The Final Thoughts of Gerard Keay

And So Gerard Keay Ended

He stared up at the harsh lights above him, eyes struggling to stay open. He heard the soft beeping of machines surrounding his bed, felt the discomfort of the plastic tubes in his nose, forcing him to breathe. Hospital. It was obvious, of course, where else would he be, but still the thought brought waves of panic. His eyes flicked to his arm, to the IV buried in his veins. He tried to raise his arm, to fight the flow of whatever drug traveled through the needle but his limb might as well have been filled with cement. He watched, helpless, as the liquid ran through the IV into his blood, trying to deduce what chemical concoction would be his final meal. He froze at the thought, the thought of death. Of The End. He had always known it was close, knew he couldn't outrun it for long. It had marked him long ago, and though his service to the Eye had kept it at bay, the End would always win.

At the thought of the Eye he looked around the room, his gaze landing on the old woman seated on the hard plastic chair in the corner. Her glasses perched on the end of her nose, her sharp eyes scanning the file in her hand. She didn't look up at him, but he wasn't surprised. She was already planning her next move, a move without him. At this a single tear formed, rolling slowly down his cheek. He had always known that she wouldn't shed a tear when he passed, that he would die and she would continue their work as if he'd never been there. But he hadn't known he would have to watch it happen.

Finally she looked up, her eyes meeting him. He tried to say something but could only manage a low croak. She crossed her legs, resting the file on her lap. She didn't say anything either, but her eyes seemed softer than usual, and there was almost a look of sadness in her face. Again he tried to speak, but even as he tried to force out the words he felt his eyes droop as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

She was gone when his eyes opened again. Now a nurse stood beside him, adjusting the IV and glancing at his chart. Again he tried to raise his hand, tried to push away the needle. He didn't want their drugs, their artificial life. If it was time to go, then he would go, and he would go on his own terms. His hand barely twitched.

The nurse looked at him, and seeing he was awake, tried to speak to him. Her words were gentle, her smile comforting, but he didn't hear her over the pounding of his own head as he fell back into the darkness.

His eyes didn't open this time, the scent of chemicals and the beep on monitors his only clue he was back in the realm of consciousness. He could feel it now, the cold creeping through his chest, spreading out to his limbs. It was time. He tried to steady himself, tried to find his resolve. The End came for everyone, and he knew he was no exception, but still he felt the creeping dread, the fear spread like the cold that overtook his body. He tried to force his eyes open, feeling the hot tears falling from closed lids. He didn't want to go, not now, not like this. He had traveled the world, fought monsters, chased dangers his whole life and now, now he would die like so many others, in a hospital bed, alone. He knew he was alone, he didn't need to open his eyes to know Gertrude wasn't there. She wasn't really one for goodbyes. He felt the cold spreading, his body growing stiff, his breathing becoming more and more labored. He didn't want to go.

It was then her image came, standing out clearly in his foggy mind. His mother, her cold eyes glistening in triumph, her hand reaching out to claim him. He didn't want to go to her, he didn't want her to be his final thought. He felt a cry begin to rise in his throat, a cry for her, for his mother. He wanted to call out for her, for the woman that raised him, who taught him all he knew, but he refused. He stifled her name, trying to push her from his thoughts as the ice cold consumed his mind. He shuddered, mouth falling open in an attempt for a final breath of warm air but he knew it was useless. He felt his lungs rattle with the effort, and as the last bits of heat slipped away with his consciousness, he was so very afraid.