Drabble: The Starting Gun

[eskil_douglas]

Eskil Douglas used to take pride in the fact that he was a sensible man. A pushover and an errand boy, yes he doesn’t deny that. Ridiculed by his father, despised by his mother and thwarted by his brother in everything, yes it’s all true. He played by the rules others had drawn up for him. But still a sensible man.

Then there was London.

Then there was freedom,

and love.

And now nothing was sensible. And nothing made sense. Especially not the smoking gun in his hand.

Since his return to the Surface he had planned this, and he had been terribly busy indeed. Meeting with lawyers and bankers and anyone and everyone that could aid him in his quest. Hurrying, skulking, working swifter and more efficiently than he thought himself capable of. All for the goal of breaking free. All for his escape from the clutches of the name ‘Douglas’ and all that it implies. Now is the time of no return. This is the Grande Finale.

“Does that answer to your question brother?” The hate he feels for the man is in full bloom and he can’t help but smile grimly as he sees his tormenter squirm in pain from the bullet wound to his shoulder.

“As I said, Karin isn’t giving up Adelsnäs, it was all a ruse. I am going back to London, you’re not keeping me here any longer. I’ve signed over all my land to you, consider it a bandaid to your wounded pride. I am however taking these,” he picks up his brothers dossier with incriminating and scandalous documents, “as a life insurance. Do not kid yourself into believing there is anything that would keep me from publish it should the need arise. And you should know I have changed my Will. You inherit nothing if I were to die, Karin does, so all in all I’d say you have nothing to gain from my untimely death. Do not seek it!” He shivers, but it’s hard to say if it’s from the rage or from the dread he is doing his best to conceal.

“I think that would be all, dear Egon. Goodbye.”

He backs out the door, gun pointed at his brother until he’s closed it. Then he runs.

He won’t stop, he can’t. Not until he has reached his goal.

London.