Holly Short reached for her communicator for the twentieth time that day. She quickly tapped out a message: "Foaly went mad over a stapler. I can't believe it's possible, but I think he's getting more paranoid." The moment she pressed send, her eyes flooded with tears. It was so easy to forget her life hadn't changed. It was so easy to forget nobody would be reading her messages.
It was so easy to forget Artemis was dead.
Holly bent over her desk, blinking rapidly to get rid of her tears. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry. She'd done enough crying at his funeral. Even there, she'd sobbed so loudly that Mud Men looked around in confusion for the mysterious sound. Foaly had eventually been forced to sedate her. It had been humiliating. Now, the tears refused to disappear, so Holly gave up on attempting to be discreet and rubbed roughly at her face. She knew somebody would be watching her through one of the many, many security cameras.
Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to console herself. Artemis had lived a good life. He'd married a sharp, kind woman who, though she and Holly had only met officially through email, had become a good friend of Holly's. Together they had tortured Artemis with teasing and pranks. He'd taken it all in stride, firing back some tricks and prods of his own.
Holly had been present - shielded, but present - when Artemis held his tiny son for the first time. She'd watched the giddy smile blossom on her once solemn friend's flushed face. The elf had even snapped a quick photograph. Holly studied it, now hanging on the wall of her cubicle. She'd teased Artemis, once the child was back in his mother's arms: "Thank Frond he inherited his mother's looks, eh, Arty?"
She would never forget when Artemis surprised his nine-year-old son by leaving him "home alone". What trouble could a child possibly get into, Artemis had reasoned, with a seasoned LEPrecon captain hovering about? He found out when, on returning home, found his son standing in the middle of what used to be the southern wing of the stables, parts of his hair singed. Holly Short had promptly been dismissed from babysitting duty immediately after.
Holly smiled at that memory. She'd never seen Artemis look quite so surprised before, and his son's mischevious, "couldn't-be-helped" grin only made the scene funnier. Her smile faded as she remembered the tears coating the face of the boy, now twenty-three, at the funeral. Holly sighed. That poor boy - he'd lost his mother to early childbirth six years ago, and now his father had died.
Foaly assured her it had been natural, if not a bit sudden. Clones didn't have as long a lifespan, and Artemis had retired to bed at age sixty-two. Holly had been there at his bedside. A tear trudged down her cheek as she remembered the Gnommish words he had whispered, no doubt knowing she was there to hear them.
I have taken the road less traveled Holly. And it has been by far the best one to take.
Holly had touched his shoulder, and Artemis had seemed to look right at her. She'd seen the familiar brilliant spark in his eyes. Then his eyelids had slid closed. Holly supposed Artemis had been attempting to show her mercy by not letting her see the life leave him.
She didn't have to see it.
She felt it leaving anyway.
Holly reached up, her hand shaking, to touch her bright blue eye, now filled with tears. She shook her head as she slid her other hand into her pocket. She felt the wilted orange rose petal rubbing silkily against her fingertips.
"Goodbye Artemis Fowl."