Chapter 16
948 Words
“Christophe was lying on his side and coughing again. The blood that sprayed from his mouth confirmed my concerns. I was living my last moments with my friend. I owe him everything. He was dying, and I was motionless, my hand clasping his as he struggled to roll over onto his back.
“Promise me to stay who you are today,” Christophe murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Maybe I could improve my hairstyle,” I said with a sad smile.
“It’s already perfect.”
“It itches.”
Christophe managed a smile and then became determined.
“I know I’ve seen a young man rise from an unhappy childhood and become one of the best through hard work and determination. A legitimate heir to the Burton Race line.”
He closed his eyes and continued without opening them. He was so tired that his hand couldn’t hold mine anymore. He then spoke again.
“One day, you will find love, my son.”
“Your son?” I said, moved by these words.
“I always thought of you as such, Carmichael. And when Nathalie passed away, you were there by my side. How could I have gotten through this ordeal without you? My blood may not run through your veins, but you are my son.”
This time, I couldn’t hold back my tears. A shadow behind me confirmed that it was time to leave and say goodbye for the last time. His real son cleared his throat. But I refused to move. The sadness that overwhelmed me at that moment lacerated my heart. There was nothing left. This man lying on his bed was my only family, and his last words still echoed in my mind. Only my hand in his mattered, and I didn’t want to break that bond. I refused to. His cold fingers stayed a long time in the warmth of my hand before I consented to have his body taken away.
My tears of loneliness echoed Carmichael’s words. Judging by the ink blots scattered over the paper, it must have been hard for him to put his thoughts there. I thought of my father, and that made my pain double.
One detail bothered me. It was so easy for me to immerse myself in Carmichael’s story. I could feel every one of his emotions, hear his voice, even feel the touch of Christophe’s hand, and physically imagine them. This feeling was unique and grew stronger with each reading. I couldn’t look into it further because Connor showed up outside my cell.
“Hello, Isabelle.”
“Is it daytime?” I asked, standing up.
His eyes marked surprise, for it was the first time I had spoken to him since his initial visit.
“Yes, it’s 3 p.m.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Sixteen days.”
My stricken gaze fell to the ground. I held back new tears every time our eyes met. My heart remembered...
“Do you need something?”
“Besides my freedom?” I said, lifting my head.
“Izzy…”
“A clock! Is that too much to ask?”
“No, I’ll take care of it. Did you find out anything about my brother?”
Intrigued, I studied his face. He didn’t seem so eager to learn more, though I knew now that his ambition for power hadn’t dried up. His expression seemed to show he regretted this situation. I shook my head, tired of trying to figure out his behaviour. The reality was there, grim and oppressive. It was all his fault. But every time I laid eyes on him, he captivated me. I couldn’t repress the effects he was having on me.
“He’s worth a thousand times his little brother.”
“Ouch,” he said, a smile on his lips.
I put a hand on the window, and he looked at it longingly, seeming to struggle not to open my cell and touch it.
“Carmichael killed a lot of humans and castes,” I said, thinking back to the thirteen volumes I’d just finished, including those about his many battles to keep his father in power and earn his respect.
“And?”
“Other than that, I don’t see anything in his memoirs that could give you anything to wreak havoc between him and my mother. I’m sure she would forgive him for his mistakes, as she has done for many other reasons.”
“Oh, but I’ve already found it,” Connor said with a smile. “Only, I’m sure there are other things to discover.”
“I don’t follow you anymore.”
“You still have many volumes. We’ll see later.”
Connor rested his palm against the glass where my hand was. He seemed to be fighting against himself. A thin glimmer of hope crossed my heart. Will he give up his plans? Maybe I could still convince him to end this madness.
But it had only been sixteen days, so it was no time to have any illusions. Later, a small clock was delivered to me, emerging from the floor. I seized it in my hands and smiled. It was 8:34 p.m. Excited by this modest gift, I showed it to my cell neighbour, who couldn’t distinguish the hands at that distance. He smiled back and applauded me, happy that I could have thought of an object whose importance I had never grasped before that day. I made him a sign with my fingers to give him the time.
For the next seven days, the stranger in the cell opposite kept asking me.
- Writer
