Thank you to all who have read this story. I think I actually like it, a bit... I realize that chapters nine and ten will need work later on, but for now... I actually feel a bit happy about having it done in a way that I think is vaugely understandable.

By the way, my friend enlightened me to the issue that nobody knows who Violet is. Violet was Pomeroy's cousin who had a nervous breakdown and was sent to an asylum. Pomeroy then became paranoid about his own mental health, which drove him slightly crazy.

Epilogue

He used to be a handsome man before the drugs wasted his body and mind. There had been a time when he was imposing and regal. As time wore on he became smaller and thinner. By the time he shot himself, he had been ill with a cold for nearly seven months. Ruined immune system.

So really, since he was doing so many drugs, why wouldn’t he kill a woman, and for that matter, have his emotionally numb body-guard execute a teenage boy? He wasn’t thinking. Never did.

Creech paces the floor, trying to figure out to explain the situation to the police, cursing Mila under his breath.

Mila does not shy away from details. She tells the story how she knew it. Illegal substances, insanity, political strife… Just a really unfortunate accident. But what were they expecting? The house was like a time-bomb.

Garret sits with Rita and is silent. The police frighten him. But he knows nothing.

The bodies are cleared out and buried. Mila and Creech are not held accountable.

Creech awoke feeling cold and numb. Mila stirred gently beside him, moaning softly, her long brown hair falling in her face as she hugged her pillow close to her breasts. The message from Allen had only been the facts.

“He’s dead. I’m working for the anarchists. Remind Garret to feed and walk Rita.”

The snow was beginning to melt outside. Winter was turning into spring. The ornaments from the holidays were still on the fireplace mantle, glimmering slightly in the moonlight. It was always around one o’clock that he woke up lately.

Spring would come soon enough. Garret would need to be re-enrolled in school, and the Chicago apartment would have to be sold. The public clinic had been kind to give Creech a job, and he was grateful, but still felt oddly out of place amongst the idealistic young doctors who could make real connections with the patients.

He sat down on the couch and looked out the tall windows at the green beginning to emerge from the white. For a while he sat, and then fell asleep there.

“Can you make it better, Doctor?” His eyes were full of fear as he extended his arm, his veins looking healthy and blue.

“Yes, Mr. Pomeroy. I promise. I can fix anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Yes. With my life, Doctor.”