He's not really dead.
The mantra John keeps on repeating to himself. He wants to believe it. He wants so desperately to believe it. But he took his pulse. He saw his eyes. Cold and glassy vacuums, all the life sapped out of them. He saw the blood pooled on the concrete, but still . . .
He's not really dead.
A man like him couldn't die. What would the world do without his brilliance? How many cases would go unsolved?
He's not really dead.
But . . . surely he was smart enough to fake his death!Why would he kill himself anyway? John refused to believe that whole story about him being a fraud.
Then it hits him.
He's dead.
The tears come.
The final words leave his mouth because
He. Is. Dead.
Buried in the ground. His name scrawled across a tombstone.
He's dead.
And John can't bare it.
He turns and leaves, hoping, maybe even praying, that he'll be able to handle the horrible truth.
Behind a tree, someone observes the scene. Concern creeping into his mind – a foreign emotion.
He's not dead.
But he can't let him know.