They were walking back to the shop after Abe had picked Henry up from the medical examiner's office. Tonight, like many, their discussion was peppered with excited exclamations and well worn arguments.
Unlike other nights, the air around Henry was full of anticipation that practically carried a skip into his step. The recognizable excess energy always came with the joy of solving a puzzle. A tightness eased in Abe's chest. A hint of relief that Henry was engaging in life, showing excitement in the present and not merely living in the dredges of memory.
"What does QED have to do with anything?" Abe knew his father well enough by this point, he just needed the right prompt, permission to exposit on the details of his conclusion, and Henry would leap at the opportunity.
"Abe, he killed the conductor to prove I couldn't die!" His hands attempted to gesticulate, shifting in his pockets and flaring his coat as he spun his theories between them. His shoulders tensed subconsciously as he mentally readied to push through Abe's counter arguments.
"Well aren't there a lot easier ways to do that? He could come up behind you in the street... an' bang!" Abe huffed his response, his skepticism and disapproval of the topic combined with the slash of his hand, mimicking the recoil of a gun.
How absurd. To think someone would go through such complicated lengths just to make a point, and with lives of others no less!
Henry, of course, wouldn't be dissuaded so easily from his theory; he could barely contain himself as he reveled in the thrill the chase for answers brought him.
Already regretting his sentiments of relief for Henry engaging in the present, Abe wondered how a man that cared so deeply about the well being of others, could so easily lose that focus. The way a thrill could make him disconnect from the reality of what had happened, what was happening, was maddening. The excitement born of someone challenging him made him momentarily forget the people that lost their lives. He expressed, almost with joy, that this mad man was intent on leaving him clues.
He knew how lost lives afflicted Henry, but sometimes the touch of those two hundred years came through; the stark relief showing the edges of his separation from the concerns that plagued those who were finite.
Henry took a vial of blood out of his pocket. Holding it up near his face, his smile grew to that of a Cheshire grin as Abe's objections unintentionally goaded him to satisfaction.
There it was, the too good to be true moment of Henry's renewed vitality, broken. Classic Henry. Pleased beyond belief anytime he has a legitimate excuse to try a new form of killing himself. This however meant Abe was his accomplice. He turned to face Henry, straightening his stance, voice tight, "No… Absolutely not!"
Of course the protests were more routine by this point; well worn paths where Abe's refusal met with Henry's coaxing persuasions.
At least this time Henry is trying to find a murderer, not seeking an execution he hasn't tried yet in his obsession to find a "cure" to his "curse." How could his life truly be a curse when through it so many had been saved? Whose view is more selfish, his or mine?
Abe understood on an intellectual level his father's desires, even more so as he and his peers grew older, but at his core Abe wished he would never experience the day when one of Henry's deaths actually "took."
I want the man who's experienced far more deaths than any other, to experience the death of his child. Abe's gaze shifted from Henry's eyes to the ground and his shoulders rolled forward to ward of the cold. I hold a selfish desire. I harbor a horrible wish. With a sigh he turned to push open the door of his shop—ready to help his father however he could.
###
Abe's regular assistance showed in his nurse like precision, setting up the machines to monitor Henry's life, or more accurately, precisely reading the reactions of his body to the poison and recording the exact time of "death".
Pushing the wires through his hands, he double checked their condition and connections. He'd done it several times already. I'll be damned if I have to witness these experiments more than once. Once is more than anyone should. The skills to verify the process were as ingrained as his failed attempts to calm his nerves.
He never fully trusted that Henry wouldn't actually die. It didn't help matters that most modes of death seemed to be extraordinarily painful. Even if Abe knew he wasn't really killing his father, that didn't mean that each time he assisted, he didn't feel responsible for bringing him pain. Whether that was the pain of an almost death, or the renewed pain that blossomed with another awakening that reaffirmed that his existence would never end.
"It's the only way to know, immediately, what he used… Wouldn't it be ironic if this time, I actually die?"
There was a tightness in his throat and a clench of his chest as his heart attempted to move ice through his veins. For a brief moment he couldn't hear past the pounding. Such a cruel thing to say to a son. Please not today, Dad. "Hysterical."
"Okay. I'm ready. Please, kill me now."
I love you.
Abe put the needle to Henry's arm and depressed the plunger, injecting him with the poisonous blood. Henry took in a deep breath, and closed his eyes waiting for the agony that would bring answers.
His hand rested on Henry's shoulder, gently at first, not really sure if he was offering support for his father or reassurance for himself. With a violent gasp Henry's body was arching, attempting to move in a way that bones wouldn't allow. A strangled scream became another to haunt Abe's dreams. He grasped the fabric covering Henry's shoulder a little tighter. Not this time. Not now. Please. Not by my hand. Not today.
Not today.
His hand plunged down to the table, slapping flat on the cold steel surface. A long held shaky breath whistled past teeth and tight lips. Before his mind even fully comprehended, he turned from the table and dashed up the steps. His only desire - to be there when his father emerges from the cold waters of the river.
###
He's to the river fast enough to question the legality and sanity of his driving techniques. It was amazing he had never been stopped in these river dashes, truly.
He pulled up to the curb, and before he even had a chance to shift the car into park, Henry was inside.
A sigh of relief and the trembling of his hands ceased as he handed Henry his travel bag. Abe already had one of Henry's favorite scarfs in hand. He reached over to drape it across Henry's neck. Fidgeting with it until it laid flat. Just an excuse to affirm, with his own hands, that he was really there. Was truly alive.
Hardly one to take a moment to catch his breath, Henry immediately launched into describing "the queen of poisons." The excited babbling rushing out like a struck water main; describing it with an enthusiasm Abe would reserve only for an especially blessed woman.
"... then, luckily, you die!"
If you could call it luck. Only you, Henry. Only you would claim such finality as luck.
It is truly amazing what you willingly do for those you love.
Even if it is granting that potential final request, "please, kill me now."
Even if doing so tears your heart.