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“Uh-huh,” I said.
He turned to me, gave me his weak smile. “Run home, Patrick. Be a good boy. Protect your vulnerabilities, your loved ones, and gird yourself for tragedy.” He tossed another pebble at my reflection. “It befalls us all.”
I glanced back at the porch where Christopher Dawe sat reading the paper and Carrie Dawe sat reading a book.
“They’ve paid enough,” I said. “I won’t hurt them to get at you.”
“Considerate,” he said. “I’ve heard that about you.”
“But, Wesley?”
“Yes, Patrick.”
“They won’t live forever.”
“No.”
“Think about that. They’re all that shields you from me.”
Something caught in his face for just a moment, the tiniest of tics, a glimmer of fear.
And then it vanished.
“Stay away,” he whispered. “Stay away, Patrick.”
“Sooner or later, you’ll be an orphan.” I turned away from the pond. “And that’s the day the bloodline ends.”
I left him there and walked back across the great lawn toward the expansive porch.
It was a gorgeous fall day. The trees erupted. The earth smelled like harvest.
The sun was beginning to fade, though, and the air-slightly chilled as it slid through the trees-carried with it just the barest hint of rain.
