there!” Donatella threatened. “Arquipo Galileo Aquato!”

Queepie grumbled. He started to make his way down, the radio floating down with him. He knew better than to mess around when being full-named. It was like a law of the universe, or something: being full-named meant trouble if one didn’t stop what they were doing.

Donatella scooped Queepie up the moment he was back on the ground. “I don’t want you wandering where I can’t see you, gufetto.” She murmured. “Not while your brother is missing.”

Queepie huffed, crossing his arms. “You could see me up there.” He pointed out.

“That’s not the point.” Donatella replied. “I couldn’t find you,” She explained, “And that scared me.” She pressed a kiss to Queepie’s forehead, ignoring the way he squirmed. “Don’t scare me like that, okay gufetto?”

Despite his misgivings, Queepie curled into his mother’s grasp. “Okay.”

He didn’t want to make the icky-sticky feeling any worse than it already was.

+=+=+=+=+

Mirtala squinted into the darkness. What time was it? Wayyyyy too early to be up, she decided, rolling over.

Beside her, Queepie was still asleep, blanket clutched tight in his hands. She had offered him Prince Froggington, but Queepie had refused the rabbit plush on principle. Whatever. He could have his blanket, then, and Mirtala would hold onto Prince Froggington. Even though she was a big girl, now, and didn’t need to hold onto a plushie—she just felt like it.

A few moments later, Mirtala rolled over again. Her face scrunched up, and she squeezed Prince Froggington a little tighter.

Queepie’s breathing mixed with the muffled sounds of the outside world. Mirtala tried to slow her own breathing, to relax and fall asleep—

She rolled back over. She hugged Prince Froggington tighter.

Sleep still refused to take her back into its embrace.

With a grumble in the back of her throat, Mirtala sat up. She rubbed her eyes, stretched, and stood, opening up the tent flap. Cold night air washed in, and she shuddered, but still, she padded out onto the dirt and closed the flap behind her.

Mirtala made to walk over to Dee’s tent—

It wasn’t there. Mirtala rubbed at her eyes. Right. Dee had been missing for two weeks—there was no point setting up his tent when they moved to the next town. She’d heard Mom and Dad talk about returning to the quarry, where Raz and Nona were. Maybe Raz could use his secret agent skills to find out what happened to Dion.

Mirtala held Prince Froggington closer. The air was really cold out here, so she couldn’t linger. She turned to Frazie’s tent.

Sisters had to stick together, after all. Sure, Dion wouldn’t wake for anything until the sun came up, but Dion wasn’t here right now. So Mirtala went to Frazie, who was just as good. She could almost pretend that Dion was here, and she was just choosing Frazie’s tent over his stinky no-good boy tent. Frazie was warmer anyway.

(Maybe if she wished hard enough, Dion would come back.

It wasn’t likely, but Mirtala couldn’t help but hope. Dee would be back soon. He had to.)

+=+=+=+=+

Three weeks.

Dion had been gone for three weeks, and Frazie was pissed.

Where did he get off, disappearing like that? Without a trace, too. They’d just gotten back to traveling after Pooter’s big adventure, too, and now this?

Frazie wanted Dion back just so she could yell at him. Punch his stupid face for making everyone worry—

For making Frazie worry. For making her lay awake at night thinking of all the horrible things that could have happened to him—

Frazie shook her head. She needed to focus. With Dion gone, all of his chores fell to the rest of the family. To her. Wherever he was, it wasn’t here, meaning Frazie had to step up and cover for his missing ass.

She was doing the laundry, now, working Queepie’s blanket cape against the washboard. Her baby brother had screamed and kicked when she’d come to take it, but Frazie took it anyway—it was disgusting. It needed to be cleaned.

Normally, it was Dion who ended up cleaning Queepie’s cape—he was the only one besides Mom who was willing to put up with the inevitable outbursts. But Dion wasn’t here. So it fell to Frazie to step up, kneeling over the basin on bruised shins.

“How much longer?” Queepie lifted himself up to lean over the side of the basin. Frazie put a sud-soaked hand on his face to push him back before he fell in.

“It wouldn’t take so long if you let it get washed more often,” She grumbled, scrubbing at a stubborn snot stain. Ugh. When Dion got back, she’d have to tell him to clean Queepie’s cape more often—this was just disheartening. He could deal with the bruised shins and the grody blanket cape in Frazie’s stead.

Queepie crossed his arms. “It doesn’t need washed.” He insisted. “It’s fine.”

Frazie made a face. “It’s disgusting, is what it is.” She scrubbed at a particularly crusty spot, trying not to imagine what it could be.

Queepie gasped. “No it’s not! Take it back!”

Frazie stuck out her tongue.

“Take it back!” Queepie gripped the edge of the basin, lifting himself up to lean forwards once again, “Take it back take it back take it back—”

The water exploded. Queepie fell back onto the dirt.

Frazie blinked. Water continued to drip languidly from her hair, from her shawl, from every inch of her down onto the dirt.

Queepie looked up at her with wide eyes.

“AUGHH!” Frazie was done. She was so done. This wasn’t even her job—but Dion just had to go and disappear without even any sign that he was still alive, like some selfish jerk who didn’t care if it stressed out the family he left behind—

She stood up, her hands balled into fists. “Guess what? Your blanket’s done!” She kicked the side of the basin. She wasn’t doing any more of this. The water was frigid, anyway.

Queepie made a face. “It’s wet!” He complained.

“DRY IT YOURSELF!” Frazie turned on her heel, not lingering long enough to see if Queepie started crying. She didn’t care. She didn’t. She didn’t care that Dion was missing or that she was soaking wet or that Queepie was probably crying by the basin over a waterlogged blanket cape and a mean older sister. She didn’t have it in her to care.

Frazie shoved open the flap of her tent and fell onto the bedroll, not caring if she got it wet. She screamed into the pillow.

Her eyes stung. It was probably just the soap. Her face was warm. (The laundry water was cold.) Her throat tightened.

Still, Frazie was fine. Everything was fine. She wasn’t crying at all.

(She’d always been good at denial.)

+=+=+=+=+

Donatella shuffled out into the morning air, pulling her coat a little tighter over her shoulders. The November sunlight wasn’t enough to warm the air, especially not at this hour—there was barely any, actually, the horizon just beginning to tint red. Still, she was out here, her hair still in its braid from when she settled into bed the night before, squinting blearily at the mailbox they brought with them on their travels, all because she couldn’t sleep.

She opened the box. A letter from Lucrecia, an ad, a bill, another ad—

Her foot bumped against something on the ground. Donatella looked down.

Well. That was certainly different.

The package was a plain cardboard box, barely half a foot tall. “The Aquato Family Circus” was written across the tape in elegant blue marker.

Donatella didn’t recognize the handwriting, and couldn’t find a return address. She regarded the box suspiciously, unsure whether she should open it.

A breeze blew in. Donatella shivered.

“Oh, fine.” She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to open the package, but she wanted to bring it into camp even less. And she certainly wasn’t going to waste time mulling it over—not in this cold, and not when she hadn’t slept nearly enough.

For lack of a knife, Donatella pried the tape off with her fingers, scraping at the edge with her nails until she had enough to grab and pull. It came off with less resistance than she was expecting.

Donatella pushed the flaps aside. There was a note atop a layer of bubblewrap. She pulled it out.

What lovely embroidery!

That was it. Donatella turned the card over—nope, nothing else. Just those three words in elegant blue ink, the handwriting unfamiliar. Alright then.

Prying apart the bubblewrap, Donatella pulled out a blue vest, neatly folded. Her thumb brushed over familiar embroidery on the collar—

Donatella was wide awake now. She set the vest in her lap, pulling out green-and-white tights with patches on the knees, a red sash, brown shorts with swirls sewn onto the hems—

Donatella felt lightheaded. She needed to lie down—

She pushed aside the last layer of bubblewrap to find a pair of green boots. There was a scrap of blue fabric in one of them, and in the other—

Seven red hair ties. She rubbed one of them between her fingers—she could just barely feel the grease.

Donatella inhaled a stuttered breath. The cold air was like sandpaper down her throat—or was it the pounding of her chest that made her throat tighten so? She struggled to breathe in, to get any air when she was utterly surrounded by it—all she could see were the red hair ties in her hand, red red red filling her vision while the world spun.

When she managed to breathe again, her scream shook the trees.

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #red #insomnia #psychonauts #zaz writes #kidnapping tw #okay the lack of tw on this one is really weird to me #bc this is sslp #ig it's the aquato focus/lack of dee and carrie in this one #sit still look pretty au #augustus aquato #donatella aquato #queepie aquato #mirtala aquato #frazie aquato #this family is really going through it fr fr #even though this piece doesn't have any of the doll whump i'm gonna mark it as mature to be safe. bc sslp #frazie when augustus says he and dona are going on a walk: 🤨

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glass-dahlia · 2 years

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CSI:KFC (Part 2)

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~26.5k

Warnings: (Please see Part 1)

Masterlist | Part 1

You pace back and forth quietly in the kitchen. You snuck out of the bedroom without waking Ransom and Dodger.

“So… you switched the Morphine and the Toradol… so you gave him 100 milligrams of Morphine but didn’t have the antidote?” You repeat back to Marta.

“Yes. And Harlan came up with the whole plan to get me out of it then he… he-”

“I know, it’s ok. You did it for your family, I understand.”

“So you won’t tell?”

“Of course not, you’re my friend and it’s what Harlan wanted.” You organize the mail Ransom left scattered on the counter as you speak, arranging it into a neat pile to occupy your hands.

“I can’t thank you enough, Y/n, I owe you,” Marta says, clearly relieved.

“You don’t owe me anything, think of this as my thanks to you for all you did for Harlan.”

You hear Marta release a breath she had been holding. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, wrapping up your conversation that had lasted about an hour.

“Bye, Marta.” You hang up the phone and look at the time. Two a.m.

You head back up to your bedroom and lay back down, pulling the blanket up to your chin. You stare at the wall across from you with your back to Ransom, going over what happened to Marta in your head. As you’re lost in your thoughts, you feel two strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“Trouble sleeping?” Ransom asks, sounding tired.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you put your hands on top of his, crossing your arms over your stomach to do so. “I’m ok now.”

“Alright, night, Y/n,” he replies, voice gravelly slightly as he leans over and kisses your shoulder gently.

“Night Ransom…” you trail off as you feel sleep taking you over once more.

🔍🔪🔎

You stand next to your father as he whistles, waving to show Marta where to park. You walk inside the small ‘security’ shack with him, followed by Marta.

The guy in charge of security, Mr. Proofroc, greets you and shows you all inside.

“Fifty years ago, I worked this estate,” he states, putting a picture of the house on the fridge with a cherry shaped magnet. “You know, security back then was such that you had to make the rounds with a 94 and keep your ears open.” He chuckles as does Blanc. “Now you’ve got all this modern technology. That’s the video there,” he states, showing you all over to three old TVs as well as a VCR, “I saved the tape from that night. Normally, I erase ‘em with a magnetic degausser, but in this case, I thought I’d just save it, you know? For security. Now, uh, that’s a live feed there.” Mr. Proofroc points to one of the TVs and Marta seems to go slightly pale.

You decide to not mention it, knowing it must have something to do with when she pulled off the road to execute her and Harlan’s plan. You look over to see your father very focused on the task at hand, finding evidence.

“All right, well, can we see the actual tape?” Lieutenant Elliott requests, starting to get slightly impatient.

“Well, of course you can,” Proofroc says kindly and sincerely, “I recorded it SSLP. There’s eight hours in that tape. 9:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.” He hands the tape to Marta and she inserts it into the VCR. She presses play and a second screen turns on, displaying the recording. It’s exactly the quality of video you’d expect from a VCR player. The screen jumps around slightly, all glitchy-like.

“Looks like a Japanese horror movie, are we all gonna die in seven days?” Trooper Wagner comments, making you chuckle softly.

“You think we could scan forward on that?” Blanc leans down to ask Marta.

“How can we scan forward?” Marta asks Mr. Proofroc.

“Oh, yeah, just hold the play button down and press FF until you hear it grind.”

The VCR starts whirring as it scans forward. Everyone focuses on the TV.

“All right, should be coming up now to the time when the party ended,” Wagner states.

You glance down at Marta and subtly point to the eject button on the VCR. Just before it gets to the party’s end, the VHS tape ejects causing the screen to show static.

“What happened?” Marta asks, feigning confusion.

“Oh, you gotta keep holding it down or else it’ll eject. That thing eats tapes like popcorn,” Proofroc responds. You smirk slightly, proud of yourself for successfully helping Marta.

“You think your guys can digitize this so we could scan it properly?” you overhear your father asking Elliott and Wagner.

“Yeah, I think we can do that,” Wagner affirms.

You grab the tape and slip it into your coat pocket.

“Got it,” you nod to your father.

“Back to the house then,” he says, leading the way. Everyone follows him, you stay at the end and grab one of the fruit magnets on the fridge on your way out.

Proofroc says he erased the tapes with a magnetic degausser, hopefully this will work the same.

🔍🔪🔎

You all walk through the woods, leading up to the house. As you pass animal statues, Trooper Wagner decides it’s the perfect time to display his nerdy knowledge.

“You know, all these statues that you see around here? They’re all straight out of the series, The Menagerie Tragedy Triology. Pretty cool.”

“Awesome,” Lieutenant Elliott says, clearly not finding it very awesome.

“Yeah,” Wagner says, not comprehending Elliott’s unimpressed tone.

“Benny, it’s beautiful out here, but do you really think someone broke into the house and murdered Harlan? Is that why we’re out here?” Elliott just seems some with everything today, doesn’t he? And since when does anyone call your dad ‘Benny’?

“Oh, it is unlikely, but if they did, there will be traces,” Blanc answers.

You notice Trooper Wagner has fallen back and is walking next to you as Marta continues to lead the way. You glance at him, knowing he has something to say.

“Uh, I can hang onto that,” he says, pointing to the VHS tape you have in your hands.

“Sure,” you hand it over, carefully slipping the magnet into your pocket so no one will notice. You’re just praying that worked.

Blanc eventually starts humming as you keep walking.

“Hey, Wagner, you got any luck on… Uh, what’s-his-name?” Elliott inquires.

“Ransom?” Wagner guesses. Your head snaps up as you hear him mention Ransom, but you stay silent.

“Yeah.”

“No. Did get an address though. 10 Kenoak Street.”

Do they really not understand that you literally live with him? You glance at your father and he seems to be thinking the same thing. You both shrug it off and keep walking.

Your father repeats the street name as Marta stops ahead of you. You stop next to her and she gestures to the footprints she must have left when she came back that night. You nod for her to keep walking and she reluctantly does with you following close behind.

Wagner makes a comment about the leaves and mud messing up his boots, drawing your father’s attention to the fact that there’s mud.

“Did it rain the past week?” He asks aloud. He suddenly seems to realize that there could be evidence in the form of prints. “No, stay there!” he demands, “We got footprints here, so, uh… I wanna, um…”

Looking up, Blanc realizes you and Marta are farther ahead and trampling the potential evidence. “Marta! Y/n! Stop-“

“What?” You call back, turning around to him at the end of the path.

“Uh, just stay there you two,” he attempts to instruct you.

“What? I couldn’t hear you-”

“No, stay there- no, no, no!”

“Did you call me?” You ask once you get back to him. He sighs in defeat. Elliott and Wagner continue ahead, carefully avoiding the muddy path and staying on the leaves.

“Wagner, we’re gonna need to call the boys, have ‘em come down here, take a look at all these tracks. Get it taped off,” Elliott instructs, telling you all to stay on one side of the path.

Just then, Harlan’s dogs run through the muddy portion of the path and over to you and Marta. They excitedly wag their tails in greeting and bark happily. Marta pets one as the other sniffs you, smelling Dodger on your clothes. You smile and pet them affectionately.

“Best judge of character is a dog. I’ve found that to be true,” your father states.

The dogs run off towards the driveway as Linda and Richard get out of their car.

You check your phone for the time.

“I have to go, I took the Beemer so I need to go get Ransom. I’ll be back,” you wave to Marta and your father as you jog off, carefully avoiding the path this time.

🔍🔪🔎

You pull the Beemer into the driveway to see Ransom our front in his coat and scarf with Dodger in a matching white sweater, running around happily.

Once the car stops completely, Dodger bolts over, sniffing you once you step out.

He wags his tail, noticing the scent of other dogs.

“I betrayed you, I’m sorry,” you dramatically apologize, leaning down and kissing his head.

“No kiss for me?” Ransom chuckles jokingly.

“Geez, give a girl a minute, will ya?” you walk over to him and hug him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “You look ready to go already.”

“I am, I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” he states happily, still holding you in the hug.

“Wow, for once you’re not late. Shocker,” you tease, earning a laugh from him.

You take Dodger inside and put him in his cage before heading back out to the Beemer and hopping into the passenger seat as Ransom decided to drive.

You watch out the window as Ransom drives. The music stays on a low volume, not interrupting your thoughts on how to help Marta next. The only thing that does interrupt your thoughts is the light thud of one of Ransom’s feet on the floorboard as he bounces his leg.

“Nervous?” You ask, not quite knowing the cause for this odd behavior.

“No, nothing to be nervous for,” he answers complete truthfully and calmly.

“Right.”

🔍🔪🔎

Ransom parks in front of the house and you give his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance before you both get out of the car.

The dogs run over to Ransom once he steps out of the car and they start barking at him. You know they just smell Dodger’s scent and go into overprotective mode.

“No! No, no, no! Hey! Hey! Hey! Stop. Stop,” Ransom discourages the dogs, dodging as they jump up at him.

“Down,” you say firmly but kindly. The dogs stop and go over, sitting at either side of you. You smile and pet their heads.

“Why do they like you so much better?” Random pouts.

“Probably because I don’t smell like Dodger right now,” you gesture to his sweater. It has small holes and tears in it, caused by Dodger and him playing.

He smiles slightly as you walk over to him, wrapping his arm around your waist once you’re close enough for him to do so. He walks towards the house with you.

Lieutenant Elliott and Trooper Wagner walk out the front door, blocking your path.

“Hugh Drysdale?” Elliott inquires.

“Ransom. Call me Ransom, it’s my middle name,” he responds, taking off his sunglasses with the hand not holding you next to him, “only the help calls me Hugh.”

He keeps walking with you, right past Elliott and Wagner and into the house.

“Okay…” Elliot trails off, slightly baffled by Ransom’s behavior, “Uh, this is uh Trooper Wagner.” Ransom stops walking and lets go of your waist to turn around to them. “I’m Lieutenant Elliott. We just wanna ask a few questions.”

Ransom raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth like he’s about to respond.

Instead, he just sighs and turns back around, wrapping his arm around your waist once more and continuing inside. He takes you directly to the kitchen. Gotta get some snacks.

Elliott and Wagner turn and quickly follow.

“Excuse me? Sir? We’re officers of the law!” Wagner states.

“You gonna run me in? I don’t feel like talking,” Ransom calls from the kitchen, “I’m distraught.”

You pinch his arm, causing him to look at you in confusion.

“Try to be nice, will ya?” You whisper to him, not needing him to make a bad first impression with your father. He sighs and walks back out with you behind him.

“Hey, Benny, you wanna ask this guy some questions?” the Lieutenant offers.

Before Blanc can respond, Ransom interjects, “All right, what is this? What’s this arrangement?”

“Mr. Drysdale,” your father begins, Southern drawl as strong as always.

“CSI: KFC?” Ransom asks sarcastically.

He finds a way to condescendingly eat a cookie as he walks away. Elliott chuckles.

You sigh and walk beside Ransom, entering the sitting room where the rest of the family is waiting.

“Hey, Frannie, how about a glass of cold milk?” Ransom requests, more like orders, as he takes a seat.

You open your mouth to correct him, but Meg beats you to it.

“Hey, asshole. Not her name, not her job.”

“Hey, Meg. How’s the SJW degree coming?” Ransom asks. Jacob smirks slightly, not looking away from his phone. You sit on the arm of Ransom’s chair and smack the back of his head without anyone else noticing.

“Just behave, Ransom,” you mutter under your breath tensely.

“Trust fund prick,” Meg spits back at him.

“All right, guys,” Joni sighs, having enough of the bickering.

“Hey, everyone,” Alan Stevens greets. He’s the executor of Harlan’s will. “I’m just gonna be in the other room, setting up. Be ready in 10 minutes.” He leaves as quickly as he entered.

Ransom holds up a cookie to you as a peace offering and you sigh and take it from him, knowing he doesn’t really mean any harm to anyone. It’s just pointless bickering. That’s what this family is built on.

Walt speaks up, “Funny, Ransom, you skipped the funeral, but you’re early for the will reading.”

Everyone looks over to Ransom and he smirks his playboy smirk that won you over back in high school. It still gets you every time.

“Okay, people grieve in different ways. Let’s not...” Joni tries to defend Ransom.

“Yeah, he was sick-“ you attempt to add before getting cut off by Walt.

“You know what? It’s funny you’re here at all. Why are you even bothering? That’s what I’m asking myself.”

The smirk hasn’t left Ransom’s face.

“What’s the supposed to mean?” Richard asks, getting defensive of his son.

“He knows what it’s supposed to mean,” Walt states simply, looking at Ransom.

“Wait… Walt, what?” Linda questions. Everyone looks over at Walt for a response. You just roll your eyes and steal another cookie from Ransom, already about 3000% done with their bullshit for the day. Ransom takes your hand in his and kisses the back of it, making you blush.

“Jacob was in that bathroom the night of the party,” Walt states, pointing in the direction of a bathroom. Jacob visibly tenses and gets uncomfortable.

Joni chuckles, “Oh, that’s where you were all night?”

“What the hell were you doing in the bathroom all night?” Richard asks.

“Nothing,” Jacob says quickly and defensively.

“Swatting Syrian refugees?” Meg offers sarcastically.

“No, I was not,” Jacob says, getting more defensive and uncomfortable by the second.

“Alt-right troll,” Meg snarks.

“Liberal snowflake,” he mutters in response.

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Walt says, shaking his head in confusion.

“It means your son’s a little creep,” Richard tells him.

“Oh!” Walt says like something just clicked, “My son’s a creep?”

“Hey!” You yip at him. No one insults Ransom in front of you.

“Guys! Just…” Joni regains the room’s focus, “Walt, he was in the bathroom.”

“Yeah, he was in the bathroom,” Walt confirms.

“Joylessly masturbating to pictures of dead deer,” Richard inputs sassily.

You notice Ransom cringe at that, a faint smirk still tugging at his (way too perfect) lips. Linda sighs, just wanting to know what Walt was talking about.

“You know what, Richard?” Walt hits his cane against the ground next to the couch, “You wanna go?”

“You bet, skippy, let’s go,” Richard makes a move over to Walt.

“You wanna go? Come on!”

Meg chuckles and you mutter under your breath to Ransom, “I’d pay good money to see this if they went through with it.”

Ransom chuckles and leans his head against your side. You drape your arm over the back of the chair and absentmindedly play with his hair.

Walt and Richard just get into a petty sissy fight while everyone shouts at them, trying to break them apart. Donna tried to pull Walt away, though he insists he can handle himself.

“Oh, my God,” you hear Joni mutter not so subtly.

Ransom chuckles, “We gotta do this more often.”

He eats another one of his cookies as you continue to mess with his surprisingly yet not so surprisingly soft hair.

“Hey!” Linda shouts, stopping the ruckus, “Jacob. We know where this is going. You were in the bathroom next to Harlan’s office, where he had the fight with Ransom. Now, you heard something. Spill it.”

“I just heard two things. ‘My will’ and then there was more yelling,” he recalls, a smirk slowly forming, “And then I heard Ransom say, ‘I’m warning you’.”

Walt raises his arms in victory. Linda turns to you and Ransom. Ransom just eats another cookie, watching Jacob, his face unreadable but mildly entertained.

“Ransom… What’s that mean?” Linda asks gently.

“I think it means our father finally came to his senses and cut this little brat out of his will,” Walt declares, getting into Ransom’s face. You lean away slightly, no longer playing with Ransom’s hair to his and your disappointment. “So I guess you’re gonna have to sell the Beemer,” Ransom makes a face of serious concentration, pretending to care about what Walt says, “and give your notice at the country club, and kick whatever fashion drug you’re on.” Ransom raises his eyebrows and cocks his head slightly as if Walt is making a good point. “Because if you think that after all the bridges you’ve burned, after all the shit you said, after everything you put this family through for the last 10 years, that any of us are gonna support you, that any of us are gonna give you, like Dad liked to say, ‘a single red dime’, you’re nuts!” he ends up yelling in Ransom’s face at the end.

Ransom inhaled sharply and rolls his eyes slightly, sarcastically mouthing a ‘wow’. He smiles slightly up at you.

“Son…” Richard starts.

“Father.” Ransom furrows his eyebrows, turning his head towards Richard sassily.

Richard sighs, “Did Harlan tell you he was gonna cut you out of the will?”

Ransom throws his hands up slightly, letting them land back into his lap with a light smack. His smirk returns.

“Yep,” he dismisses, popping the ‘p’.

Walt throws his arms up again, dismissing the topic and popping his lips like Ransom did as if it’s proving his own point.

“Well, then he’s done what none of us were strong enough to do. Maybe this might finally make you grow up.”

Ransom narrows his eyes slightly before looking down at his lap and sighing.

“This might be the best thing that could ever happen to you,” Linda says firmly.

“Thank you. My mother, ladies and gentlemen,” Ransom says bitterly, gesturing towards Linda.

“Look, this is not gonna be easy for you,” Ransom tilts his head, giving Joni the ‘you can't be serious’ look, “but it’ll be good. Nothing good is ever easy.”

“Up your ass, Joni. You’ve had your teeth in this family’s tit for a long time-” Ransom begins, voice firm.

“‘Up your ass’? Oh, very nice,” Meg mocks.

“Matter of fact, eat shit. How’s that?”

“Oh, my God, Ransom,” Joni chimes in.

“Please do not use that word in front of my son!” Donna gasps.

“Eat shit. Eat shit. Eat shit.”

“You entitled prick!” Richard booms.

“I would slap that smug smile right off of your goddamn face!”

“Definitely eat shit. Eat shit. You can all eat shit.”

Everyone continues bickering, you sigh, getting up and heading out to the back porch.

You find Blanc and Marta already there. Fran walks past you all in a rush.

“Asshole,” she points back to the house.

“‘I’m warning you’” your father repeats, tossing a baseball in his hand. “Ransom said, ‘I’m warning you’.”

“Well, you heard Ransom in there. That’s the kind of thing he says,” Marta volunteered.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s sweet, really” you say, defending your fiancé.

Blanc tosses the baseball for one of the dogs and it runs off, leaving a piece of painted wood behind.

“What do we have here?” he asks, bending down and picking it up.

Marta looks nervous.

“This looks like a relatively fresh break,” your father states, walking off of the porch. You and Marta follow him. “Yep. Right there… wait a minute. Well, that doesn’t make sense. Where’s that window?”

You follow his line of eye sight, spotting the same window.

🔍🔪🔎

“How about some more cookies, Hugh?! You want some more cookies?!” Walt shouts in Ransom’s face, shoving the bag in Ransom’s face as well.

“That’s great. That’s great,” Ransom replies, unamused, “and it’s not like it’s the end of the world, Y/n has her books, we’re not broke.”

You smirk slightly, hearing that as you run past the room with your father and Marta.

Wagner and Elliott are both fixated on the scene in front of them. They force their attention away, deciding to follow your three instead.

🔍🔪🔎

Marta shows you all to a hallway upstairs.

“Show me. But stay off the carpet,” Blanc instructs Marta.

Marta presses herself against the wall, slowly moving to the end of the hallway.

She grabs hold of the paneling and carefully opens it without touching the carpet, revealing the window.

“It’s the trick window from A Kill For All Seasons,” Wagner says, nerding out once again.

“Trooper, here, will you take this?” your father requests, holding the piece of wood out to Wagner. Blanc gets down onto the ground and takes out a pocket magnifying glass, looking closely at the carpet.

“Hmm… traces of dried mud. I suspect they go the length of the hallway,” Blanc narrates aloud.

“Footprints?” Marta asks, hiding her nerves.

“No, just traces.”

“Yeah, depending on when this thing was last cleaned, this could have been at any time, right?” Elliot speculates.

“No, that would not explain this,” you reply, pointing to a bit of mud left on the windowsill. You bite your lip slightly, realizing that might help them find more evidence against Marta, but they would’ve found it either way. The sleigh in you couldn’t help it.

“Analyze that mud,” your father instructs, “it will match these traces. And you will find similar samples leading up the trellis on the outside of the house. On the night of the party, somebody who did not want to be heard climbing up those steps, went to a great deal of trouble to break into Harlan Thrombey’s rooms.”

“The game is afoot,” you mutter to yourself.

You all walk into the room where the will is to be read. The library. Same place you were all questioned in. Ransom sits in the back, away from everyone since he has been written out of the will. You walk over to the chair next to him, ready to sit.

Ransom hums in disapproval, causing you to tilt your head slightly in confusion.

He smirks slightly and you catch on. You go over to his chair instead and sit on the arm of the chair like you did earlier in the sitting room.

“Better?” You ask, smiling slightly but trying to hide it.

“Almost,” Ransom wraps an arm around your waist and tugs slightly, pulling you onto his lap instead. He rests his chin on your shoulder, watching boredly as the will reading commences.

“Well, thank you all for getting together like this,” Alan begins, “it isn’t legally necessary, but I thought since you’re all in town and some of you are leaving soon-”

“Excuse me,” your father interrupts him quickly, gaining everyone’s attention. “Uh, I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to gently request that you all stay in town until the investigation is completed.”

Joni looks at him as if she’s been offended in some way.

“Yeah, well, he’s gently requesting, but I’m gonna have to make that an order. No one move until we figure this all out,” Lieutenant Elliot declares.

“What?” Linda asks, slightly shocked.

“Can we ask why? Has something changed?” Joni questions.

“No-,” Blanc states firmly, opening his mouth to continue.

“No, it hasn’t changed? Or no, we can’t ask?” she specifies.

“Mr. Stevens,” Blanc addresses him, ignoring Joni, “you may continue.”

“Right. Well,” Alan picks up where he left off. Everyone looks at each other in shock. Ransom doesn’t seem to care. He just starts playing with the chess board next to the chair, trying to occupy himself.

“The other reason I thought this gathering would be, uh, beneficial is because Harlan altered his will a week before he died,” Linda and Richard turn to look at Ransom as Alan says that. You look up at a bookcase to avoid eye contact. Ransom gets bored of the chess pieces and starts playing with your hair instead. Alan continues, “He sealed it. He asked me not to submit it to the courts for probate until after his death. So, if anyone is confused about anything, we’re all together, we can talk. Although, I don’t imagine any of it is going to be that complicated.”

You look back at everyone in the room. They all seem to be getting antsy. They know what they want and they all expect it.

Oh, what you wouldn’t give to see their smugness stripped away. To see them realize that they’re not entitled to anything because of their ‘birth rights’ or whatever shit they’d claim it is.

“Uh, Harlan’s assets included…” Alan trails off, looking over the sheets. His assistant points to something on the sheet.

“The house,” she states.

“The house,” he repeats, “which he owned outright.”

Linda reaches over and grabs Richard’s hand, giving it a squeeze. You know she’s always wanted this house. Makes sense though, it is a lovely house. It’s like living on a Clue board.

“60 million.”

“Yes. 60 million in various cash amounts and investments.”

Joni nods. That’s her goal, of course. Without Harlan’s financial support, you don’t know what she’s gonna do. Some small part of you wants her to get at least some of it. At least for Meg. She’s intelligent, witty, and a hard worker. She deserves to go to a nice school for a solid education, you don’t want her to lose that because her mom can’t afford it.

“And of course, the real asset, sole ownership of Blood Like Wine. His publishing company,” Alan adds.

Walt and Donna hold hands. You’re praying deep, deep down that Harlan changed something, anything. Anything to prevent Walt from taking over the publishing company. If Walt takes over, there’s next to no chance that he’ll keep publishing your works. Harlan always kept him in check, but without that, he’ll burn your bridges faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

You shake your head slightly, your father’s countryisms are getting to you.

Ransom chuckles lightly at your odd behavior and just continues to mess with your hair, twirling a small strand through his fingers.

“He also wrote up a statement when he was making the changes and he wanted that read first.” Alan grabs another piece of paper and reads aloud, “‘Dearest

Linda, Walter, and Joni… Some of you may be surprised by the choice I’ve made here. No pleasure was taken in the exclusion. And it’s purpose was not to sow greater discord in the family, quite the opposite. Please accept it with grace and without bitterness, but do accept it, it’s for the best. Dad.’”

Alan’s assistant hands him an envelope. He carefully opens it with a letter opener. You feel Ransom shift his position slightly as he leans forward, suddenly very interested in what’s happening. He gives you a quick peck on the cheek before Alan reads the will.

“Umm… wow. Well, yeah, not too complex at all. This will be quick,” Alan states, looking at the single, one-sided piece of paper. Linda chuckles. “‘I, Harlan Thrombey, being of sound mind and body’ and yada-yada-yada… ‘I hereby direct that all my assets, both liquid and otherwise, I leave in their entirety to Marta Cabrera’” Alan looks up, and everyone turns to look at Marta.

“‘My entire ownership of Blood Like Wine publishing, I leave in its entirety to Marta Cabrera, the copyright of its catalogue likewise I leave in its entirety to Marta Cabrera.’”

Ransom smirks as those words seem to sink in for everyone. He lets go of your hair as you get up, already sensing another argument.

Everyone starts to stand up.

“Uh… no,” Walt states firmly, clearly shocked. “That’s not… no, that can’t be.”

“No,” Linda agrees firmly.

“Can I see that Alan, please?” Alan hands the will to Walt so he can see for himself. You slowly walk over, unable to stop a sly smile that creeps across your lips.

“This can’t be legal!” Linda argues.

“It’s right…” Walt confirms in shock.

You can hear Ransom start to chuckle. Everyone starts to argue that there has to be a mistake and that it’s unfair, causing Ransom to crack up even more. He smacks his thigh as he starts to break down laughing, getting up and leaving the room, still laughing joyously.

You watch him leave and slowly walk over to Marta. She looks panicked. Must be a lot for her to take in. You hug her, still overhearing the family arguing. Now they’re blaming it on his medications.

“Alan, you can take this piece of paper and shove it right up your ass, and get out!” Linda shouts aggressively. “And, you cops, too, out. Out! Right now.”

“Linda,” Richard tries to calm her down.

Trooper Wagner turns to leave, but Trooper Elliott stops him and they stay put.

“No, Richard, we need to talk. We need to fight this thing. We’re not going anywhere.” Linda notices Elliott and Wagner haven’t left, “I said get out! We are the Thrombeys God damn it! This is still our house!”

She freezes and everyone slowly turns back to Alan. His assistant points to the paper for him to answer the unspoken question.

“Oh, sorry. ‘Likewise the house at 2 Deerborn Drive and all belongings therein, I leave to Marta Cabrera.’”

“Oh no…” Marta breathes out. You pat her shoulder, not sure of what else to do.

“Oh, you little bitch! You little bitch!” Linda berates her. Richard tried to stop her, but fails completely. “Did you know about this?! Were you in on this from the beginning?”

Your father moves protectively in front of you and Marta to block you from the family. Everyone tried to calm Linda down but it seems to enhance her outrage.

“No, no, no!” she snaps, “I just wanna know. What were you… what were you doing? Were you boinking my father?!”

“’Boinking’?” Meg laughs aloud and you chuckle slightly.

Everyone restarts their shouting.

“I think everybody just needs to cool their jets,” your father suggests, trying to diffuse the situation, but of course failing.

“You had sex with my grandpa, you dirty anchor baby!” Jacob shouts viciously. You scrunch your nose at the rude name. That boy needs some help.

“Now hold your horses!” Your father turns to you and Marta, speaking to Marta,

“And in the meantime, I’d maybe run.”

Marta starts walking down the hallway, but Walt notices and calls out to her for her to wait.

Blanc tries to block the doorway to buy Marta some time. You stand with him to help, but you can’t do much and they get past you after a moment. Everyone runs to follow Marta, all throwing questions and comments at her simultaneously. She tried to stay calm through her tears, not understanding what’s happening and needing time to think. Jacob live-streams the whole thing.

You watch from the porch with your father as she climbs into her car, attempting to start it. She rests her forehead against the steering wheel in defeat when her efforts become futile.

Just then you hear the familiar engine rev of yours and Ransom’s Beemer. He honks and waves to her, telling her to hop in the car with him. After a second of hesitation, she quickly runs into the car and shuts the door as Ransom turns the car around, lowering his window.

“I think this could be the best thing to happen to all of you!” He shouts mockingly before driving off.

“Ransom!” You shout after him to no avail. He’s too far away to hear you and the engine is too loud.

“What does he mean by that?” Richard asks as Joni shrugs in defeat, walking back inside with Meg.

“Richard, why didn’t you stop her?” Linda questions in annoyance.

“What am I supposed to do? Grab the bumper with my teeth?”

Your father watches the car drive off thoughtfully. You sigh, “There goes my ride.”

“He’s certainly something, Y/n,” your father comments. By his tone you can tell he clearly doesn’t think highly of Ransom.

“First impressions are always the worst, right?” you smile slightly nervously.

Your father returns a slight smile and chuckles.

“That’s the man I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with… and he just left me here without a ride…” you purse your lips.

The only people left outside are you and your father.

“We all have struggles,” Blanc reassures you.

“We do… Do you miss her? Do you… ya know… still think about her?”

“Every day. You look a lot like her.”

You smile and look down at your feet, proud to share a resemblance with your mother.

“Go get him.” Your father pats your shoulder.

“He took our car, I can’t really…” you trail off, noticing that Marta left her keys in her unlocked car. You give your father a quick hug before jogging over to the car and hopping in, turning the engine on after a few tries.

You think of all the places they could have gone. Not Marta’s place, Ransom doesn’t know the address. Not your house, Ransom’s family knows the address. Probably somewhere public. It dawns on you. You shift the car into drive and head off in the direction of your favorite restaurant that Ransom and you always go to.

Blanc watches you drive off as he shoves his hands into his coat pockets. He sighs, feeling internally conflicted.

On one hand, you’re clearly very happy with Ransom. You love him and he very clearly is head over heels for you.

On the other hand, something in the back of his mind keeps itching to look into his suspicions of Ransom.

🔍🔪🔎

You park next to the Beemer once you get to the restaurant.

Walking in, you spot Ransom and Marta in a booth in the back corner. You head over towards them, luckily avoiding any social interactions with staff along the way. Socializing is definitely not your forte.

“Y/n?”

Ransom looks up from his hands folded on the table when Marta speaks.

“Hey.”

You sit next to Ransom. After a moment he instinctively wraps his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. You toss the keys to Marta’s car on the table, letting them slide over to her. She takes them, putting them in her jacket pocket.

“How’re you doing, Marta?” you tilt your head slightly as you ask her, keeping your voice gentle.

“It’s a lot. I don’t know what to think, honestly.”

“That’s ok, you can have all the time you need, don’t listen to any of them. You’re the one in charge now,” you smile slightly. Ransom talks to the waitress as you focus on Marta. Marta nods, looking down. Her face is slightly pale.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out. Have you eaten anything today?” Ransom asks her. She doesn’t respond. “Eat.”

He pushes a plate of food towards her, wrapping his arm around your shoulders once more.

Marta sighs before grabbing a fork.

“This is a nightmare,” she states, eating a forkful of food.

“Mhmm,” Ransom hums in agreement, nodding slightly. “So why?”

Marta shakes her head slightly, looking at her food, “Why?”

“Why?” Ransom repeats as you lean into him more.

Marta takes another forkful of food and glares slightly at Ransom.

“Hey. This is everything.” Marta nods slightly and you look up at Ransom as he speaks. “There’s gotta be a bigger reason why, and you know it.”

“Well, how about it had to do more with you guys than with me?”

Ransom stays quiet, watching Marta for a second as he lets that sink in before replying.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

The waitress comes over, placing an empty bowl on the table. Ransom glances over and notices you doing the same. He pulls you closer to himself to distract you from trying to figure out his plan.

“Did he tell you anything?” Marta inquires.

“Only that I wasn’t getting a cent.”

“That’s because he wanted you to build something from the ground up,” you state.

“Like your mom,” Marta adds in.

“‘To build something from the ground up’. Yeah, my mother built her business from the ground up with a million-dollar loan from my grandfather. My father owns none of it. She made him sign a prenup.”

Marta slowly continues eating. You place your hand on top of Ransom’s to keep him calm.

“He lives in fear. And I know that’s what my grandfather was trying to protect me from by doing this and I know I shouldn’t say this out loud, but when he told me, I…” he shakes his head slightly and purses his lips, “Jesus. I coulda killed him.”

Marta looks down and you gently run your thumb over the back of his hand in reassurance.

“After I left the party though, I was driving. Nowhere, just in the night, and I had this, um… clarity. Like, from here on out, I was gonna have to fend for myself. And that felt… good.”

Marta nods slightly.

“The old bastard,” Ransom mutters.

Marta sighs.

“Marta, I know three things,” Ransom begins. You hold back from making a sassy comment and teasing him.

“One, I know he didn’t commit suicide.”

You look over to Marta and notice her trying to hide how nervous she is.

“What makes you think that?” she asks calmly.

“I don’t think it. I know it. Because I knew my granddad. Maybe you, Y/n, and I were the only three who knew him so you’re not gonna bullshit me on this because two… I know lying makes you puke. ‘Cause of that mafia game last Fourth of July.”

You shudder slightly at the memory. Ransom clicks his tongue and gently kisses your temple.

“And three, I know you just ate a full plate of baked beans and sausage,” Ransom finishes, his Boston accent coming on strong when he says ‘sausage’.

Marta looks down at her mostly empty plate, looking calm but really pissed off at Ransom. You glance at the empty bowl that’s been sitting at the table and realize Ransom’s plan. He’s actually pretty smart. You have to give him that.

“So,” Ransom moves Marta’s plate of food away and the empty bowl towards her, “look me in the eye and tell me what happened to my grandfather.”

Marta shakes her head slightly in disbelief, “You asshole,” she whispers.

You glance between them, not sure who to side with. On one hand, what Ransom has forced Marta into is pretty cruel and unfair to her. You know her story and don’t want her to get in trouble for a little mix up.

On the other hand, you’re engaged to Ransom and should probably side with him on basically everything. Though, what fun would that be?

“Marta, tell me everything.”

Marta sighs and hides her face in her hands. You reach over and gently rub her arm.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m not going to let him do anything stupid, I promise,” you reassure her.

“When have I ever done anything stupid?” Ransom asks, slightly offended.

“How many examples do you want? I keep a list. Alphabetical order,” you pull out your phone, going into your notes to let the countless pages of your list load.

🔍🔪🔎

“Alan, there have got to be options here,” Walt insists.

“No. I don’t know how many times I can repeat the same two pieces of information. If Harlan was of sound mind when he made the changes, and we all confirmed that he was-” Alan tries to justify.

“Would a sound mind do this?” Richard asks, voice raised. “How… sound how?”

“The very action speaks to unsoundness,” Linda declares as if she’s won the argument.

“Not legally. No. You not liking what he did does not speak to testamentary capacity,” Alan retorts calmly.

“What about undue influence?” Jacob asks, looking up from his phone.

“Yeah! Undue influence, how about that, huh?” Walt asks excitedly.

“Did you just google that?” Alan asks doubtfully.

“Look, if Marta was manipulating Dad somehow and if we found out that somehow she was...” Walt trails off.

“If somehow, she had gotten her hooks into him…” Linda adds as Walt speaks, both of them approaching Alan before they’re interrupted by him.

“You need a strong case for that. ‘Your Honor, she endeared herself to him through hard work and good humor.’ That won’t cut the salami.”

“What about the slayer rule?” Joni questions, holding her phone. “I did just google that.”

“The slayer rule obviously doesn’t apply here,” Alan states.

“Well, what the hell is the slayer rule?” Richard asks Joni.

“Well, it’s if someone is convicted of killing the person, they don’t get their inheritance,” Joni replies.

“Not even convicted. Even if they’re held responsible for their death in civil court,” Alan clarifies.

“Like O.J.?” Walt questions.

“Yes, like O.J.” Alan answers. “But Harlan committed suicide.”

The same thought seems to dawn on everyone as they slowly turn to the man in the arm chair beside the crackling fireplace behind them all.

“Detective Blank? You said the investigation is ongoing. You made a point of that. Do you suspect foul play?” Joni inquires.

“Mr. Blanc, if you please,” the detective corrects her pronunciation. “There is much that remains unclear, but yes, I suspect foul play.”

Joni inhales deeply.

“Marta?” Richard asks quickly.

“I have eliminated no suspects.”

Richard sighs. “You’re full of shit. I don’t trust this guy in the tweed suit. And, Alan, God bless you, you’re useless.”

“Thank you.” Alan gets up from his spot on the couch, relieved to finally be able to leave.

“There’s only one answer to this. She has to renounce the inheritance,” Richard says.

“She knows it’s what she should do. It’s the right thing to do,” Walt reasons.

“That’s exactly what she should do,” Linda agrees.

“It’s the moral thing,” Richard adds as Meg walks away slightly.

“Mom,” Meg waits for Joni to walk over to her before continuing, “If Granddad wanted to give Marta everything, then that’s what he wanted.”

“No,” Joni shakes her head, “This wasn’t him. He loved us. He wanted us taken care of. He wanted you to have an education.”

Meg furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head slightly in disbelief at her mother’s behavior.

“Meg, you think I can pay for your school?” Joni scoffs slightly, her voice shaking as she walks back to the family. Meh watches in disbelief, letting it all sink in.

🔍🔪🔎

You look down at the table. There’s four empty beer bottles, a few empty plates and Ransom is already having another drink. You’re definitely driving home. Marta had told you both everything, though none of it was news to you anymore.

“Huh…” Ransom chuckles softly.

“I know. Just saying it, it sounds insane, but it’s all true. And I think Blanc’s been on to me from the start,” Marta looks at you as she says that, causing Ransom to give a look of confusion. He looks down at you, wondering why that would relate to you.

You avoid eye contact, not wanting to lie directly to Ransom anymore. “He probably has, I just don’t know why he hasn’t said anything. Maybe he’s just waiting until he has enough evidence.”

“I don’t care if I go to jail, but my mom, my sister? We…” she looks over at Ransom. He is staring down at the table, absentmindedly chewing at the small black straw from his drink as he thinks. “You gonna say something?”

“I always thought I was the only one that could beat him at Go.” Marta looks at Ransom in confusion. “Always thought that meant something.”

“Um, yeah, I know you did,” Marta replies, looking down at the table, not sure what to really say.

“That night at the party, my last conversation with him… my last argument, that’s what he told me about you. That you beat him at Go more than I do, and I thought… what a strange thing to tell me. Think I get it now. Maybe it did mean something.”

Marta stares at Ransom in disbelief as he clears his throat.

“I’m not gonna tell my family shit,” Ransom states, looking at Marta. “You’re not gonna go to jail. That detective is not gonna catch you. And you’re not gonna give up the money.”

You stay silent and look down at your hands in your lap. The thing is, you know “that detective”, he raised you. You know how he thinks and works. He sure as hell is going to catch Marta and figure out what happened. That’s why he was brought in.

“This is what Granddad wanted for you,” Ransom continues, “I mean, think about what he did to go through with this. He wanted this for himself, he wanted this for the family. And he wanted it for you. You’ve come this far. Let me- let us help you go all the way.” Ransom gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you smile slightly at him, nodding slightly to Marta. You want to help her and if anyone can outsmart Benoit Blanc, it sure as hell would be his daughter.

“What’s going on? This isn’t you. You could just turn me in right now and still get your cut of the inheritance. Why?” Marta sees straight through Ransom.

“Because fuck my family.”

You nod slightly. He does make a good point.

“We can help you get away with this, right?” Ransom looks at you as he speaks and you nod. “Right. And then, you’re gonna give me my cut of the inheritance.”

Marta chuckles lightly in disbelief.

“Happy ending. Everybody wins. You, me, Y/n, Harlan,” Ransom states.

“Yeah,” Marta sighs.

“Deal?”

Before she can answer, Marta’s phone buzzes and she picks up. You can tell she’s talking to Meg but you decide to not eavesdrop so you turn to Ransom.

“You really are an asshole sometimes, you know that?”

“Hey, you’re the one that said yes to my proposal~” he teases you with a smirk.

You blush lightly, “That I did. I’ll drive us home, you’re definitely over the limit.”

“Whatever you say, my love,” he kisses your forehead and hands you the keys.

You lean against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It sounds faster than normal. You look up at him, but before you can ask him anything, Marta clearly gets hung up on mid-sentence.

“Okay then,” Ransom mutters. “Did Blanc find anything suspicious at the house?”

Marta sighs, hiding her face in her hands again, “Yes, he found mud upstairs. Where I broke in through the window.”

“Shit,” Ransom mutters, barely audible. “Identifiable prints?”

Marta shakes her head, “No.”

“Good. Okay. Good. Hey, you lay low for a couple days, wait for this investigation to blow over, and it will. ‘Cause no matter how good this Blanc guy thinks he is, he’s got nothin’.”

Marta doesn’t respond. She just looks away from you both nervously.

“Hey, relax,” you offer Marta a soft smile and she nods slightly. “It’ll be ok. We’ll see you around, we have to get home.”

Marta nods again and you wave before walking out to the Beemer, leaving Ransom to follow behind.

You get in the car quickly and put the key in the ignition with a very shaky hand.

“Woah, hey, Y/n. Are you sure you’re ok to drive?” Ransom gently grabs your shaking hand in both of his hands. He looks at you softly and you can see the worry in his eyes.

“Even if he has nothing, he’ll find something,” you state simply.

“Darling, what are you talking about?”

“You said that Blanc has nothing, well even if that’s true, which I doubt, he will have something eventually. That’s kind of his whole thing. Solving the unsolvable.”

“Y/n, he��s just another detective, this whole thing will blow over and we’ll all be fine.”

“No, Ransom, he’s not. You don’t know him like I do,” you reluctantly pull your hand away from Ransom, shifting the car into drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

“I don’t think getting questioned by him means you suddenly know him,” Ransom chuckles lightly but falls quiet when you don’t laugh. “Y/n?”

You stop at a red light and take a deep breath.

“Ransom, he’s my father.”

The silence in the car remained for the rest of the drive home. Ransom kept opening his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

You pull into the driveway, parking the Beemer in its usual spot. Neither you nor Ransom move from your seats in the car.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I didn’t think it would ever matter. I definitely didn’t expect anything like this to happen,” you don’t look at Ransom as you speak.

He simply nods and gets out of the car, walking into the house, stumbling slightly on the steps. You sigh and follow him at a bit of a distance to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. He must’ve had too much to drink. Somehow.

You find him in the kitchen, chugging a glass of water. Only to refill the glass and repeat the process.

“Ransom, please just say something,” you beg quietly, but loud enough for him to hear.

“I have a headache,” he states, focusing his attention on the fourth glass of water in less than 5 minutes.

You gently grab his hand, taking the glass of water away from him.

“You know that’s not what I meant. And cool it with the water. You’re gonna get hyponatremia if you keep it up at this pace.”

“I’m thirsty,” he tries to take the glass back, but you keep it out of his reach.

“Then you’re probably dehydrated. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

“No,” he puffs his cheeks slightly and walks off to the stairs.

“Ransom, where are you going?” you put the glass down, following after him. Dodger notices and immediately jumps up from his bed and follows you both.

“To bed. I’m tired.”

“Please just talk to me…”

He sighs and stops walking, allowing you to catch up and move in front of him so he’s facing you.

“We can talk in the morning,” he states, gripping the railing tightly. His knuckles turn slightly white in an effort to keep himself upright.

“Are you ok…?” you ask, slightly nervously. You’ve seen him drunk and it’s never been like this.

“Mhmm,” he replied simply, stumbling past you and into your bedroom.

The door doesn’t shut completely behind him. You stand on the stairs, trying to keep yourself from crying. Dodger tilts his head and wags his tail slightly in an effort to cheer you up. You smile slightly at how adorable he looks.

That smile disappears in seconds as you hear a thud from the bedroom.

“Ransom?”

You get no response.

You rush up the rest of the stairs, opening your bedroom door to see Ransom passed out on the ground.

“Jesus, Ransom. How fucking drunk are you?” you mutter as you manage to hoist him onto the bed. Luckily he wasn’t far from the bed.

🔍🔪🔎

You wake up alone in the bed and decide to go downstairs to look for Ransom.

You find him lying on the couch, wrapped in one of your cashmere blankets as he watches Netflix.

“Feeling better?” you ask as you walk over, sitting next to his pillow.

“Just tired,” he nods slightly.

“How drunk were you last night?”

“Not very,” he says simply.

“You seemed hella tipsy though.”

“My problem wasn’t with being drunk.”

You decide not to question him anymore, he doesn’t seem thrilled about the subject.

“Anyways, about yesterday…” you trail off, hoping he’ll catch on. He sighs.

“I’m not going to hold that against you, Y/n. I’m sure you had your reasons to not want to tell me that you’re the daughter of a famous detective. I might not know those reasons, but I don’t have to. It’s your right to choose what you tell me and I will always respect your decisions. I trust you. We all have our own secrets.”

“Even you?”

He hesitates slightly, “I suppose so, yeah.”

“Like what? You know mine, do I get to know yours?”

He looks up at you from his position of lying next to you on the couch. You absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair as he watches you, weighing his options.

“Not now, maybe later,” he smiles gently up at you.

“No rush, we have the rest of our lives. Until death do us part,” you lean down and kiss his forehead.

“Until death do us part,” Ransom repeats, “I always thought that was such a weird thing to have to say.”

You nod in agreement.

He sits up, pulling you into his lap and wrapping the blanket around both of you.

You blush and smile happily as you snuggle into him, both of you watching Netflix.

🔍🔪🔎

Eventually you find a good pause point in your binge-watching and you make two cups of (coffee/tea/hot drink of your preference). One for you, one for Ransom.

Just as you’re about to sit down, the doorbell rings, setting off Dodger. He runs to the door barking nonstop. You sigh and hand Ransom both of the cups before going to answer the door.

Marta is there, looking panicked. Dodger immediately perks up and sniffs her, excited to see another person.

“Hey, you ok? Come in,” you lead Marta inside.

“I got this,” she says, holding out an envelope. Her voice and hand shakes. You take the envelope and sit next to Ransom as you open it. He takes it from you and studies the slip of paper.

“I don’t know… what’s this?” he points to something at the bottom of the paper.

He rests his chin against his hand, covered by the sleeve of his sweater.

“It’s my medical bag tag. They have my medical bag for some reason,” Marta replies.

“Okay, but this is a photocopy of just the header of a blood toxicology report on Harlan,” Ransom clarifies. “Marta, this is going to show the morphine overdose.”

Marta just shrugs frantically as her breathing gets heavier.

“So I’m screwed?” she reasons.

“Hey, it’ll be ok,” you try to reassure her.

“How do you know all this stuff?” she asks Ransom.

“I was Harlan’s research assistant for a summer when Y/n was studying abroad. But what kind of blackmail scheme is this? I mean, the actual evidence is sitting up the street in the crime lab. There’s no demands, there’s no meeting place,”

Ransom shakes his head. “What’s the point in sending you this?”

Marta shrugs.

“Maybe we should go to the medical examiner’s office? They could’ve just intended to meet there?” you offer, pointing out the logo on the toxicology report.

“We could try,” Marta agrees.

“We’ll have to take your car, the Beemer only has two seats,” you add.

And off you go.

Marta pulls to a stop in front of the medical examiner’s office. Sirens wail around you. From the front seat, you watch as firefighters putting out the flames of the burning building.

You sink down in your seat slightly when you notice Lieutenant Elliott talking to your father. Luckily their backs are towards you. You’re just paranoid.

Ransom leans forward from his seat in the back to get a better view of what’s happening.

“Holy shit,” Marta mutters. “This is insane. I mean, who would blow up a whole real building just to blackmail me?”

Ransom checks to make sure no one is behind you before replying, “Marta, this means the blackmailer has the only paper copy of the thing that can prove your guilt. You didn’t get any other instructions? No phone call? No email? Nothing?”

You furrow your eyebrows slightly. It’s not like Ransom to be this helpful to anyone. Well, anyone besides you. You shake it off as just feeling jealous that you’re not the only one he can be nice to.

“No,” Marta sighs. “Well, I haven’t checked my email.”

She quickly pulls out her phone and goes into her unread emails. You lean over to look as does Ransom.

“There is one,” she declares softly. It only lists an address and time, sent from a nondescript or email address.

“Yeah, that’s it. ‘1209 Columbus Road. 10 a.m.’” Ransom confirms, reading the email.

They both look at the clock, realizing it’s already 9:32 a.m.

Ransom continues speaking to Marta, “You know what this means, right? If you destroy that copy, you’re totally in the clear.”

You, on the other hand, are too focused on watching Blanc and Elliott. Blanc has been pacing for a few minutes, something he usually does when thinking about a case. Just as he turns back around to pace the other way once more, he looks up, spotting Marta’s car. His eyes lock onto yours and you sink down into our seat further. Your eyes widen nervously.

“Well shit,” you say aloud, knowing this can’t end well.

That gains Marta’s attention and she follows your line of gaze, noticing your father starting to walk towards the car. “Oh no,” she whispers.

Ransom glances over as well, looking back at Marta, “Marta, did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” she breathes out.

“Step on it,” you elbow Marta slightly, knowing you need to leave.

She snaps out of her daze and switches the car into drive, stepping in the gas and quickly maneuvering back onto the road as the tires of her car squeal.

🔍🔪🔎

You get onto a more open road and you hold your head in your hands, contemplating all of your life choices that have led you to this. What went wrong?

You think to yourself. You shake your head, realizing that’s too long of a list.

“Okay, baby driver,” Ransom glances behind the car.

“Oh god,” Marta whimpers nervously, “You regret helping me yet?”

“I regret not taking the Beemer,” he replies.

“You always regret not taking the Beemer. There are three of us, it has two seats. How would that have worked?” you retort sassily.

“We’re already running from the cops, not having the proper number of seats for passengers would be the least of our worries. At least it'd be faster,” he chuckles slightly.

You glance at the mirror on your side of the car and see three cop cars. You’ve been hearing the sirens for a few minutes.

Your phone buzzes. You glance down to see your father calling. You mute the call, not wanting to explain yourself.

“Go. Go! Go! Are you flooring it!?” Ransom asks, slightly frantic.

“I am literally flooring it!” Marta panics.

Your phone buzzes yet again with another call from your father as the cop cars catch up to you. One car drives at your side and your father leans out the open window slightly, pointing to his phone and trying to get you to pick up. You mute the call.

“This is going well,” Ransom muses sarcastically.

“I’m pulling over,” Marta declares.

“What?” you look at her in a panic.

“If you miss your chance to get this tox report, it's all over,” Ransom reminds her.

“Oh, my God,” Marta groans with tears in her eyes.

Marta suddenly slams the brakes, sending you forward, luckily caught by your seatbelt. You feel Ransom hit the back of your seat slightly. Luckily he had his seatbelt too.

“Hello whiplash” you mumble, rubbing your neck.

“Why- Why are we stopping? Why are you stopping in the middle of the road?” Ransom presses.

Just then Marta floors the glass again, speeding last the now stopped cop cars and quickly turning onto another road.

You glance behind you and see the cars turning and beginning to follow you.

🔍🔪🔎

You get onto a more crowded street, still followed by the cops.

“Hold on,” Marta warms as she quickly turns down an alley, bumping a dumpster with the side of her car.

“Glad we didn’t take the Beemer now?” you ask Ransom.

“A bit,” he nods.

One of the cop cars crashes into the corner of a building as it tries to turn into the alley at the same speed. Marta keeps driving. Another cop car gets stuck on some pallets next to another dumpster as they try to follow you.

You chuckle, slightly excited by the chase. Definitely reminds you of your teenage years.

Marta pulls to a quick stop, lightly hitting a few shopping carts behind a building.

“Oh, my God, I’m just pure adrenaline right now. I feel like I swallowed bees,” Marta pants slightly.

“Why would you know what swallowing bees feels like?” you ask rhetorically.

Marta chuckles slightly. Ransom smiles slightly, though you can’t see from your seat.

“Okay, so what is it? What’s the address?” Marta looks back at Ransom for an answer.

“1209 Columbus Road,” he recites from memory.

“Okay. I mean, whatever they want, I’ll say yes.”

“Anything,” Ransom nods.

“You know, just to get that report back.” Marta pulls her keys from the ignition.

“Get it back and destroy it,” Ransom adds.

“Destroy it,” Marta repeats. “Holy shit.” She sighs, “Hey, thank you guys. I couldn’t do this without you,” she looks at both you and Ransom earnestly.

You nod slightly, eyes widening suddenly as he window is firmly knocked on by a cop. Another car has pulled in behind you.

Lieutenant Elliott exits the car, leisurely going towards Marta’s car. “Get out,” he calls firmly.

You all get out, hands slightly raised. You and Ransom drop your arms, knowing there’s no real formality to this now.

“That was the dumbest car chase of all time,” Elliott states. Marta’s hands remain up. “Put your hands down,” he snaps at her.

Your father strolls over towards yours and Ransom’s side of the car. “I spoke to Wanetta Thrombey, Greatnana,” he informs you all, only looking at you. “Night of the party, she saw someone climbing the trellis to the third floor.”

You glance over at Marta, assuming it was her. You know Greatnana saw her when she came down the trellis.

“Mr. Drysdale,” Lieutenant Elliott calls, “come on.”

“Let’s go,” Trooper Wagner waves for Ransom to go to the cop car.

Ransom hesitated for a second before walking towards Wagner.

“Pat him down, check him out,” Elliott instructs as Wagner makes sure Ransom doesn’t have any weapons.

“What’s going on?” you ask, turning to Blanc for an answer.

“‘Ransom came back’ she said. I don’t know what he came back to do, but we’ll find out.”

Ransom looks over at you as he leans down to get in the car. He almost looks sorry.

“Did he ask you to drive when he saw me coming?” Blanc asks Marta.

“Yes,” she states simply. Blanc walks away a bit. You look away as she ducks into her car. You know she’s just got to puke now and you definitely don’t want to watch. You catch Ransom’s eyes as you avoid looking at Marta. You tap your foot slightly and sigh.

“Wait!” you call out, jogging over to Wagner. “Do you think I could come with you? I want to be with Ransom.”

“Yeah, I’ll drive with Marta, you can go with them,” your father pats your shoulder and heads back to Marta’s car.

Trooper Wagner opens the back door for you, letting you sit next to Ransom.

Definitely not the usual practice, but there’s no reason to not trust you.

The car pulls away and you mess with your hands in your lap. Ransom leans over and kisses your head, resting his forehead against the side of your head.

This isn’t like him. You know it isn’t. Something is off in this picture and you intend to find it. He never acts defeated.

🔍🔪🔎

Wagner parks the car in the driveway of Harlan’s house. You sigh as they lead Ransom out of the car and into the house, leaving you to follow behind. You walk into the library, ready to see if Ransom has any tricks left up his sleeves to cover for Marta.

🔍🔪🔎

Well he didn’t. He came clean, telling them exactly what Marta had told you two.

You confirm everything he says, agreeing that Marta had told you as well. Elliott and Wagner release Ransom, taking off his handcuffs. They all leave the room, but you don’t. You begin pacing, just like your father. Something doesn’t add up.

You begin a list in your head.

What I know:

Marta switched the medicine bottles because she didn’t read the labels

She didn’t call an ambulance

Harlan has her stage her leaving and him being alive so she wouldn’t be caught

Marta wouldn’t hurt a fly on purpose

Someone thinks Harlan was murdered, hence your father’s presence

Your father doesn’t seem to know why he’s here either

Harlan left everything to Marta, giving almost everyone motive

Ransom, your playboy drama queen fiancé, knew he wasn’t getting a cent of Harlan’s fortune

You stop pacing. You feel the blood drain from your face as something clicks in your mind. You quickly sit down in front of the piano, staring down at the keys as you connect the dots.

Harlan and Ransom loved to argue. Why would Harlan just tell Ransom he doesn’t get his share of the inheritance. It’d burn more knowing that it’s not going to anyone in the family. Harlan must’ve told him everything. If so, he knew that Marta would be getting the fortune. He couldn’t bet on her renouncing it, of course not.

You think back to your time at Harvard. You were writing your first book. You had really wanted to impress your teacher with your thoroughness in your research, so you had checked out many books on law from the library. You came home one night to find Ransom reading one of them and he had asked you about a few things, which you explained. One thing you remember him asking about? The slayer rule.

If Ransom wanted to reverse the changed will, you think, he knows that the slayer rule will nullify Marta’s claim. So if he could just frame Marta… bingo.

You immediately pull out your phone, only to receive a call from your father. You feel your mouth go dry from nerves.

You answer the call with a shaky, “Hello?”

“Y/n I regret to say Marta found Fran, and it’s a long story, but Fran is in the hospital and I figured I should let you know. I called the Lieutenant already. He told me what you and Ransom said,” your father informs you.

“O-oh,” you stutter.

“Is everything ok? You sound more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, Y/n.”

“No… it’s not ok…”

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I just… I’d need to see the tox report to be sure,” your drop your voice a few levels to be sure no one overhears you, “Dad, I think I’m engaged to a murderer.”

Pt. 3

#ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans #fanfic #knives out fanfiction #knives out #xreader #requests are open

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