Light seeking light doth light of light beguile:
So, ere you find where light in darkness lies,
Your light grows dark by losing of your eyes.
-Love's
Labour's Lost
As he abruptly turned from the snowy terrace, he felt something cool and liquid splash onto his hand. He looked down and saw that he was holding a full glass of brandy. He glanced at the wet bar across the room then back at the glass; he wondered if he had poured it or if someone had given it to him.
Staring into the alcohol, he saw a hint of gold reflected through crystal glass and amber liquid. His wedding ring. He switched the glass to his right hand, contemplating the plain gold band.
He would have gladly have bought diamond and ruby encrusted rings, to show his love for her. He had actually felt nervous when he showed her the plain marriage bands—she deserved so much more. But she had emphatically dismissed the possibility of more elaborate rings. Wedding bands were supposed to be plain, she said, so you don't ever, ever have to take them off. She hadn't even let him put an inscription on the inside. Their kind of love was between them alone, she said. No one else in the whole world needed to know about it—it was enough that they knew.
A glimmer of movement beyond his fingers ripped him away from the memory. He thought it might be Mike. He vaguely remembered his father helping him home from the hospital. He dropped his hand to get a better look. Nothing. Wait—he thought, a glimpse of long blonde hair. He took an unconscious step forward. The only place he saw hair like that was in his dreams.
Another flash at the corner of his eye. He turned toward the terrace doors and felt his heart stop in his chest. She stood in front of him, her golden hair and sundress moving slightly as if in a gentle breeze. She smiled at him and when she reached out to him he could see the plain gold band adorning her fourth finger.
Mike was in the kitchen fixing something for dinner when he heard shattering glass. Worried, he hastened to the living room. He slowed when he saw Sonny just standing in the middle of the room, staring out at the terrace. He let out a gasp when he saw the broken glass around his feet and the blood dripping from his right hand into the pool of brandy.
He approached his son cautiously. "Michael? Let me look at your hand—you cut your hand." Mike gently took Sonny's injured hand into his. "Michael, we've got to get this cut taken care of. C'mon doesn't it hurt?"
Sonny didn't answer for a long moment. Then he slowly turned his head to look at his father. When their eyes met a little shiver of fear shot through Mike. He'd never seen human eyes so empty. Sonny's voice was hollow and harsh. "Pain, at least, means you're alive."