Toxic Tales

What's in a Name? Part 4

I tried to put the horrible deed out of my head, but it haunted me relentlessly. From what I could learn from the neighbors, the guards had no suspects. The murder weapon was the miller's own knife, and there was no other evidence present to suggest a perpetrator. I didn't know whether I felt relief or revulsion at my own cleverness in quickly grabbing the spool of gold. There were times when I wished they would catch me for the sake of my guilty conscience. The guards decided in the meantime that it must have been a dispute about money, which was not surprising considering the family's reputation.

Meanwhile, my father's illness had grown worse, leaving him bedridden and unable to eat or drink very much. Emilia and I moved him into our home and cared for him as best as we could. Nicholas noticed the tumult that had overtaken our house, and I knew he was scared, but I did my best to comfort him. I wasn't looking forward to explaining to him about Heaven and what happens when one dies, but I had a sickening feeling that I had to tell him about it soon.

My father grew thinner and paler with each passing day. One evening, I was sitting at his bedside. Emilia was fetching water from the well, and Nicholas was sound asleep in his little bed. My thoughts drifted back to my crime, causing me to dwell on my darker thoughts. My father still had enough awareness to see that I was troubled, and asked in his weak voice what was on my mind.

I looked at my father, and a sudden realization hit me: all my life, I had striven to be exactly like him, and I had succeeded, but in one too many ways. We were both criminals, murderers forever haunted by the fear that one day we would be discovered and torn away from our families and everything we loved—

The strain of keeping such a horrible secret finally became too much. I began to weep bitterly, and I confessed everything to my father. Once I was finished, I tearfully begged for his forgiveness.

He reached up with his withered hand and touched my face. "Oh, my poor darling boy," he said softly. "I am so sorry. I know just what it is like to carry such a heavy burden."

"I-I want to confess, but..." I looked over at my little boy. "How can I leave him? How can I leave Emilia?"

My father smiled sadly. "You needn't confess, son. I wish there were another way, but I am afraid that justice comes to all sinners in time. I know that my illness is punishment for my crime, and I must say that after so many years of concealing it, it is a relief to know that I will be leaving the world and its sufferings very soon...although I hate to leave you."

Tears started rolling down his face. Sobbing, I laid my head on his chest. His feeble +hands stroked my hair. I wished the moment would never end.

"I love you, Father."

"And I love you, my son...my greatest joy..."

I heard his heartbeat slow and stop. He exhaled and closed his eyes, his hands still in my hair. There was a smile on his face.

Emilia came back to find me weeping inconsolably over my father's body. She pulled me close and let me cry. It was the most painful night of my life.