Mr. Bill! Oh nooooo! 
After so many deaths in my dynasty, I think that Bill's still stands as one of the hardest for me to deal with. Even if he did live a long life.
Noooooo!!!! Not Bill!!!!
Franco, get your act together! Pansy? Really?! That nose, man. THAT NOSE. I don't know why, but it haunts me.
I wanted him to like Emerald instead, but he never threw any wishes for her and went crazy for Pansy instead.
And please. I encountered worse noses in the dynasty than Pansy's.
Aw, Bill! Poor Annette! 
On a side note, I really like the way you use patterns. Makes me realize I use way to many solids and should try to mix things up a bit.
I used to use a lot of solid colors too, until I read the De D'Onlyns and noticed that Juxt went pattern-crazy on her sims to great effect.
Chapter 23: Remembering Uncle Bill
The Reaper, as tall and hooded as usual, looked down at his new subject and stamped the end of his scythe’s handle on the floor. Bill, now a spectre, knelt in submission towards the figure.
“Knocking means that you can speak, mortal,” said Grim, “I thought with your family, you would know something about me by now.”
“I ran out of the room whenever that happened,” said Bill, “Listen, I don’t want this to happen right now.”
“Why not? You were the oldest man in Twinbrook, and you lived a good life,” said Grim.
“You don’t get it! I just want my wife here!” begged Bill, “I...I don’t want to leave her without saying good-bye.”
Amy looked at the Reaper sternly. “Come on,” she said, “Just give in to that one request. You can take him whenever you want after that, right?”
“I am on a tight schedule, and you are next in this household, so I suggest that you keep quiet,” said Grim. Red eyes flashed from underneath his hood. Amy clenched her mouth shut.
“Can you just prolong this a little?” asked Bill, “She means so much to me and I didn’t even say good-bye when she left for work today.”
“Not tonight, Mr. Racket.” He tapped Bill on the back with the sharp end of his scythe, digging in a tiny bit, enough to scratch the skin if he wasn’t a spectre. “I can make this cut deeper if you do not follow orders and take the leap.”
Reluctantly, Bill left the mortal world after that. Annette was still at work, expediting meals by the minute and slipping laxatives into the drinks of difficult customers. With that energy, it was clear that she was unaware of what happened. Amy gave her a text message with the news, though, which Annette received after her shift. For a few minutes, she stood in place in the back of the diner, unable to take off her uniform or form words to react. Her mouth was agape. Her hands loosened and couldn't grip the phone, allowing to crash down onto the pavement below.
She couldn’t even drive that night and called a taxi instead. The starless sky and gathering stormclouds passed by the car and by Annette's blank stare. She handed the driver a 20 simoleon note and didn’t even bother to get the change back before listlessly making her way up the stairs. She got to the porch just fine. Up the stairs again to the second floor, how did she do that? But Annette did, to find a place where she could weep alone.
The rain fell and Annette sat at the chessboard, letting herself get soaked.
All while missing her nephew’s elder birthday.
Unlike his aunt, or really anyone else at the party, Shark kept his best birthday face on while he thought of a wish. He even smiled a little bit before exhaling and blowing out the candles.
He kept that smile while taking a twirl into the next stage of his life.
And even kept his composure for a new wardrobe, though his scrawny old body brought his mood down by a considerable amount.
The one-man party went on not too far below Annette’s feet, and she couldn’t hear it through the floorboards and drywall. She just let the rain soak her shirt, soak her pants, soak her hair until the ends curled, and flood the soles of her sandals. It soaked all while she held back tears and distracted herself with how the white queen was in trouble from a rogue bishop.
Solitude got to her though. Annette needed a shoulder to cry on.
She got downstairs without collapsing into tears while Shark practiced his flirtatious jokes in the mirror, admiring how sharp he still looked after all.
“You are one handsome silver fox!” he told himself.
His aunt finally crying at that moment was surely a coincidence. Shark hid in the living room. Annette wanted to talk, and given the circumstances, talk good things about Shark’s lifelong enemy.
“Hey kid, can I have a moment with you?” she asked him, while Shark tapped his fingers on the couch cushion, hoping to avoid that question.
No, he did not want that.
“You don’t have a choice either. I might be your uncle’s widow now, but that doesn’t mean I’m not your aunt,” said Annette, “I still get to order you around.”
“Really?” asked Shark.
“For the rest of your days. Matriarchal privilege and such.” The two of them took a seat, looking out the big windows.
“You know, it’s been so long since we first built this place,” said Annette. “I almost don’t remember when we didn’t have windows there. But those were some weird days. I was young, you were young, Bill was kind of young-ish, we were poor...poorer than we are now, anyways.”
"Yeah, those wonderful days. I cared about sculpting. I liked that old man you lived with. I mean, it was certainly better than sharing a life with...someone else."
"Yeah, I know you hated Bill. Believe me, I wish I had someone more understanding to talk with," she said.
Shark looked away and pouted. “Bill’s a difficult subject to talk about. I know that he mattered to you and Franco, but you're right 'cause things were...tense, long before you came here. But now I can’t even remember why I hated him. I've wracked my mind for the answer, but it's not there. I hated him because I hated him.”
“Was it the same with him? I dunno. He trash-talked you a lot too," said Annette. "Wondered if we could just let you starve. I guess he also hated you because he hated you. But, I never agreed with him. Don't you dare think that I did."
"You always seemed a lot nicer."
"And you did too. I wish I was a better aunt to you."
"You do?" Shark asked.
“If they were better between you, then maybe things would be better between us two,” said Annette. “Christ, you’re my nephew! We should have been friends from the start.”
“Perhaps,” said Shark. Water droplets raced to the bottom of the window, and more drops dripped from the roof, but the rain got a little quieter as the night went on. For a few minutes, Shark listened to the rain and the conversation stopped. He tried not to make too much eye contact with his aunt Annette.
“You know, it's gonna be different here without that man,” he said, “No matter how we felt about each other, he was always a part of my life. He and dad worked opposite shifts. So when dad was out at night stealing stuff, uncle Bill would always watch over Lolly and I. Not that I remember much of it, but he was a pretty good sitter. And he always played kids’ music and our silly kids’ games without any complaints.”
"The guy raised a good son too. I could have guessed that," said Annette.
"It's a shame that I only remember a little bit of that."
“So, what happened?”
“It’s easier to be critical when you get older. I guess for me, anyways. He always got along with Lolly. But after a while, he just felt like a miserable, angry kid that never grew up. He always lashed out at mum and dad, and grandpa. Always and always. But...but I guess you came into his life. And he changed. I don't want to admit it, but I noticed it from the start. I just held on to being his enemy."
“Are you saying that I salvaged your uncle?” asked Annette.
Shark sighed. “Fine. You bet you did. I never saw him love anyone; hell,
anything before he met you.”
Annette turned towards her nephew, absolutely beaming, tears streaming down her cheeks. She held his left hand with both of hers, looking at him with intense, familial love in her eyes.
“I told you so,” she whispered.
Shark had enough energy in him for one more sculpture before a nap, though only after indulging in an extra helping of birthday cake and running off a double-dose of sugar. Annette couldn’t bring herself to have a slice. She walked towards the painting room, tapping on the glass door three times to no response. With that silence, she opened it up and craned her neck.
Franco was there, but he kept himself busy and his head down. All his mother did that night was whisper “Take care of yourself. That’s all.” He might have nodded, or he just moved his head to better concentrate on the neck as opposed to the nose on the portrait.
She almost started climbing the stairs when she heard Sagebear whimper a tiny bit.
The ancient dog lay on her back on the dog bed by the door, eyes open and sleepless without her best friend to give her a tummy rub.
“Oh, you old girl,” she whispered, hugging Sagebear’s neck and crying into it. "I wish he was still here for you." She wanted to say something else to her old hound, but she just held on for a good three minutes until her dog wriggled out of the headlock.
She could have gotten to sleep straight after that, but Annette headed to the kitchen instead. Counters and drawers filled the room, with most of them full of knife sets and exotic spices. One, on the half-wall that faced the breakfast nook, had something fun instead. Its adjacent drawers had nectar and cooking nectar, but that one? Annette called its contents "party drinks." It wasn't her first time breaking into them. Guests loved them.
They were bottles of hard liquor. Flasks too. She grabbed the first bottle of gin that she found and drank a few shots' worth.
Annette finally got back upstairs to her bedroom and changed out of her clothes and into her comfy nightshirt. She looked up at the picture to the right of her bed. Her and Bill, sharing a kiss in Egypt.
She climbed into bed that night alone, for the first of many lonely nights. She had twice as much bed to herself and absolute silence without Bill snoring next to her. Annette still curled up on just her half of the bed, waiting for the gin to loosen her up or knock her out.
Loneliness and alcohol; those two adjustments changed her.
Word Count for this chapter:
1,737Word Count so far:
34,195Revised on 2-24-2015. I'm always gonna like this chapter because it's the one that "humanized" Shark for me.
The interesting thing about this attempt is that it was the first one where my founder's spouse managed to survive to ambrosia day and beyond. It definitely forced a new perspective for me on how my founder deals with death.
