I Leave the End To You

The late author, Ms. Steiner, hated to be predictable; her life, work and death were a testament to that. She never married, never bore any children, and never, ever, gave her stories a happy ending. Happiness is predictable, she often said. She had written several famous novels before her untimely death at 72, when the gardener found her body slumped against the lion statue in the courtyard of her estate.

Ms. Steiner had written 18 novels, and published 5 volumes of her various short stories; yet, it seemed in her many decades as one of the most esteemed female authors of the century, that she had in fact neglected to author a will. She had probably done it intentionally, deciding not to give a predictable end to her life’s story. Though the Steiner family had once been prosperous, family trees showed lengths and absences surrounding the late Ms. Steiner, last of her name.

This is where her legal team scrambled. With no close contacts, but plenty of extended family roots spread throughout the entire town’s population, many attempted to make claims to the estate, fortune and works of the Steiner family. Three months after the death of Ms. Steiner, the town’s Special Matters Court had finally decided that anybody with proof of a connection to the Steiner family (no matter how distant) was to visit the estate on the 27th of March at noon.

...

Ellis pressed his forehead into the cold iron rod gate and peered into the Steiner estate. His eyes scanned the seemingly lifeless grounds, where the garden plants hung limply and the fountains were dry and moulded. His gaze finally landed on the life-sized lion statues stationed on either side of the grand stone stairway. What an unusual place to die, he thought.

Ellis stepped forward and smiled meekly at the solicitor seated behind a table. The man met Ellis’ smile with an impatient glare, folding his hands atop the table without saying a word.

“Oh!” Ellis exclaimed before turning his bag upside down and allowing the contents to litter the table. The solicitor had just enough time to move his hands before one of Ms. Steiner’s novels (a hardcover copy at that) plummeted onto the wooden surface. The solicitor let out a grunt before moving the novel to the edge of the table and gathering up the loose pages. He flipped one around and began to examine the family tree records.

Ellis leaned over the table, and pointed to the document. “That’s Mrs. Evenspiel, and her great grandmother-in-law was a Steiner before she married into the Thomm family. It’s all right there,” he said gesturing to the names and lines his mother had highlighted for him. “And you are related to the late Mrs. Evenspiel?” The solicitor questioned.

Ellis rummaged around the mess of papers, before finding a certificate bearing both his name and Mrs. Evenspiel’s. He thrusted it towards the solicitor, saying “My godmother.”

The solicitor gave a loud sigh of annoyance, clearly not in the mood to object to any religious matters. There was a loud pounding on the table as he stamped a card and gave it to Ellis, who gathered his papers and the novel and hurried towards the other gate. He showed a guardsman his stamped card and was permitted to enter the estate.

He made his way towards the main staircase, where a crowd had formed. He pushed into it as much as he could, wanting to get a closer look at the lion statues when suddenly a loud voice rang out towards the crowd and startled him.

“Good morning all,” the voice rang out from the top of the grand staircase. “Or should I say, good afternoon. You have all displayed adequate evidence proving your validity as a Steiner family heir.”

The crowd hushed and moved towards the speaker.

“In a few moments, we will allow each of you to enter the house, and select your inheritance. Here are the rules,” the voice roared as the speaker looked down at the page in his hands.

“Each of you shall claim an item within the estate. You will exchange your stamped card for the item and leave the premises at once. One item per person, no exchanges or exceptions. The estate and fortune of the Steiner family have already been dealt with and donated.”

Excitement boiled deep within Ellis’ stomach as the crowd moved into the house. They broke off into the various main level rooms, each equipped with many guards watching over greedy hands and pockets.

Ellis stood in the foyer and examined the doorways on all sides. He had no need for furniture, no desire for paintings or kitchen utensils. Ellis wanted something important and rare, much like the late author herself. He decided to avoid the large busy rooms and began searching for a more personal space; a place where a writer like Ms. Steiner would retreat to.

He located Ms. Steiner’s study upstairs. It was a small room with an average looking wooden desk, a fireplace and large windows facing the back gardens. As he approached the desk to rummage through the drawers, something caught his eye behind him and he turned to look. The wall surrounding the door which Ellis had just entered was completely covered in bookshelves, containing what looked like hundreds of, maybe even a thousand, books. He saw classics and plays and encyclopedia of all sorts.

Ellis stood before the wall in awe and felt his mouth actually hang open. He reached forward and ran his fingers along the spines, glancing up and down so fast he barely had time to read any of the titles. A few others began to enter the study, and rummage around the desk for items but Ellis was fixed on the wall. Had she really read all these, he wondered to himself.

His eyes veered up towards the top shelf and landed on a particular small black book sitting horizontally on the very top row of books. Ellis grabbed onto the middle shelves, and planted his foot on the bottom shelf. He hoisted himself upwards, reaching for the black book. As soon as his fingers brushed the top shelf his foot slipped and Ellis, along with several novels, fell to the floor. When he looked around at the mess, the small black book was propped up beside his foot, and his stamped inheritance card was right beside it. He scooped them both up in his hands and rose quickly, hearing footsteps hastily stomp into to the study.

A guard entered, and turned his attention to Ellis and the mess of books. “Hey!” the guard yelled, snatching the stamped card from Ellis’ grasp. “One item only.”

“But,” Ellis started, before he was promptly and forcefully escorted from the house.

...

Ellis turned on the lamplight next to his bed, and opened his inheritance. There was no name, date or title. The handwritten story began on the first page.

By 5am the next morning, Ellis had turned to one of the final pages containing writing. He was starting to get nervous as he read, considering the main character Cornelia hadn’t yet heard back from Billy. They were both spies for different organizations but working for the benefit of the same country. They’d teamed up a few times, had an on and off affair, and saved each other from dangerous contacts and situations.

Ellis sat up, quickly scanning the last lines of writing.

Cornelia waited for Billy. She waited by the window of her quiet and quaint country home she knew he would have hated. When the letter finally did arrive years later, it contained only an address.

Civic Memorial , 2nd Ave

Ellis turned the page to find the next one blank, and the next and the next. He flipped all the way to the last page of the black book where he finally found more writing. This page was different though, written in a different colour ink and addressed to Ellis.

Well, not Ellis specifically. But to the reader.

Dear reader,

I would like to eventually call you fellow author. The story of Cornelia and Billy has inhabited my mind for quite some time. A great many decades, I must admit. While they have been my favourite characters to explore, and I am so very thankful to have had the opportunity to tell their story, I cannot conclude it.

I hope I have left you enough pages to do them justice. Please, give them a deserving ending. I always hated to be predictable, and most often condemned my characters to downfall, heartbreak and death, but I leave the end to you, their fate entirely and solely in your hands.

Deliver this completed black book to Mr. Vander’s Publishing House, in town. He will see to the rest.

I look forward to writing with you,

Ms. Steiner

Ellis reread the letter about 19 times before finally closing the book. He had never received a letter from a dead person before, so to receive a request from one was all the more strange.

That morning, Ellis read the story of Cornelia and Billy again. He picked up the pen that afternoon and began to write.

...

“Please, please, call me Ellis.”

The crowd in front of him laughed as hands reached up to ask him questions. Ellis’ agent motioned for a man in the front row to ask his question.

“Is it true that Ms. Steiner actually paid for your university education?”

Ellis smiled and leaned closer to the microphone in front of him. “She basically did,” he explained. “Once I finished writing the ending to her novel, The Sweetest Con, she instructed me in a letter to bring the black book to Mr. Vander at his publishing shop in town. He took the book and handed me a cheque for $20,000. I thought it only right to put that money towards furthering my education as a writer, since before that day I had quite literally no experience.”

The audience laughed at that. His agent motioned to a woman in the back row. She stood up and half shouted, “Thank you for being here today, Ellis. How did you come up with the ending to her novel, The Sweetest Con?”

Ellis sat back and smiled. “I was enthralled by her characters, and their dynamic. It was a whirlwind, but soft and slow at the same time. I figured that in their lives as spies and con artists, they would have encountered many dangerous situations, especially Billy. They couldn’t survive every mission.”

The woman nodded, writing it down. “And the note led to a cemetery, but we meet two women there visiting Billy’s grave.”

“Yes, I thought it would be super unpredictable to have another woman there, but thinking back to Billy being a con artist turned spy, it is credible and predictable I suppose,” he chuckled to himself and looked around the room.

The same woman spoke again, “But you didn’t name either woman that visited the cemetery. The one with the child, was that Cornelia? Was that Billy’s child? Who was the other woman?”

Ellis smiled. “I suppose I didn’t identify them so that you could. I had the chance to write the final words of Ms. Steiner’s novel, but who was I to actually dictate how their story ended? I suppose, I omitted their names so that you, or any reader, could also somewhat author the story.”

The crowd began whispering, no hands were raised as they all jotted down the various possible endings to The Sweetest Con novel on their notepads.

Ellis laughed to himself again and shook his head, feeling a lot like a certain author who had neglected to write her will, leaving the end of the story to someone else. To You.