What Money Can Buy

*Frightning and nightmarish*

The boy says, Devil, don't you steal my soul

'Cause I'm down on my luck and out of control

All what money can buy, and I want it so bad

Devil just smiled said, come with me, lad -kc

The name Van Burristron had once dripped of power and money. Not anymore. The money lasted well through the private schools and grand vacations in Europe and various Pacific islands, but by the time Hamilton stepped into adulthood, all that was left for him was a mansion in disrepair with the taxes paid up for a few years and a trust that barely paid enough to hire a gardener to keep up appearances. The power had died with his grandfather.

No matter; Marcy Farrington was going to save him. She wasn't a beauty, far from it, but she came from deep money. An ocean of it, and because Hamilton was considered handsome and charming, she'd been attracted.

Things were going well. Surprisingly well. Everyone thought of them as a couple. When Hamilton looked at Marcy, he saw piles of money and what it could buy. People thought they saw the look of love in his eyes.

When she visited his mansion, Hamilton told her he was getting quotes for renovations. He had dreams of restoring it to its original glory, but at the same time, he planned to add more bathrooms and every modern convenience known to man.

Marcy offered polite suggestions while Hamilton cultivated the stars in her eyes. At a later time, when he told her he loved her, she said it back. It was time to bring in the harvest.

~*~

Hamilton stopped at a bar for a drink, and as he imbibed, he planned the future. He and Marcy would travel while the renovations were in progress. They'd use her money.

As he thought up an elaborate story to explain how his fortune was tied up, his eyes got entangled with those of a pale blond beauty. He couldn't help but smile. She moved to the seat beside him.

"I'm drowning my sorrows," she said. "Bad break up. How about you?"

"Making some plans for the future," Hamilton answered, raising his glass slightly.

"It's the same thing. Here's to the future!" She lifted her own glass and ordered a round. "My name is Teralyn."

They ended up at the mansion. He used a guest room—removing the dust covers, then stashing them into a closet. He lit candles for ambiance while Teralyn powdered her nose.

She was irresistible.

At least for that night, she was. The next day, she was resistible. They parted on good terms. Nothing tugged at his conscience. He wasn't married yet—not even engaged.

 ~*~

Hamilton needed an engagement and wedding ring for Marcy. The prices at Tiffany's were out of reach, and the family's jewelry had been sold off years ago. He needed something worthy, so he cruised pawn shops, antique markets, and second-hand stores, searching for quality, hoping for a lucky find. Surely, there'd been a few millionaire's girlfriends who'd sold a ring or two.

The name of the shop was Nevermore, run from the lower level of a townhouse in downtown Philadelphia. He'd nearly passed it by on his way to an estate sale. Smells from the pasts of others disturbed his nose as his entrance unsettled a string of bells. A wrinkled man of unknown ethnicity nodded from a stool behind an ornate wooden counter. A tiny primate's enormous eyes followed Hamilton from its perch on the owner's shoulder. He found the scrutiny intrusive. He didn't need his soul examined.

He passed by taxidermy displays, colorful rugs, and necklaces made from human teeth to focus on jewelry locked in display cases.  

"Is this a real diamond?" he asked about one ring. "Is it real gold?" He knew the ring was heirloom quality. But did the shopkeeper know?

"Ring is cursed," the merchant said. "You buy, I give good deal. Good riddance. Bah!" The wizened old man pulled it from the case.

Hamilton turned it this way and that, trying to hide his excitement and racing heart, when he discovered Tiffany and Co. engraved on the inside of the band. He hesitated at the price only because it was bred into him to do so. The store owner lowered the figure twice, practically giving it away.

"I'll take it." He didn't ask about the curse. He didn't believe in such.

Hamilton next made a pretense of purchasing an expensive ring at Tiffany's. His name allowed him to open a line of credit. The following weekend, he returned it with a sad story of how she turned him down. They gave him full credit, again because of his name.

He kept the box.

~*~

The next morning, he polished the ring with a jewel cleaning kit until it shone like new and placed it into the Tiffany box. Marcy would never know. He was still admiring it when someone knocked on his mansion door. Who?

Teralyn stood before the peephole. His one-night stand.

"I need your help. Can I come in?"

Instead of waiting for an answer, she walked right in and sat at the table in the chair beside the Tiffany ring.

"I need a drink. Beer, wine, whiskey, anything."

She looked irresistible again. Hamilton poured two glasses of wine and reached for the ring, but before he could pick up the box, Teralyn took it out and tried it on.

"Lovely," she said. "Are you getting engaged? I hope she has an open mind." She took a long swig of wine.

"Why is that?" Hamilton asked. He reached for her hand and tried to slip the ring off. It wouldn't budge.

"Because we're having a baby. You and I." She drained her glass and reached for the bottle. "Congratulations!" she said to him.

Hamilton couldn't hide his shock.

"You said you had just broken up with your boyfriend. How do you know the baby is even mine?"

"I don't yet. You're just the best of the lot, is all. I'll sort everything out after the birth, and then someone is going to pay child support. I'm not raising this kid on my own."

The lot?

"But we're nothing. A one-night stand."

"Is that what you're going to tell her? Will she understand?"

"Well, we weren't married or engaged at the time."

"It doesn't matter. You should never have been with me if you were in an exclusive relationship. It's an unwritten rule. Didn't you know? Too bad. Now, you pay the price like everyone else."

Teralyn’s voice rankled his anxiety. She was so resistible.

"I need the ring back!" Hamilton said. He heard desperation in his voice. "We can talk about all this later. You can stay here, but not tonight. Call a friend."

He went to the kitchen and brought back a tray filled with liquid soap, cooking oil, ice water, and wax. One by one, the remedies failed. The ring would not slip off.

Hamilton panicked.

He had a seven o'clock reservation at Wyeth Sands Plaza, with a lakeside table. Marcy was taking a taxi to meet him. He was going to propose on one knee and then open the ring box. Of course, she would say yes, and afterward, they were coming here.

Teralyn needed to leave, but Hamilton could not let her do so without the ring.

"I don't have any friends to call," she was saying. "I'm originally from California. Once I found out I was pregnant, I quit my job and told everyone I was going back. I don't even have family to call. Not anymore."

"No friends? No family?" he said.

He stood behind her and massaged her shoulders.

"Don't go feeling sorry for me, now. I don't need sympathy. Just a place to stay. Maybe until the baby grows up."

She laughed an unpleasant laugh.

In those moments after that laugh, Hamilton saw his dreams spiral away round and round and down into the depths of a hell imprisoned with Teralyn. No! He couldn't let that happen. He was a Van Burristron. His blood ran blue. He squeezed her neck from behind until she stopped breathing. She put up enough of a fight to kick the table over, spill the wine, and break the glasses. At least there wasn't any blood, and thank goodness, the teal Tiffany ring box had fallen far from the wine. The ring dropped to the floor at Teralyn's death. Hamilton picked it up with the box and took it to the kitchen. Here, he cleaned away traces of Teralyn before placing it back into the box. He put it safely into his pocket and gave it a reassuring pat.

Hamilton carried Teralyn's body up the stairs to the guest bedroom she'd spent the night in and laid her on the bed. Here, he covered her, the bed, and the rest of the furniture in the room with the dust covers retrieved from the closet and shut the door.

"Where's Teralyn?" a female voice called out. "Did you kill her?"

Hamilton froze.

"Hello?" he queried.

Silence. He must have imagined it. Guilt and nerves. She'd driven him to this. Teralyn. No wonder she had no friends.

 ~*~

Hamilton cleaned the table and floor, emptying the dustpan into a plastic bag along with the cleaning rags. Next, he collected Teralyn's purse from the floor, putting her phone into his pocket. He brought everything with him, along with the bag of trash, and then drove her car to the address listed on her license.

Never in his life had he thought and acted more like a Van Burristron than now, under duress. His every move was clear and purposeful. With gloved hands, he turned on the radio.

"Where's Teralyn?" the voice called out again. "Did you kill her?"

Hamilton swerved and pulled over. He was in the country. There wasn't another car in sight.

No one in the back seat. Nor the trunk.

The ring.

The ring was cursed.

Hamilton returned to the car. When he reached the address, he parked it near Teralyn's apartment complex and wiped the inside with a clean cloth he'd carried along for that purpose. Hamilton then locked the car, leaving the keys and purse inside. With luck, someone would break the window and steal the purse. He tossed the bag of trash with the broken wine glasses into a receptacle he passed while walking away. When the phone fell from his pocket near the street curb, Hamilton kicked it into the sewer and took a taxi home.

"Where's Teralyn?"

"Did you kill her?"

The driver didn't seem to notice the voice. The cursed ring was in his pocket. It seemed only he could hear it.

I can do this, he thought. A Van Burristron can do anything.

~*~

Shortly after his return, it began to rain. Hamilton rolled the plastic trash bin to the kitchen door in the back. Teralyn was still wrapped in a dust cover, and he kept her that way as he loaded her body inside. He didn't want to see her.

The Van Burristron mausoleum was no longer in use, not since the 1800s. It lay a good mile behind the house. The mansion comprised a vast property. In addition to the mausoleum, there was a carriage house, a gardener's cottage, a stable house, and a stable. None were in use. He'd sell everything in a minute if he could, but some iron-tight will decreed that any proceeds from the sale would go to a charity organization that rescued abandoned animals.

He pushed the receptacle through the mud and rain. It took an hour and a half to get to the gloomy stone structure sitting halfway beneath the ground. He unlocked the door, pulled it open, and missed a step, spilling Teralyn to the bottom. He picked her up hastily, covering her head with the dust cover.

None of the coffins were locked. Hamilton had unlocked them all when he first inherited the place and searched them for valuables to sell. Another Van Burristron must have beaten him to it. There were no valuables left to find. He chose an empty vault, lifted her in, and shut her away. No way the child was his. He turned his back on her and left.

He had just enough time to dress for his date and arrived at the restaurant with even a few minutes to spare. 

"Of course, I'll marry you," Marcy answered.

Hamilton slipped the ring onto her finger.

"Where's Teralyn?"

"Did you kill her?"

Marcy kissed him amidst soft applause from the surrounding patrons.

  ~*~

It should have been a beautiful night. Something about being newly engaged should have made the world new again.

"Where's Teralyn? Did you kill her?"

Marcy slept beside him in the mansion's master bedroom suite, seven hundred square feet of outdated dreariness, with inadequate closets and a bathroom down the hall. Every hour, the ring on her hand that lay beside her head on the pillow asked for Teralyn.

"She's dead!" Hamilton whispered now.

Marcy stirred.

It was 5 a.m.

He now thought of the guest room on the other side of the bathroom as Teralyn's room. Her blond hair came to mind. Then, her grating personality. All the trouble she'd caused him by forcing her way through his front door and trying on the ring. He vowed never to step foot into that room ever again.

He drifted off to sleep.

"Where's Teralyn? Did you kill her?"

 ~*~

Hamilton made the biscuits and scrambled the eggs for breakfast. I don't need a cook for just myself. I'm barely home.

"Father, of course, will want you to sign a prenup," Marcy stated over her plate. "You don't mind, do you, darling?"

"Of course not. Whatever your father wants. What time is your mother expecting us?"

"We're meeting them at the club tonight for dinner." Marcy gave a sigh. "I hope you don't mind a big fuss. It's just that they're so happy. It will probably take two years just to get through all my mother's engagement parties."

Hamilton could not wait that long. Not after all he'd been through. He wouldn't.

"Maybe we should elope. Perhaps a cruise far away from here," Hamilton suggested. "Wherever you want to go, Angel."

"I like that idea," Marcy told him. "Why don't I go ahead and start planning? In the meantime, we have all afternoon."

"Where's Teralyn? Did you kill her?"

~*~

Hamilton slept peacefully away from the ring that night. He wondered if it bothered Marcy at all. If so, she didn't deserve it. Once they married, he was going to be an ideal husband. With his hand in Marcy's money, he could return the cursed ring to Nevermore and buy her a replacement directly from Tiffany's this time.

~*~ 

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the ship captain said. "You may now kiss your bride."

Marcy kissed Hamilton, and Hamiton kissed his new wife while holding her in his arms.

"Help me, Hamilton. I can't get out."

It sounded like Teralyn, but of course, it wasn't. She was dead. It was the ring. Next, it sounded like Teralyn was crying. Nonstop crying. Heaving sobs and wails. It only stopped when she called for help.

Hamilton endured it for three days and nights, telling himself to man up. He was a Van Burristron.

A teppanyaki chef was putting on a show for them at a table-side hibachi grill.

"Help me, Hamilton, I can't get out!" Teralyn began to cry.

No. It wasn't Teralyn, Hamilton reminded himself. It was the ring.

The chef was slicing vegetables in the air while Marcy smiled. Hamilton turned away from the chef to stare at the ring. Suddenly, he saw the evil inside the diamond. A squirmy thing that pulsed as Teralyn cried. Not Teralyn, he reminded himself again. If only he could get to it, pull it out, and squash it. The more he stared, the more convinced he became that he could do it. He smiled at Marcy, but she didn't notice. She was watching the chef. When he tossed the knife up into the air again, Hamilton caught it. In one swift movement, he sliced through Marcy's wrist, keeping his eyes on the diamond. The crying stopped at once. Hamilton stabbed the diamond and missed. Stabbed again. Almost got it on the third try. The screaming sounded just like Marcy, but he knew better. It was the ring. The cursed ring.