A Little too Sweet, A Little to Rich

The scrapes of metal and the distinctive smell of burned rubber seemed to go across the country. Famed, reclusive, billionaire Aron Walsh had taken a rare drive out of his home and was five miles from the estate before a sharp curve sent the car flying. With his property being the only one on the lands the news media knew exactly who the potential victim was before the police had even arrived to make any confirmation.

The Walsh Castle was like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory in a way. Years ago it had been an open tourist attraction when Aron wasn’t home. His parents loved to host anyone who came by and treated guests like family. Few people had memories of going in but they had been so aggrandized that no one was able to give a true interior account. The otherwise small country town filled of generational farmers adored the little gem they could see from any angle. Even the impoverished lower class found comfort by sleeping at its open gates. Workers going in and coming out always had a free hot meal to give out. The glowing hand of charity was only doomed to fail, in Aron’s retrospect.

Tragedy to the first class was always dismissed. Sometimes rightfully so. The harsh truth was that reality was a dark ghost waiting until the right moment to reveal themselves. On the night of a particular autumn evening the Walsh Castle’s owners were giving a dinner party in honor of the local farmers that kept food on the table for everybody. Aron was world’s away on some summer beach in the southern hemisphere.

The fire started in the west bedroom which had gone un-used for months. Quickly it spread, at first with the guests thinking other bonfires were being hosted in the town for their own celebration. Mr. and Mrs. Walsh were informed first by an off duty guard to get them out first, but they refused to leave before anyone else. The guests, poor and rich, old and young, were saved through an old secret escape route behind the underground winery. The hosts, along with all of the good in Walsh Castle, were gone by morning.

The gates outside Walsh Castle had opened twice since then. First to allow the workers to come get their things and leave as everyone had been fired. Aron Walsh had decided alone that it would be best to clear everything out and start fresh. Presumably there were decorators and bank executives to get rid off anything that he wouldn’t be able to pay off before the inheritance and life insurance set in. It was then that he became a billionaire because of what his parents had left him. The rumors started spreading that he killed his parents for the money. He had never been seen since then.

The second time was the summer before the eighth anniversary of the Walsh Castle Fire. Within minutes, Aron in his car had flipped carelessly off the road for no apparent reason. The car was modern, there wasn’t any reason to be on his cell phone. It hadn’t been raining and animals didn’t cross enough to even warrant a warning sign. Glass and small sharp parts had spread so far that the ambulance had to park a bit aways to save their own tires. The hovering helicopters caused such a noise that discussing anything caused its own sort of problems when communicating with the paramedics.

Those who remembered the Castle Fire were stricken with sensory overload the car accident caused. Same area, same unthinkable mystery that caused something that could have taken a life. Unlike his parents, Aron wasn’t granted the mournful prayers. His hand had been cold and clutching the gates tight. He perpetuated the uncaring first class everyone had always suspected him off. There was no genuine care for the people, so the people weren’t as worried in returned.

Aron Walsh Narrowly Survives Car Accident was hardly a headline for a week in the local news, much less the national. As quickly secluded he’d made the castle, his situation was just as silenced. What no one knew unless they read the footnotes in the business section, was that he had been placed in a coma for well over a week. He had woken up periodically, with doctors never knowing what their concern should be. The last time he woke up, he was communicating and reactive just enough.

Martha George had been called in to help his recovery along. Hired by the hospital as a private nurse, she went with Aron when it was time for him to go home. On the ride home in a car with blacked out windows, she realized just how much this was going to be.

“Who’s been driving in the grass?” He questioned, confirming the amnesia diagnosis she’d been told of.

“Do you remember the doctor telling you about the accident?” She treaded carefully.

“Oh, yes. I didn’t think it would be so close to home I suppose.” He amended, but she wasn’t convinced. “Where is everybody? I thought they might have celebrated my coming home.”

“If you want to put down a guest list, we can have a brunch party tomorrow?” She offered. She didn’t want to be the one to remind him how much the town disliked him.

“Schedule one for tonight.” He looked to check the clock on wrist but found his watch gone. “Is my watch in the box?”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Walsh.” She apologized about what might be in his possessions he was able to leave the hospital with. “If you were wearing it during the crash, it wouldn’t work anyhow.”

“Regardless, it’s hardly two in the afternoon.” He continued on when they arrived at the steps of the castle. Martha got out and went around to ready his wheelchair for him.

“Why aren’t you assisting her?” Aron asked the driver.

“I’m just the Uber, dude. You’re not even the one paying me.”

“Thank you for your service.” Martha reached in her purse and pulled out cash. “Your tip.”

“Thank you, Georgie.” The driver smiled, stuffing it into his pocket. “Have a good one. Don’t forget to leave me a review.”

“You just drove us five miles. What would the point of that be?”

Before any argument could be made, Martha closed the door as soon as she got Aron in the wheelchair. She managed to push him up onto the pavement winding around his house. She started taking the path to the back.

“You’re taking me around back why?”

“The front of your home isn’t wheelchair accessible.” She explained. “None of your home is, but at least you have a bedroom on the main floor.”

“A guest room where we put those who can’t handle their alcohol.” He started rifling around the box of his things. “Where’s my phone?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Walsh. I can call the station to see if anything was recovered, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Christ.” He rubbed his eyes. “How am I supposed to get you phone numbers without it?”

“I have every contact you’re going to need while I’m staying with you.”

“Even Serena Rose’s?”

“Who is she?”

“My girlfriend. We’re getting married.”

Martha sighed, locking the wheels so that he wouldn’t accidentally roll back. She went through the keys on her key ring until she found the right one to unlock the back door with.

“I’ll see if I can give her a call.”

One of the three dining rooms looked the same as he remembered it, but the large windows had been taken out and a wall was put up. He had a twinge of a memory that his mother wouldn’t have liked that change, among many he’d done to the house. Martha placed him at the small circle table which normally would have had a full view to watch the children playing in the backyard playground during open tours. That too had been taken out and paved over for more parking for less guests. As his attending nurse explained to him that she’d been in the house the last few days getting ready, Aron tried to piece together something that was lost on him.

“Do you know where I was going when I had the accident?”

“Hm? Oh, no I don’t. Your GPS just had you going near the cliffs.” She answered calmly, going around and turning on lights that hadn’t been used so long they should have dust on them. She then placed an easy lunch spread in front of him. A toasted ham and cheese sandwich with green tea and the smallest piece of chocolate cake on a napkin.

“That’s all the dessert you’re going to give me?”

Martha sat opposite him with her own lunch and a bigger piece of cake. “I want to save some for your sudden dinner party tonight.”

They ate in dead silence in what should have been a very awkward encounter if either cared about wanting to fill a silence. He was used to sitting alone in this seat staring at nothing. She normally dealt with much older patients with harder versions of memory loss and ate alone quietly as well. The only thing that broke it was when she laughed.

“Something funny?” He asked, mouthful of cake.

“You eat your dessert first.”

“It’s the best part. Why not?”

“You haven’t even tried it. How do you know how good it is?”

“I hope they wouldn’t hire you for me if you couldn’t cook.”

She calmly placed her cloth napkin across her lap. “You don’t know who they would have sent for you if I hadn’t volunteered.”

“Money should have gotten me the best. I was surprised to find someone my age waiting for me.”

She twirled her glass of milk absentmindedly. “You don’t spend your money here. It wouldn’t have gotten you anyone kinder.”

“Kinder? You’re fine, but you have the personality of white bread.” He chuckled.

“I’m the highest limbo bar you’re going to get.” She took no visible offense to that. “It’s either me or someone you’re paying to be particularly cruel.”

“You're exaggerating."

Martha pursed her lips and got out her own phone. After doing a quick search she showed him the headlines. Serena Rose was set to publish a tell-all book about their engagement, she was married to someone else, and there were three documentaries about the Tragedy of Walsh Castle. One of them had the subtitle of Aron Walsh.

“Aron?”

“That’s you. Your first name is Aron.” She reminded. That detail he had sometimes, but blanked occasionally.

She then pulled up messages she’d gotten since that morning. All of them were talking about how lucky she was to stay in a Castle rent free and wait for Aron to starve himself if she left him upstairs. After that, she showed him the last news update about him were a few sentences on a tabloid that he was dead.

“People are all talk online.” He waved off.

“Those who aren’t from here.” She corrected. “I haven’t gone to the farmer’s market without hearing gossip about what you were doing and how easy you got off from it.”

“Easy?” He scoffed, lifting his sandwich and dropping it back on the table. “I had easy when I was alone eating Michelin starred meals.”

“I want to help you back to where you were before.” Martha reached across the table to offer her hand. “I don’t choose my patients without the belief that they need my help in one way or another.”

Aron chewed the inside of his cheek in what looked like a pout. “Would anyone going to come to a dinner party?”

“I was given no contacts to anyone who might come by.”

“Figures.” His eyes moved from the plate to her. “There’s been no hired help here since the carpets were taken out.”

“More cake for us.” She gave him her piece.