by SM Johnson
It took me a minute to realize he was reciting the list of the dead.
There were others of course, but those are the ones that don't count anymore.
(loud startling laugh)
Hairy Harry picked me up and threw me away from the grenade.
Did any of the news hounds catch that?
So even in the end, he wins.
That's it. That's all of it.
We're done now. For real.
End session: Nineteen Dead
He asked me to see him at the last. I didn't want to because my heart was broken and seeing him would hurt. If I didn't see him, I could pretend we just went separate ways, lost touch, and I wouldn't have to face the reality of his dying. But he wouldn't let me off that easy.
When I entered the tiny visitor's chamber he smiled at me, oh, that smile, and he was beautiful to me despite the shackles, the stupid orange prison suit. I asked the guard to take the cuffs off of him and step out. The guard was hesitant, but I used my powers as a confidential therapist to insist.
So here we are.
Yes. Promise you won't cry.
I can't promise that.
Maybe I'll be reincarnated as a ferret. Watch for me. I'll be the evil one, and you can finally save me.
(smile, tears) I'll take good care of you.
Aw, don't cry. Everything is perfect. You rescued me.
No, I didn't. There is no rescue in this place.
You freed me then. I can see many possibilities different from the path I chose.
I couldn't see them before.
I accept my death only with great regret.
(that smile, those warm eyes) How is that freedom?
If I died with all the bitterness of my life, I would die with nothing. I would have learned nothing. But I did learn, and I'm ready for whatever comes next. I wouldn't have learned it without you. I hope you know that when I call you my friend, it is an honor of the highest caliber.
I know.
Thank you.
I stood because I had to get out of there before I completely fell apart. What was he to me but a client? How could he devastate me with both his life and his death? As he said thank you he held out his hand.
I took his hand in mine and realized with a shock it was the first time I'd ever touched him. For all the hours I had grieved his pain, the isolation of his life, I had never reached out to him with touch. Perhaps it was a horrible mistake. Perhaps it was wise. I cannot guess, even now.
As the flesh of our hands melded, he looked into my eyes. His were calm and sad for a moment, but then flashed with humor.
I bet you never expected this, ever in your life.
Maybe you'll start writing happy endings.
I realized tears were streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't speak. I could only shake my head. The pain was clawing at my chest, ripping through my breastbone, squeezing my heart and stopping my breath.
The lump in my throat was so large and painful there was no way I could talk. There wasn't anything to say, anyway. I wasn't coming back here again. I would not witness the end even if he asked me to.
He didn't ask. Thank God he didn't ask. What he did was pull gently on my hand, and I went gratefully into his arms, grief so strong in me that I could barely stay on my feet.
He stroked my hair, him comforting me, for God's sake, and I inhaled the scent of him, nose buried in the neckline of his shirt, memorizing it, needing to memorize everything possible in this moment because it was the only one.
I couldn't bear it. I couldn't.
How can a person endure this kind of pain?
* * * * *
I lay awake until I knew it had to be over, and then I cried myself to sleep. I felt the void the moment I woke in the wee hours, and cried some more. I am strong. I only had to get through one day. Then another. And another, until the days were steps marching me further and further away from this moment. I wished I could have his peace, right now, and set down the heavy burden of grief that I would carry with me until time was far enough away to look back and find understanding. That was my hope; that someday, I would look back and know the purpose of this pain that arced like a bright brass bullet into my heart.
* * * * *
Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed 18 Dead. Visit my blog to find out what I'm working on next! You can also: read my free serial story, A Year of Sundays (rated-PG), that updates on Sundays; talk about vampires on Bloody Mondays; and enjoy a fiction sample for Thursday Morning Coffee. And of course you'll find links to all my books. SM Johnson Writes (things that go "naughty" in the night).
Discover other titles by SM Johnson
DeVante's Children, DeVante Trilogy 1
DeVante's Coven, DeVante Trilogy 2
DeVante's Curse, DeVante bonus short
Above the Dungeon, Dungeon I
Out of the Dungeon, Dungeon 2
My Fifteen Minutes, short fiction
A Year of Sundays, serial fiction
* * * * *
Much thanks to Cindy, Heather, Coral, and Julie – who were bullied into reading on a harsh deadline. Thanks for coming through for me – you ladies are the best!
* * * * *
SM Johnson lives in northern Wisconsin with one husband, one child, one dog, and one cat. Her favorite winter activity is hibernating with a good book. Learn more by visiting her blog: http://smjbookteasers.blogspot.com, where things go "naughty" in the night.
