The Amazing Otis Vale

The rain came down hard that night.

The kind of rain that soaked through a man's clothes before he even had the chance to think about running for cover.

Otis was already soaked by the time he reached the front gates of the Harrington mansion.

He had been standing outside for a while now, his shirt clinging to his back, his hair flat against his forehead, water running down the side of his jaw and dripping off his chin. He did not bother wiping his face. There was no point. The rain was not stopping and neither was he.

His phone call with the doctor was still fresh in his ears.

"Mr. Otis, if the deposit of one hundred thousand dollars is not made before tomorrow morning, we cannot proceed with the surgery. I'm sorry, but that is the hospital's policy and your mother is die."

One hundred thousand dollars.

He had stood in the middle of the hospital hallway when he said it, people walking past him on both sides, nurses pushing carts, a child crying somewhere down the corridor, and all he could hear was that number bouncing around inside his skull. 

One hundred thousand dollars, and his mother was lying in that bed, pale and small and hooked up to machines that were doing the breathing she could no longer do on her own.

He had nowhere else to go.

So he came here.

The Harrington mansion sat behind its iron gates the way it always did, like it was daring the rest of the world to come close. Every light in the house was on. Through the tall windows he could see movement inside, figures passing back and forth.

A guard eventually let him through without a word, the kind of silence that told him everything about how welcome he was here. He walked up the long driveway, his shoes making soft wet sounds against the stone, and by the time he reached the front door and pushed it open, he was carrying the rain in with him.

The entrance hall was exactly what it always was. Wide. Cold in the way that expensive things are cold. 

His father in law, Gerald Harrington, was standing near the sitting room doorway with a glass of something amber in his hand. His mother in law, Diane, was seated on the long white sofa, her legs crossed, her eyes moving over

Otis the way a person looks at something they stepped in by accident.

A few other family members were scattered around the room. Cousins. An uncle. People who had never once looked at Emty like he was anything more than a mistake the family was still trying to correct.

Nobody offered him a towel.

Nobody told him to come in, even though he was already in.

Gerald looked at him for a moment, then looked away, taking a slow sip from his glass. 

“You're dripping on the floor.”

Otis stood there, water pooling quietly at his feet. 

“I got a call from the doctor tonight,” he said, keeping his voice steady. 

“My mother needs surgery. They need one hundred thousand dollars deposited by tomorrow morning or they won't—”

“Again?” Diane's voice came out flat and sharp at the same time, the way only she could manage. She did not even look up from the magazine resting across her knee. 

“Is that woman still holding on?”

One of the cousins, a young man named Felix who had never worked a day in his life, laughed softly from the corner of the room. 

“Honestly, I don't understand what she's waiting for.”

“She should just let go,” someone else muttered. Otis did not turn to see who said it.

Diane finally looked up. She set the magazine down on the cushion beside her with a small, deliberate pat.

“Otis,” she said slowly, like his name was something she was tasting and finding bitter, “do you know what I think? I think that woman has suffered enough. Truly. The kindest thing you could do for her right now is stop dragging it out.”

“Let her go,” Gerald said simply, turning back toward the cabinet to refill his glass. 

“If she goes now, maybe she comes back and reincarnate as something useful. A bird. A flower.” He paused, tilting his head slightly like he was genuinely considering it. 

“One of the servants' children, maybe.”

Felix laughed again, louder this time.

“At least then she wouldn't be your burden anymore,” Diane added, folding her hands in her lap. “Because let's be honest, Otis, that's all she is at this point. A burden. And you, dragging yourself here in the rain like some kind of wet dog, begging for money to keep a burden alive.” She clicked her tongue. 

“What does that make you?”

“Useless,” Gerald said, without turning around.

“Worthless,” Felix offered from the corner, smiling like it was a game.

At that moment Otis's jaw tightened.

He had stood in this room and taken their words before. More times than he could count. He had swallowed things down that would have broken other men, told himself it did not matter, told himself that none of it mattered as long as she was okay, as long as his mother was okay, as long as the woman lying in that hospital bed had a chance.

He swallowed now too. Barely.

“I'm not asking for charity,” he said, his voice low and even. 

“You made a promise. When I donated my bone marrow to Cara the first time, you promised me one million dollars, which I rejected. I am not asking for that. I am only asking for one hundred thousand. Just enough to save my mother's life. That is all I want.”