Come With Me

Prologue

Thursday, 8 January 2015. Afternoon. Outskirts of Lumiose City

"I suppose we should take the good weather as a good omen?" The question had been rephrased all day from countless others as they offered their cheap words of sympathy. It was beginning to get on Siebold's very last nerve.

He knew that it was an unusually warm day for early January. Anybody native to the Kalos region could have told him that. If anything, he hated the irony of it all.

A day that was supposed to be filled with sorrow and mourning had turned out to be very lovely. The cold that had long persisted since November had decided to lighten its icy grip on this one day in particular. It was almost a tragedy in itself that the weather failed to match the mood by pouring a relentless downpour. Rain was fit for a funeral. Not sunshine.

"You could say that." He would distantly respond. The phrase had become his default response. He was always a man of few words, but it never pained him to talk. Not like today, at least.

The woman standing next to him placed a gentle touch on his arm. He stiffened in response, wanting to be left alone. However, he knew that she wouldn't leave him alone. She knew that, deep down, he couldn't stand the thought of being alone at this point in time.

He un-tucked his hand, placing it atop hers, offering a light squeeze.

"Think of it as your parents sending you good weather."

He didn't respond, only looking on as the cemetery workers began to fill in the hole in the ground. His mother had just been buried on the bottom, and now they were finishing burying his father on the top half of the grave.

The tombstone at the head of the grave really put it all into perspective for him. They were gone. His father, who he had talked to only a week ago: gone. His mother: gone for good.

"Narcisse" marked the middle. His father's name was written on the left tombstone, and his mother on the right.

James E. 7 September 1969 – 1 January 2015

Noémi C. 14 July 1967 – 1 January 2015

It almost felt wrong that their graves were just that. No meaningful epitaph. No design –just cold, gray slate. Not even a small design to recognize that his father was a renowned chef.

Siebold sighed, looking to the dark-haired woman next to him. "Maybe my father, but not my mother," he finally responded.

Her blue eyes looked at him with sympathy. "Siebold–"

"Diantha," he cut off.

She squeezed his arm. "I know she left abruptly, but I do believe she still loved you."

He merely looked away. "Believe what you want," he hissed.

She hated the bitterness in his tone. They had known each other since they were children, but she had never heard anger quite like this. Anger really didn't fit the description, though. She felt it was more of a bitter mixture of despair and contempt.

The crowd had finally disappeared, offering him their final condolences, leaving only Siebold, Diantha, and the workers atop the hill.

Moments later, two cars pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. Two men stepped out of their cars, one carrying a large bouquet of flowers.

The man carrying the flowers gave the other man a strange look. He had never seen him before. Figuring he was some friend of Siebold's mother, he disregarded him, hastily making his way up the stone path.

"So sorry I'm late. The florist lost our order," he spoke, watching as Siebold and Diantha parted.

The blond man shrugged it off, turning back to the grave. "It's okay, Jean. You didn't miss much." The workers had finished packing the dirt. They offered their own condolences to Siebold, and soon went on their way.

Their words were hollow and meant nothing to Siebold. They had probably rehearsed those lines a million times, offering them to countless families.

Jean went and placed the bouquet neatly between the two headstones, careful to not block out the name. Years of working at the Narcisse's restaurant as the sauté chef left him with an astounding attention for detail, and he couldn't let them down just yet.

Looking over the two graves, the brown-haired man gave a nod of respect, returning to Siebold's side. "Diantha," he greeted, looking over at the petite woman.

She smiled at him, her only form of acknowledgement. He was fully aware that she didn't like him, but now wasn't the time for them to be rude to one another.

"Mister Narcisse?"

Siebold turned at the mention of his last name. "Yes?" He asked.

"My name is Louis Bise. I was your father's attorney. I know I come at a bad time, but there are a few legal matters we need to discuss," he said in a gruff voice.

Siebold suppressed a sigh, stepping forward. "I'll see you two later," he dismissed.

Jean reached out to grab his hand. "Everything is going to be okay, Siebold. I promise."

The other man was silent as he tore away from his grip. "I'll see you back home," he bit.

Jean and Diantha watched as Siebold followed the older man. Once more, everything was silent. Even the Fletchling seemed to know it was a bad time to speak.

Diantha, however, didn't quite see it that way. "Looking forward to that immanent promotion to sous chef, Mister Lucien?" She asked, not bothering to look at the person she was directing her question to.

He laughed through his nose. "Don't assume things, Diantha. Siebold is free to make his own decisions." He started back down the path, heading for his own vehicle. Stopping, he couldn't resist one last quip. "I can't help it if I influence him, though."

Diantha crossed her arms, not saying a word. A cemetery was not the place to pick a fight, despite how much she wanted to.

Turning back to the grave, she shook her head. She felt hot under her black dress. "I bet you're rolling in your grave as I speak," she said, looking at James's side of the tombstone.

A cooling breeze swept over the hill, almost giving her a sense of confirmation.

"What exactly do we need to discuss?" Siebold asked, sitting across from his father's attorney in a stuffy old office.

"It's about your father's will," Louis simply began, placing a stack of papers on the desk.

Siebold internally groaned. If there was one thing he hated, it was unnecessarily long paper work.

"He left you everything," the attorney continued.

Siebold knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He expected as much. It still left him feeling that way. "Everything?" He asked.

The old man nodded. "Everything," he confirmed. "The mansion in the northern section of Lumiose is yours, as are all of your father's investments. That, obviously, includes his restaurant."

Apple Of The Earth: a restaurant known throughout Kalos. It was regarded as the best in the region, and one of the best in the world. Everyone knew the restaurant. Siebold was currently the sous chef, and his father had been the executive chef on top of being the owner. It wasn't too much of a step up. Being the sous chef, it left him already filling in for a lot of his father's duties.

He didn't like that he didn't have someone to keep an eye on him, though. After all, he was only eighteen as of a week ago. He was already considerably young to be a sous chef. To be an owner of such a prestigious restaurant at his age was unheard of.

"I'm sure you realize you're very young to own such a renowned restaurant. If I may, I suggest making sure your sous chef is someone you trust completely. You might even consider not becoming executive chef. Handing that title to someone who has more experience might be a good idea."

Siebold didn't have to be told twice. He already knew who he would turn the position over to. "I've already given that thought. Thank you, though," he responded.

The old man nodded in acknowledgement. "Alright then. We should also talk about your father's life insurance policies. Between the two policies he had on him, and your own inheritance, you're going to come into a lot of money. Obviously, there will be investigations to make sure there is no foul play…"

He continued to drone on and on, offering advice on what he should and shouldn't do. It was all very tiresome.

By the end of the day, after returning home, all he could bring himself to do was lie down on his bed. Hours passed, and his whole body ached from being still for so long. But it hurt just as much to move.

The sounds of the house staff moving about were usually soft. Now, they were deafening. He vowed he would reduce the staff if it would bring him any peace.

After all, they only served to remind him of his parents at this point.

Forcing himself to look at the clock on his nightstand, he groaned when it only read 7:48pm. Having been up since 6:00am, and having little to no sleep the days prior, it felt like midnight.

A nock at his door brought him out of his self-pity. "Young master." He couldn't remember how many times he told them to never call him that. "Dinner is ready," the soft voice spoke from behind the door.

"I'll be down shortly," he replied, not moving from his spot.

For the rest of the night, he didn't move from the spot no matter how many times the staff tried to get him to leave. He didn't even bother to take off his suit. He lied on his bed, staring at the wall, only falling asleep as the sun began to rise.

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