Verum (The Nocte Trilogy 2)

I close my eyes.

“I can’t.”

His hand is on mine.

“You can.”

There’s silence, and his hand is cold.

His hand is cold because he’s dead.

“Good night, sweet Finn,” I whisper. “Good night.”

I see his headstone, the dragonfly, the grave.

His hand is gone.

I open my eyes.

I’m alone.

I take out paper and a pen, and I write yet another letter to my father. I don’t know why I continue because he never answers.

But I write and write, and when I’m finished, I give it to Sabine.

“You’ll mail it this time, won’t you?” I ask. She nods.

“It’ll go out in the morning. I’ll make you a cup of tea now, child. And I’ll bring it to you in the salon.”

I sit and I wait, and while I do, I have a visitor.

Father Thomas.

Jones show him in, and I smile.

“It’s good to see you, Father.” Because it is.

He sits with me in the sun, chatting and holding my hand. He’s a soothing presence, and I soak it in while I can.

He stares out the windows at the gardens, at the statues and flowers and paths. “Do you like it here?” he asks quietly, and I have to shake my head.

“No. I thought I might get used to it, but I find that I’m really not.”

Father Thomas smiles. “It’s a daunting place,” he agrees. “And it’s not for everyone. Maybe it’s time for you to leave, child.”

I look away. “I know. But I don’t know where to go.”

The priest cocks his head, the light shining in his eyes. “Go home, child.”

Home.

The place where memories plague me. Where Finn’s shoes and his journal and his unmade bed wait, the things he’ll never use again.

Home, a place surrounded by death.

“Maybe,” I whisper.

He smiles. “Let me pray with you before I go.”