He’s talking to the photo.
With a shaking hand, he produces a handkerchief from an inner pocket, mops his face, then tucks away both the cloth and photo. “It’s too late, my love. We can never be reunited, not after what I’ve done.”
A shudder runs through my body. What the fuck is he talking about? What has this man done?
From a separate pocket, Amos brings out a vial. I can’t see what it contains, but I’m getting a really bad feeling. Fuck it. “Amos?”
He looks up in confusion, frowns, then quickly pockets the vial. “Ah, um, Feniks…” he croaks.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, er, you’re better?” he mumbles, “Heard you had the flu.” The tremble in his voice is still present.
I scowl at him, wondering if interfering is a mistake, but just for a second there, I’d thought…Gods.
If the old man is planning to kill himself, I should dosomething.I move forward and slot my hand into his jacket. He grips feebly to my wrist but can’t stop me from finding the little bottle.
Its contents are the sticky black liquid of a Mortiferum potion.
Fast-acting and deadly. “What the fuck?” I growl.
He tries to snatch it back from me, but there is no hope in Hades that’s possible. “Why are you killing yourself?” I demand.
Like a marionette with its strings cut, Amos collapses. “Because I can’t live with the guilt any longer.” His eyes are wild as they fix on me. “Don’t let them in, boy. Don’t let them know you care for someone. Love is a weakness, makes you do terrible things.”
After checking no one else is in the vicinity, I take a seat on the log beside him.
“Your given name is Alexis, isn’t it?” he asks. I’m surprised by the question, but nod. “Mine is Bernard. No one calls me that now. I haven’t been Bernard since my wife died.”
“When did she die?” This must be the Petra he was talking to.
“Fourteen years ago, today. And each day since she’s been gone has been agony. I should have ended it so long ago, but I was afraid. I’m not a brave man, Alexis.” He looks at me, tired eyes filled with pain.
“Tell me what you’ve done, and maybe I can help you,” I tell him. “There is nothing that is not redeemable.”
“You really think that’s true?” Suddenly, a spark of hope shows in his face.
“Of course.”
Lies.
Many, many acts are completely irredeemable, but Bernard doesn’t need to hear that right now. “It is not an act of courage to end your life; it is an act of courage to make amends for your transgressions.”
He sags, burying his face in his hands. “Impossible; it’s too much, too awful.”
“You’ve caused others pain?” I try to keep a note of compassion in my voice.
“So much pain, so much. Gods.”
“Tell me?” I invite him gently at first.
“No…I can’t. I can’t.”
Oh well, he asked for it.“TELL ME.”
The older man’s mouth falls open. A gurgling noise in his throat.
Fuck.
