What Makes a Monster

♱End♱

~Epilogue~

Soran P.O.V.

I'm tired.

The room is a blur. My breathing is slow. My hands tremble. Then there's something warm. Soft patting against the back of my hand. Blue, a familiar deep blue watching me from the side of the bed. Wallie. He smiles, wrinkles etched into aged skin and gray hairs curled around his head. I smile back, but he's shaking too. I hear someone sniffle.

"Is he in pain?" Mykel asks.

I search for him. The bedroom I've spent decades in has faded. I don't recall where our dresser is or the closet or the boxes filled with memories of our family. Do we still have them? I'd like to look at them.

I find Mykel somewhere behind Wallie. I squint my eyes, trying to make out his tall figure looming over a man in white.

"No. I've administered the medicine, but..." He rests his hand on Mykel's shoulder. "You need to prepare yourselves. It'll be soon."

Haelyn is crying. Our daughter is crying. I reach for her, but she finds me. Her gentle hands cradle mine. The bed dips. She leans in, allowing me to make out her vibrant violet eyes and short graying black hair.

"I'm here, Papa," she says. I don't remember calling for her. I don't remember getting here. Wasn't I at the hospital? My memory is hazy.

"Would-" she sniffles. "Would he have more time if we take him back to the hospital?"

"He doesn't want-" Mykel stops himself, but he's closer now too. I smile at him, although his deep green eyes are clouded over with tears. "He hated it there and he should be here when-" He chokes up when Wallie takes his hand. "He should just be here."

"Where are the kiddo's?" I ask, although they aren't really kiddo's anymore, not all of them anyways. My voice is harsh and cracked. I don't even remember what I sounded like before this, before growing old. "I want, mm, I promised to read to them."

"Is it ok to bring them up here, Daddy?" Haelyn whispers, but she has never been much of a whisperer. She always tried to stay up past her bedtime with her brother. Mykel could get away with it, but not her. She's loud wherever she goes and whatever she does. I'd catch her playing with toys under the covers or trying to sneak outside to swing. Then we'd play or swing together and eat snacks, unless Wallie caught us both. The memories warm me when I'm starting to feel very cold.

"Yes, let them see each other just..." Wallie looks at me. Even now, he holds a smile. "Just in case."

Haelyn nods. She and Mykel leave the room. I hear our grandchildren talking outside. I hear their rushed footsteps growing closer. I remember Haelyn and Mykel doing the same, waking on their birthdays or early for a promised trip. They'd come running into our room, jumping on the bed, shouting at us to get up because it's time to go. And we'd laugh and have pancakes for breakfast and go on adventures in the woods, swimming in the pond, riding the horses or chasing the chickens.

The door opens. All seven of our grandchildren crowd around the bed. Iris is the youngest, turning 12 this year. She crawls to my open arms.

"Iris," Greta, Haelyn's wife, calls, but stops when I cradle Iris in my grasp. My hands won't stop shaking. Once I could braid her hair and I did. I'd braid her hair or put it up in pigtails or sit patiently while she painted my nails, whatever she or the kids wanted. Now, I can't really do that anymore.

Haelyn leaves the room in silent tears. Greta follows while Mykel lingers in the doorway, trying his best not to break down in front of the kids. I was meant to tell them stories, but they're the ones telling me. They sit around the bed talking about school, friends, homework, except for Adryan. He's the eldest, Mykel's first and our first grandkid, long grown up and living a life of his own, and yet he looks so young to me right now.