Log:The Price of Happiness
Life was comfortable. No, it was blissful. And everything that Cillian McTavish could ever hope for in his youth. Everything, all of that, was finally coming together.
It was a comfort to wake up next to the woman he had loved for over ten years. To know that they didn't have to live in fear anymore. Even the nightmares gradually faded away from his mind, something which they still had to cope with for a little more than month since Belphagor's banishing, before it was finally gone.
As he stirs, there's a soft smile on his lips as the sunlight filtering in through the window chases the sleep from his eyes. Shifting onto his side, he swings an arm to cross over the bed, expecting to nuzzle all cozy-like up against the missus, only to find that section of the bed cold and unoccupied. Ever since Maria's birth, he had to get used to their change in sleep patterns, even if that meant waking up alone in bed as Anette tended to the babe. Today was different though. It was quiet. There were no sounds of a fussy newborn or the inviting aroma of bacon and eggs being cooked blended perfectly with the bold sensations of the scent of the first coffee of the day. He may never get to enjoy the taste of food ever again, but just those beautiful smells were so appetizing.
In fact, the bed felt cold because that wasn't actually sunlight pouring in over him, it was the bright glow from the lamp at his bedside. That's when he is weighed down by this sinking feeling of dread, realizing that all of that was...
As stubborn as he ever was, The Capitalist refuses to let go of his hold on these last fleeting tendrils of what he believed to be the perfect life. He was genuinely happy. He had a family, a child, even. These are things he had never truly experienced in any of his other memories. Conrad had died young, before he could reach his 'Happy Ever After' and while Rhys had survived, he wasn't one who seemed fated to bask in the warmth and love that he felt now. These memories, that happiness which followed after their departure from Prosperity, he knew that while his time spent in the doomed town will be rich and detailed, including the terror that they all experienced, everything else, his life with Anette, would lose its intensity in his mind.
Rolling over once more, to fall onto his back, the muscles in his arms begin to tighten when his hands dig and claw at the bedsheets as his eyes stare up at the blank ceiling above him, his form practically trembling with rage. This was unacceptable. This was a cruel joke. He had gained everything that a man could ever want only to lose it completely, finding himself back in this trumped up cell once more.
There is this sudden desire to find Her now, but as he springs into a seated position, legs swung over the side of bed to take his first steps, he comes to realize just who She was. It was Madison. This was something that he needed to come to terms with. It was so... fucked up.
Rising to stand, he makes his way into his lavish bathroom, to spend a good thirty minutes or so beneath the steam and heat of his multi-head shower, feeling the blasts of water assaulting him on all sides, helping to relieve some of his tension. The Capitalist did a lot of thinking in the shower, it had to be one of his favorite places in existence, something which was sorely missing in 1902 Prosperity, Nevada.
While on the Island, Conrad had Madison. She was his only family. Rhys was always alone. Cillian had family, though. A large one in fact. Many of those faces now seem familiar to him as all of his memories begin to trickle back in.
Toweling himself off, he returns to settle down upon the edge of his bed. The first thing he can think of doing is to search his nightstand for a pack of cigs, only to find where once Driscoll's ANVIL Security business card once lay, there is now an opened envelope. First things first, however, and after sifting through the contents of the nightstand's drawer, finding that ever present watch which once belonged to Conrad Wellson and then Rhys' business card, he finally finds that pack of cigarettes. Slipping one between his lips, he lights up. Only then does he go for the envelope to look over its content.
In it are a few correspondence letters between one Miss Colette Winslow and Cillian McTavish. There was the first letter she ever sent him, informing him that she had seen his post for a wife and was interested in visiting him, if he would have her. Then his response to her letter, followed by her final note, giving him her travel information and the date in which she should be arriving in Prosperity. A little reminder of just how low the Capitalist was willing to stoop to in order to get what he wanted, though in this sense, it wasn't completely selfish. Or so he keeps telling himself.
Slipping the letters back into the envelope which is then returned to the nightstand, he decides it's time to get ready for the day. With the uncertainty on how to approach Madison still looming over him, he had this unshakable urge to see her. Maata as well. This would be an awkward conversation.