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them. He hopped as well as he could, and when they passed near
Arthur, Thomas muttered, “I hope your immortal life is hell.”
Mary watched them leave, but put a hand out to stop Minnie.
Arthur didn’t know what to say, couldn’t say anything. He had to
create a world in which Minnie was safe. He had to create a world
in which his father’s murder and his mother’s madness were
avenged. He wished, more than anything, he could be like Charles,
so that simply living with what he had, simply loving Minnie,
could be enough.
“Poor child,” Mary cooed. “It is the sharpest, deepest cut of
all, isn’t it? I wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It carves a hole in you
that can never be filled.”
“He’ll be alone,” Minnie said, not looking at Arthur. He didn’t
know whether it hurt more to have her avoid his eyes or force him
to see the pain there. “I would have waited for him. Forever.”
Mary put her face down, her forehead against Minnie’s. Arthur
couldn’t stand the aching to go to her, not anymore, so he turned
and faced the wall of the cavern. Now that it was quiet, the wind
whispered secrets, soft sibilant noises just short of words.
When he let himself look, Minnie was gone.
Mary passed a hand over her eyes, her shoulders slumped wea-
rily. “You must do something for me, after.”
“Anything.”
“Take me out on the ocean. Weigh me down with rocks, and
drop me into the depths.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“If I cannot die, at least I can finally sleep. Cold, dark, empty
sleep, until the end comes.”
He started to shake his head, but she looked at him with such
hope he found he couldn’t deny her this last terrible request.
