X. Just let's get back to work.
That he wakes up once again is more than just a mild surprise. It's actually spectacular. Not just the fact itself—he hasn't really counted on waking up ever again—but also the soft bed in which he lies is something he thought he'd never have again. So is the warm blanket that covers him and the calm, comforting presence at his side. Pa.
The light is the soft gold of a candle, the smell one of freshly laundered bed clothes and Chinese incense, the sounds that of a gently crackling fire. The hand on his cheek is tender, affectionate, loving, as is the dark, soothing voice of his father.
"Shh, Son. Wake up. You have to drink."
Drink. Drink. Yes, yes, drink. Water. He wants water. Drink water. Now. Water, much water. Drink. He cracks his eyes open to signal that he's alert and ready to drink. Drink, drink, drink.
Pa lifts his head, just so, holds a glass against his lips, and he drinks. Drinks. Tiny sips, for some reason he can't get more into himself than tiny sips, but he's got time, hasn't he? Then the glass is gone—no, I'm not through yet—and he tries to follow it with his lips, but his head is lowered again.
"Not too much at once," Pa says. "There's enough here, but you have to drink it in small portions. Or else you'll get sick and lose it all again."
"Good," he says, and he means it. It's good, all is good. It's good to be at home. It's good that his head doesn't hurt anymore, that there isn't much pain in his body at all anymore. It's good that he's with Pa, and not with—
"Mrs. Banning?" He needs to know. He needs to be sure…
"She's gone."
"Gone…where?"
Pa sighs. He touches his face again; his hand is so careful, so tender…Adam leans into the touch.
"She's dead, Adam. She can't hurt you anymore."
"Dead." He lets the word roll over his tongue. He's surprised he doesn't feel anything. He isn't happy, and he doesn't feel sorry. He doesn't even feel relieved. Perhaps he's too exhausted to feel anything.
Except he feels thirsty. "Water?"
"Sure."
He's allowed to another couple of sips, and those sips exhaust him even more. He closes his eyes as his head falls back on the pillow.
"That's right, sleep now." Pa rearranges the blanket, smoothes away wrinkles which Adam is sure are not there, caresses his cheek once again. "We can talk more tomorrow. It's over, you're safe."
Then Pa is gone, and Adam is alone. Only he isn't alone. Not…not inside. Inside of him, he's not alone, and it is not over. Inside of him, Mrs. Banning still lives, her voice is still clear and loud, and she still tells him, "It's all your fault." Inside of him, there's still Melinda, her pretty small face, her soft lips, her desperate eyes, and her flattering admiration. And inside of him, there's still the question of whether he can honestly and with complete conviction deny he ever encouraged Melinda or was, in a very twisted sort of reasoning, partly responsible for her fate, and subsequently for her mother's madness. A question he will never be able to answer.
Mrs. Banning might be dead, but her legacy will haunt him forever.
He takes a deep breath, as deep as his still-aching ribs allow him, and relishes the pleasant, healing fragrance of the incense.
No, it's not really over, but he is safe. And that's enough for now. The rest…he'll manage. It'll be a part of him, always; but it won't break him.
It won't.
*** finis ***
For there is no folly of the beast of the earth which is not indefinitely outdone by the madness of men. ~ Hermann Melville, Moby Dick
Note to the reader: The story's title and the headers of the individual sections are quotes alternately taken from "Moby Dick" and "The Lady from Baltimore."