The Murder Of Willowstream

Epilogue

The ground was cold. The moisture seeping through his jeans and creeping cold up his thighs as Rhys dropped to his knees. He was surprised in this moment to find how much attention he was giving to not shivering against the cold. Considering the situation he was in, he thought there would be more important matters to focus on.

Rhys had thought countless times over the years about how he would die. Or specifically: how he would die at the hands of Alaric. Should it be standing on his own two feet? Dignity was a luxury for those left behind. Should he fight back against it? He hardly thought anything he could do would be strong enough against Lily's deal, and despite his years as a soldier: he suddenly found his sense of honour left wanting.

Execution style it was then. He would be on his knees with his chin held high and hope Alaric took pity enough to make it a quick shot to the back of the head.

Some time passed, almost too long for Rhys to be comfortable, and it was strange to feel impatient about death taking its time to meet you. The calm chill of the wind hushing its way through the grass was almost meditative. It was enough to remind Rhys of how late in the night it was as it threaten to lull him to sleep. As he opened his eyes, thankful for the kindness the light of the midnight sky was on his vision; his expression momentarily widened in shock. Alaric's face was but a few inches from his own, but he quickly regained his composure and settled into a mildly agitated expression instead. Alaric's gaze seemed to be scouring every inch of Rhys features. Taking in every strand of stubble on his chin. Every crease within the fullness of his bottom lip, and every shift of light in the dulled hazel of Rhys' eyes.

"What're you waiting for?" Rhys asked. His voice low, barely louder than a whisper. Although he was soon reminded how he really felt about the situation when Alaric stood back up to his height, and Rhys heart began to thump in fear as it flooded his veins with adrenaline once more.

"You look different." Alaric mused. The monotone of his voice belying the latent calculative tone beneath it. He almost sounded surprised, as if he expected to still see the lanky young adult that had shared his childhood with him all those years ago.

"Don't be cruel, Alaric. You're here to kill me, right?" Rhys spat, as his hands clenched into fists at his side. "Then stop fucking around, and just do it already."

Before the anger could seethe any longer he felt the cold metal of the handgun pressed beneath his jaw and tilting his head upwards. He wouldn't show fear. Not now. There's nothing to fear when you've accepted what is going to happen, and he would be damned before he allowed Alaric the satisfaction of knowing his prey was squirming beneath his dread claws.

Alaric was expressionless. Emotionless as the soft, rose-coloured, glow of his eyes looked deep into Rhys' own. He had just moved faster than Rhys could ever remember him moving, yet he still looked almost bored by the situation at hand, and his eyes seemed to be looking so much further than they were. Like they peered passed the flesh, passed the blood, passed the bone, and to whatever lies beyond the soul.

"You are not listening." Alaric said pointedly, before stepping away from the agitated Rhys who furrowed his brow in confusion.

"You said I looked different. So what? So do you. That's what happens when you grow up." Rhys snapped

"No. Before that." Alaric responded, rounding on the balls of his feet to face Rhys once more. "I said I wasn't here to kill anyone."

His words seem to hit Rhys like a roundhouse kick to the jaw as he became even more confused. A headache banded his skull as pushed himself up from the ground with a grunt, brushing the front of his jeans which now refused to come clean, and grit his teeth in annoyance.