Masquerade {A Penderry's Bizzare Fanfic}《COMPLETED ✔️》

•Chapter Eleven•

The Next Day

Professor Broom Penderry sipped from his chipped cup, the warmth of the tea singing in perfect harmony with his otherwise empty stomach. With the sun shining in from the window, its rays blessed his wrinkled face with a pleasant hello.

Several cork topped phials and bottles lined the oddly arranged shelves, the latter looking like a complete mess to most. Broom exhaled as he finished his tea, his vision diverting to an old photograph of his youngest great-nephew, George, when he was an infant. Smiling subtly, he placed his cup down and picked the framed photograph up, laughing at George's cheerful, chubby face.

"You were a happy one, George. You would have made an excellent journalist for the magazine, my boy, though now your dreams have been taken from you. I am sorry this happened, my dear nephew. I'm so sorry."

The doors to his laboratory had been shut for weeks. He had needed time to think, to grieve for George. Opening a wooden drawer, he took out a bottle filled with sherry and put a tiny amount into his tea, mixing it in with a spoon. Drinking from it, he found the sweet yet bitter taste to be comforting.

Alcohol was a source of comfort for some in their times of grief, and that's exactly what it was to Broom. Not an addiction or a means of pleasure, just mere comfort. A pillow to hug or a blanket to clutch. His grey hair had thinned with age, though now it was thinning due to stress.

Perhaps it is finally time to let people in rather than push them away. I cannot stand this, so I will not pursue with it any further. My family and friends deserve to know that I am all right.

***

Jim was fast asleep in his chair with a half empty bottle of wine in hand, snoring as he slept. Ollie noticed this, and rolled his eyes at the sight. Damn alcohol, he hated the stuff. Going outside, he searched high and low for a large bucket to use.

"Can I help you, sir?" Esme, the maid asked. "You seem as though you are looking for something."

"Yes, actually." Ollie answered, facing her. "I am looking for a bucket. Can you help me search for one?"

"I have one right here, Mr Mullen, sir." Esme said, motioning to it. "Might I ask what you need it for exactly?"

Ollie knew it was not for anyone else to hear, and so he gestured for Esme to move closer. He whispered his purpose for the bucket into her ear, and she snorted as she held back a giggle.

"That can be arranged, sir. I shall see to it right away."

"Thank you, Esme." Ollie grinned, rubbing his hands mischievously. "This is going to be good."

Once Esme had finished filling the bucket, she handed it to Ollie. "Here it is, sir. I hope this is enough."

Ollie nodded, satisfied with the contents. "This will be more than enough. You have my word that I will not mention that you assisted me. Thank you for your time, Esme."

Ollie proceeded to enter Jim's office and approach his sleeping form, smirking as he did so. His laughter was like little hisses, and without a word he poured the cold water over Jim. Jim woke up with a start, gasping for air as he fell out of his seat. The wine bottle crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling the remaining wine. He groaned, his head aching.

"Who the Hell do you think you are!?" he shouted, coughing up water. "Why did you do that!?"

"To wake you up. Like I said last night, drinking will not help you. You went through two and a half bottles of wine alone last night, it's a dirty habit!"

Alcoholism does run in the family...and it seems as though James started it all.

Jim moaned in pain, the pounding in his head worsening as he tensed. He whimpered, getting to his feet. "Two and a half bottles, you say? Strange, I don't remember any of that. Then again, I don't remember much now. I think that is why I drink."