꧁ A Great Loss ꧂

The next morning, Brooke was awakened by an unusual racket at her door.

"Brooke!" Oswald's distressed voice called her, as his palms beat repeatedly on the wood. "Brooke!"

Reluctantly, the woman slipped out of bed and dragged herself to open the door. Her eyes widened to find Oswald, still wrapped in a dressing gown, shaking like a leaf.

"Oswald? What is it? What happened?" She immediately asked in an uncertain tone.

"Oh, thank god. I really need to speak with you." He replied, bringing his hand on his chest and letting go of a sigh of relief when he finally saw her standing.

"Yeah. Sure. Com'in." She nodded, moving to let him in.

"It's Sasha," He told her, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Brooke leaned back on the closet, crossed her arms to her chest and raised an eyebrow towards him. "Sasha?" She repeated.

"Yes. She was in my room this morning when I woke up. She tried to seduce me. She asked me what my plans for my father were. She said she wanted in, that we could've taken Charles, Grace and you out easily." He explained. "I-I didn't know what to do. I threw her out." He concluded with a trembling voice.

"Literally?" Brooke asked him ironically.

Oswald shot her a dirty look. "No." He said. Then he pulled his lips into a thin line and rose his eyebrows, bending his head to the side.

The woman grinned. "Mh. Shame. I'd have loved to see that." She stated, earning a second glare, more grim than the first. "Well, it makes sense." She eventually said.

"What do you mean? What makes sense?" He asked her, looking at her confused.

"Charles didn't happen to casually find some old newspapers yesterday. They were investigating you. When they found out who you were, they tried to use your identity to get Elijah to kick you out. But their brilliant plan failed, so this had to be plan B." She explained, observing the expression on Oswald's face getting even more pensive and distraught. "Sasha would seduce you and then tell everyone that you raped her." She concluded.

"What? Why?" He immediately exclaimed. "Why would they do such a thing?" He asked ruefully.

On his face, Brooke saw painted the anger, the sadness, the sense of betrayal that Oswald was feeling. "Money." She simply replied.

Oswald stared at her with sad and innocent eyes, making her wonder for a moment how much innocence could be hidden in the eyes of a famous murderer.

The woman sighed, sitting on the mattress beside him. "Listen, I know you don't want to hear this, but all Grace cares about is Money. She doesn't love Elijah. She is with him because he is rich." She told him quietly.

Oswald nodded slightly, beginning to sense where she wanted to go.

"Elijah's sick. I think he told you." She continued slowly, aware of touching on a delicate subject.

"Yes. He did." Oswald confirmed.

"He doesn't have long. After his death, all his possessions should go to Grace. But now, he could decide to change his will." She explained calmly.

"For me?" He asked surprised.

The woman nodded.

"But, I don't want it. I don't care about money." He exclaimed immediately.

"I believe you, Oswald." She quietly said, smiling at him. "But Grace never will. That's why she wants you out of the picture." She added.

A sad sigh left Oswald's lips, who seemed to be increasingly shattered by that conversation.

Brooke bit her lower lip. It was excruciating to see him like this. "But don't worry, I'll make sure that she doesn't succeed." She told him, hoping to cheer him up a bit.

Oswald turned to her with a wide smile and squeezed her in a hug. "Brooke, why are you so good to me?" He asked her out of the blue, letting her go.

"Well, we are family, are we not?" She simply answered with a small smirk, not finding another motivation.

The woman turned her eyes to the moquette, pausing for a moment to reflect on the question. She didn't know why she cared so much about Oswald, or why she got so attached to him so quickly. Perhaps because, after so long, he was the only person, not too much older than her, to treat her with respect and kindness, to consider her as his equal. The point was that Oswald had become a real brother to her, and she'd be willing to do anything to help him.

"You and Elijah are the only family I have." She finally confessed to him, turning to look at him.

Oswald nodded, without needing to hear anything else. "I could say the same, I guess." He told her, smiling at her.

And he meant it. In that house, perhaps he hadn't found a great loving family as he originally thought, however, he had found a father and a sister.

· ♛ ·

"Man's constitution is so peculiar that his health is purely a negative matter. No sooner is the rage of hunger appeased than it becomes difficult to comprehend the meaning of starvation. It is only when you suffer that you really understand.
As to anyone who has not..."

Brooke was almost at the end of "Journey to the Center of the Earth" for the third time, when a chilling scream made her suddenly raise her eyes from the pages.

"Help!" Shouted Oswald's desperate voice from another part of the house. "Help! Someone call for an ambulance!"

Brooke jumped out of bed and rushed out of the room in the direction of the cry.

"Help! Help, Grace! Brooke! Help!" The yelling continued.

In a moment the woman was on the top floor of the right tower, where she knew she would have found Oswald. The man had in fact left het room a few hours earlier to spend some time with his father. Being an exceptional tailor, Elijah had proposed to him a dress fitting in his workshop, located in the highest point of the house, where the light that entered through the large window was perfect to see the real color of the fabrics.

"Oswald?" Brooke called him, leaning with one hand to the doorjamb and breathing heavily. "Elijah!" She then exclaimed, noticing the man lying unconscious on the armchair. "What happened?" She asked, moving her gaze back to Oswald.

"I-I don't know. He was fine. And then he-he was chocking and he lost consciousness." He stammered, holding tight onto his father's arm.

The woman stepped into the room and knelt to one side of the armchair, next to Oswald, to check Elijah's heartbeat by placing two fingers on his neck. "His pulse is regular. I think we should-" She started, but couldn't finish the sentence.

"Elijah! Oh dear. What happened?" Grace exclaimed, bringing a hand over her heart, stepping into the room.

"He collapsed." Brooke explained, looking up at her. "It must be his heart." she added.

"Oh. All right, all right. Let's put him to bed. The doctor's on his way." Grace replied, before leaving.

Brooke sighed, evidently irritated. Together with Oswald they dragged an unconscious Elijah to his bedroom, where they placed him under the covers and waited for the doctor to arrive.
Brooke did not attend the visit, she knew what her stepmother's views were about her role in that family and preferred to avoid causing problems. However, she learned all about Elijah's health that night, before dinner, when Oswald rushed to her room to confirm her doubts: he was getting worse quickly.

· ♛ ·

Elijah was able to leave his bed only two days later, and did everything he could to make his family forget his health's problems, acting as if nothing had happened and he was fit as a fiddle. Oswald was playing along, overjoyed to see his father back on his feet and in shape. Brooke, on the contrary, was worried and did nothing to hide it. That day, at dinner, she didn't say a word, nor she bothered to smile and, once finished eating, she wished everyone good night and retired to her room. Instead, as was often the case, Oswald followed his father to the studio, where they started looking at an old family photo album.

"My dear mother. She was so young." Elijah stated in a soft voice, pointing to a photo of a woman with long black hair smiling as she cradled a child in her arms.

The opening of the door and a noise of footsteps behind them made them turn. "Oswald." Murmured Grace, smiling, as she placed a crystal decanter with sherry and a glass on the coffee table between them.

"Thank you so much, Grace." He thanked her, before he uncorked the container.

The woman left the room with a little smile on her lips, leaving them to their speeches.

Elijah closed the album and got up to rest it on the shelf of the library. He then turned to his son, who remained seated, and gave him a serious look. "I lied to you, son." He told him.

"Oh." Oswald muttered, stopping smiling.

"My father was never physically ill. He only suffered a deep melancholy. He was plagued by dark impulses, evil thoughts of violence. Mother said many in his family had the same affliction. I remember the sound of the gunshot. I was outside his room. I screamed for my mother to get the key. I saw the warm gun in his hand. The blood. His face." Elijah started telling him, becoming more misty-eyed with every word. "Mother said never to talk about it. For years after the funeral we never left the house. I don't pretend to understand my father's torment. But I think perhaps you do." He sobbed. "I feel for you and I beg of you, my son." He muttered, sat down and leaned slightly forward, towards Oswald. "Never give in to the pain as he did. You are loved and you are not alone. And the sun will come up tomorrow." He told him, and then smiled at him warmly.

The young man was now on the verge of crying. "Thank you, father." He stammered, looking at him with eyes full of gratitude.

"Now, I feel like a drink." Elijah then said in a playful tone, pouring three fingers of liquor into the glass.

Oswald chuckled softly at his manners, "But...but, your health?" He asked him.

"To hell with that." His father exclaimed, before throwing down the sherry in one breath.

"I want you to have it all, my son. This house and all that's in it. Keep it just the way it is, a piece of history, our history." He then continued, with a huge smile on his lips. "Gotham's history."

Oswald was staring at him in shock.

"First thing tomorrow I'll have my lawyers draw it up." He then nodded.

Oswald smiled in disbelief, unable to acknowledge his father's words. It was really happening. It was true, all true. He had a home, a family, and now an inheritance!

A suffocated groan and a rock cough immediately brought Oswald back down to earth. Elijah stood up and arched his back.

"Father?" Oswald called him, observing him with worry.

The man tightened his arms around the abdomen, dropping the glass, which shattered, colliding with the parquet. White foam began to come out from his mouth as he collapsed in his son's arms.

"Oh no." Oswald cried holding him to his chest. "Father, no!"

"Elijah!" Exclaimed Grace who, having heard suspicious noises, had rushed into the room and was now paralyzed, staring at her husband's body.

"Did he, did he drink that?" She asked with terror, pointing at the sherry.

"Yes." Oswald replied, as his father was writhing in his arms.

"Why? Why? He's not supposed to." Grace continued, panicking.

Behind her back, Sasha and Charles were also watching the scene upset.

"Sasha, call an Ambulance. Call an-" She said to her daughter, who immediately rushed out.

Grace brought her hand to her chest and gave Charles a knowing look. The boy nodded slightly and, with a quick arm movement, pushed the decanter to the ground. The carpet, however, softened the impact, preventing the breaking of the crystal and the total leakage of the liquor.

"Stay with us, father, help is on the way." Oswald cried, cradling his father's body in his arms.

Upon hearing the incessant uproar, Brooke rushed downstairs, but before even a word of complaint could leave her lips, the woman froze at the entrance of the studio. The scene before her eyes was too familiar. Oswald was sitting on the floor, bent over the now immobile and pale body of his father, in a state of terror and despair. Elijah had his mouth slightly open, full of white foam, his pupils dilated, his forehead wet with sweat. Brooke knew the symptoms, she had seen them before. His death was not natural. And it was not even due to a heart attack.

"No!" Oswald's excruciating scream brought her back to reality and her gaze automatically shifted to her stepmother.

Grace looked back at her, but in her eyes she found no sadness or compassion for poor Oswald, no, her eyes burned with anger, resentment, desire for revenge.

Brooke knew. She knew everything.