To meddle with fate [Pt. 1] He was slipping, slipping, running out of time.
Corsola’s Sight had told him a year at most until his death at the hands of his own blood, but Ross Manger could not accept this. He had spent the year as he had spent many others, ever since Corsola had predicted an approaching death. Before, he had sent gifts regularly and extravagantly to his children to attempt to buy their love, to win them back into his life before it would end abruptly. This year, he feared them, sending even more in attempt to pacify whatever - whoever - the future held for him.
But it wasn’t working. He could feel it. Sally sent back every gift unopened. Sally did not read his letters. She did not accept his gifts. His oldest child had always been the most difficult. Ross had managed to obstruct her development for a while, but Sally Manger had fought through his smothering hands. She was stubborn and strong, like her mother was before he had ruined her, like her mother had built back up to be. He could never quite break Sally down enough.
The year was almost gone, Corsola’s prediction falling in the autumn, and summer now upon them, the school year receded. He had to do something to change his fate, find a way to impede the source of his demise. Eliminate his greatest risk.
The other children would not stoop so low. His sons still loved him, somewhere in their hearts. Ross knew that had to be true. And Karen’s girls had no reason to wish him harm. Desiree had always been a bit more distant, perhaps a little angry, in ways he truthfully could not blame her for, but at the end of the day, she was loyal to him. And Eden… His youngest child was the spark of his life. He had never loved the way he loved her. He was never quite sure why.
That left Sally.
So Sally had to die.
There was no point in killing her to save himself if he landed in jail for it, so Ross had to plan extensively, had to plan carefully. If Sally had any trust in him, he could have gotten close enough and been subtle enough to use poison or something less obvious, but as things stood, there was only one way he could see this going that allowed him innocence.
She resided in a Muggle part of town, and not the best neighborhood at that. Her large home was an easy target to Muggle invaders, thieves who brandished weapons when they did not get what they wanted. That was the way Ross would have to frame this. He had to play the Muggle way.
And today was the day he planned to strike. The Muggle weapon he had acquired felt strangely heavy despite its small size, a far cry from a light, nimble wand. Ross fiddled with the trigger methodically, familiarizing and refamiliarizing himself with the firing mechanism. The bullets were inside, waiting as eagerly as he was. All that was needed was to find the target and cock the weapon.
Ross tucked his wand in one pocket and the handgun in another, concealing it the very moment that Desiree turned a corner and stumbled upon him standing idly in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” she said as she noticed him, her voice a bit suspicious. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, sweetheart,” said Ross, patting the top of his daughter’s blonde head. “Just getting ready to go out and run some errands. Let your mother know I’ll be back soon.” Their eye-contact was brief, broken almost as soon as it was started, as he walked away from her, but he could see in her eyes that she questioned him. But that was no matter; she could be reassured later.
Desiree stared after him for a moment. He had never called her sweetheart in her life. And she hadn’t seen what he was holding, but the outline in his pocket was clearly an unusual sort. A year ago, she might not have doubted him, but a lot of things had changed. Arnold Manger had changed things.
Her intuition demanded action, afraid of what Ross Manger was planning, so she did the only thing she could: she scribbled down a note to Arnold and sent it on its way, delivering by a quick toss into a floo-powder-turned green flame directly to his house. An owl might take too long, even though the inquiry was simple.
Hey, Arnold. Are you doing anything today? she had written, trying to ascertain his location and plans so she could ascertain his danger. Was wondering if you were free to meet up. Best wishes, Desiree. And she meant it, because he might just need it.