The Caretaker
By Alcazarcassadine
8:56 AM
The Caretaker
He began to notice it in the spring. He had been coming at clandestine moments for a year now and it was not overgrown like other patches of this dismal garden where seeds had been planted just as long or longer.
No. In the summer the grass was trimmed and lush. Even in autumn it seemed to be the only square untouched by decay, if that were possible. The weeds in spring seemed to never grow. Only in winter was a little ice allowed to form around the carved out places in the stone that never became over ran with moss. It was distinguished as he once was.
But the question now was who. Who took such care to beautify the resting place of a man who had become an ugly version of himself, long forgotten by all after the sensationalism of his death passed over.
He knew it was not himself. A year had come and gone before he had found the courage to come to this place were a piece of his heart was buried. And when he had come, it was the single red rose that he often found lying atop the headstone of Stefan Darius Mikkosivich Cassadine that finally pushed his intrigue over the limit.
His mind turned first to Alexis, Mrs. Lansbury, even Bobbie. But his Aunt barely spoke of him; too haunted by the green-eyed monster to remember her beloved protector. Mrs. Lansbury never had the time and he didn’t think Bobbie knew where her one-time husband was laid to rest.
But today his curiosity was sure to be satisfied. Today was the anniversary. It had been four years since his Uncle had used Luke Spencer to do what he had no stomach for. The caregiver would indeed come bearing a single red rose, he was sure.
Nikolas hid in the shadows, mere feet from his Uncle’s grace. He had come early intent on catching a glimpse of the only other soul left on this Earth that loved his uncle. It comforted him to know he was not alone. Maybe now he would have someone to go to when the pain of missing his “father” became too much. Finally someone would understand.
Footsteps barely muffled by the still soft ground pulled him from his dreams. Daring to edge closer, Nikolas saw her- red rose in hand- coming to kneel before his uncle’s headstone. She was adorned in black a thick veil covering her face.
A gloved hand reached out lightly grazing over the stone. A gut-wrenching sob tore from her lips as she pulled her hand away. Her cry was so filled with anguish, it nearly pulled Nikolas into view- if to do nothing, but console her. He started but quickly fell back into obscurity, some invisible hand holding him in check.
Her hands clasped before her, she began to speak. “Oh my, darling son.”
Shock slammed into his chest, causing him to falter and reach out for a nearby tree.
Helena?
Helena was the caretaker of his Uncle’s grave. Disbelief suspended his thinking.
His grandmother had hated her second son, devoting much of her life to destroying all of his. Surely she had not discovered some maternal feeling for the man after she had made a mockery of his life, even belittling him at his funeral.
As her words became mere whispers, Nikolas inched closer careful not to disturb his grieving grandmother.
“You are sorely missed, my dear son,” she said fingering the rose. “Your Nikolas is well. He has finally accepted his title. Ah, he is a splendid Prince. His business acumen is second only to your own and his compassion… You would be proud.”
Looking around her dismal surroundings, Helena sighed again. “I want to have you moved from here, but dare not speak with Nikolas about it. He would have too many questions. But I will continue to visit you, my darling.”
Throwing back her veil, she placed a soft kiss to the rose, tears shining in her steel blue eyes. Nikolas was transfixed.
“Buried here among these peasants, it is all I can do to denote the dignity you wore so well in life,” she murmured. “Your handsome face was marred with such disfigurement. Well you ever forgive me?”
Finally leaning forward, she placed the rose atop the stone, kissing the cold marble reverently. Her arms went around the block as she held to it.
“Until next year, my darling,” she whispered. “Rest well, my dear Prince. My dear Stavros.”
In the trees, Nikolas whispered the name, his breath crystallizing in the air. “Stavros, Stavros.” His heart began to slam into his chest as he ran from the cemetery, his father’s name falling from his lips. “Dear God, Stavros.”
9: 48 AM