The Division & The Conqueror, Finale
Brian scrubbed his hair, watching the dye disappear down the drain. He’d hated that hideous brown, but he’d needed two distinct looks. One for the fake Brian Nevaster. One for the equally fake Eland Brann. Neither of which could connect him to the pale, red-haired, real Brian De’Fontaine. After his last setup had fallen through, he’d been forced to start all over in this god-forsaken had-been boomtown. His eighth-month stay had nearly bored him to death. If it hadn’t been for Beckett’s property and Fitzer’s designs, he’d have ditched this place altogether. But no, he’d decided to hunker down and deal with it.
And now it had paid off. He turned the sink knobs until the water cut off and dried his hands on one of Beckett’s towels. No, no. His towels. Beckett’s property was his now. With a couple slights of hand, he’d slipped himself into Beckett’s will. And with Fitzer’s blueprints in hand too, he had a mighty big fortune coming his way real soon. He clapped and chuckled to himself. It had been such a long damn time since he’d accomplished anything like this. No…he’d never accomplished anything this big before! He’d be set for life off the money he made from this scheme.
“Ah, Brian, old boy, you have outdone yourself.” He tossed his last few keepsakes in his suitcase. The rest of Beckett’s—no, his—things were up for auction tomorrow, including his house. And Fitzer’s…well, Fitzer’s place was more of the foundation of a house than anything else. He’d made sure of that. After his first two attempts to off the sparring duo failed, he’d actually had to stop and reevaluate things before anyone got suspicious. Didn’t want a repeat of last time.
But no, this time around his plan had gone off without a hitch. A carefully forged eviction notice. Some slight tampering with Fitzer’s prized generator. And boom! That was all she wrote. He clicked the clasps on his suitcase shut and ambled toward the door, humming gleefully.
He’d arranged for his money to be wired to him after the auction. He couldn’t stand another day in this deadbeat town. Slamming the door shut behind him, he started off down the road. A single train ride to a big city with a nice big bank and a completely anonymous population and he’d be set.
“You’re going to live the high life, old boy!” He chuckled. Finally. How long had he been waiting for his luck to change? Five years? Ten? His entire lifetime?
Almost skipping, he approached the old bridge that connected Beckett’s—his—house to the rest of the world. He snorted as his footsteps reverberated in creaks across the wood. “I’ll never have to walk this rickety thing again. I’ll never have to see this damned place again. I’ll never even have to think about it again! Ha!”
He quickened his pace and set his eyes on the road. Suddenly, he paused, his stomach churning. A figure in black was visible in the distance. Who the hell would be all the way out here? Had someone found him out? Was it the police? God damn it, if he’d done all this for nothing again he swore—!
He shrieked as the bridge rapidly collapsed beneath him, sending him tumbling wildly into the rushing water below.
He didn’t surface.
From his perch on the old fence, Frederick Beckett calmly watched the scene unfold. He tipped his black hat, took a drag from his cigar, and, gazing at the sky, shook his head. “Well, guess that settles that.”
Rule of Three Blogfest Entry
"The Division & The Conqueror", Finale
Word Count: 598
Prompt(s): The misfortune is resolved.
The final event becomes another secret for generations to come.
There is a new arrival in town.