DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, though I wish they were. I could have a LOT of fun then!! (btw, if you wanna know what to buy me for Christmas...)
End of the Line
08/11/1999
Frank climbed into his rented car, barely glancing at the newspaper that lay on the passenger
seat. The headline was permanently etched into his brain.
SYDNEY DETECTIVE KILLED IN PASSPORT INVESTIGATION.
He was on his way to the airport.
Twenty minutes later he was at the departures desk demanding a seat on the next flight to
Sydney. Luckily, the airline had had a cancellation, so he paid for a ticket on a flight leaving in
an hour.
"Any baggage?"
"Nah, just what I've got with me, thanks," he told the girl.
Three hours later, he was in Sydney.
The flight had been Hellish. With only a boring inflight movie to distract him, he'd had nothing
to do except think about Rachel. Her eyes; her smile; her biting, but endearing sarcasm. The
tears in her eyes the last time he'd seen her.
He decided against going to the office. He couldn't face everyone else's grief, or their
sympathy. Besides, he knew where she'd be.
* * *
Her father answered the door, and when Frank introduced himself, he just smiled sadly and
ushered him inside.
"Can... can I see her alone for a few minutes?" he asked.
Felix led him through another door. She lay on a table, in the centre of the room, looking
exactly as she had when he'd left her. The hair was a little longer, perhaps. David sat beside
her, holding her hand. He looked up as they entered.
"Frank," he said, subdued. His mother's eyes set into his youthful face, betraying a new
maturity beyond his eleven years. He stood up and left the room with his grandfather;
understanding Frank's need to say goodbye.
Sitting in the chair that David had vacated, he studied her. She didn't look dead. In fact, he
could almost convince himself she was only sleeping. On a whim, he leaned forward and
kissed her. Maybe she'd wake, like Sleeping Beauty, smile, and they'd go off somewhere and
live happily ever after. Unfortunately, her lips held no warmth, and she showed no sign of
waking.
He pulled a small bottle from his pocket, shook it up, and removed the lid.
He stroked her hair gently, and whispered, "Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath,
hath had no power yet upon thy beauty." He wasn't much of a Shakespeare buff, but he
remembered the line from a recent movie adaptation of Romeo and Juliet, and it seemed
appropriate. "Well, Rach," he sighed, "I guess this is the end of the line. I wish I'd been there
for you. I'm sure Christey did his best, but maybe I could've done *something*. I guess I'll
never know, now."
Slowly, he brought the tiny bottle to his mouth, then he tipped his head back and drank the
contents in one gulp.
Arsenic, even in very small doses, is highly poisonous. Frank had added a quarter of a
teaspoonful to the whiskey in the bottle--sufficient to cause death in a matter of minutes, if not
less.
Carefully, he laid his head on her chest, his hand still stroking her hair rhythmically. He closed
his eyes, and all his happy days with his partner flashed before his eyes, ending with the smiling
picture he'd seen in the newspaper that day. He moved nothing but his hand; more and more
slowly; until finally it spasmed, and was still.
* * *
A glooming peace this morning with it brings
The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo
--William Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet"
~finis
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