The End

The rosy rays of dawn had long since been absent from his window, replaced by the warmer beams of afternoon light that beat mercilessly down on his unseen face in the sterile, white-walled interior of his hospital room. He sighed, something he supposed that the nurses who were "watching" over him had grown accustomed to it- hearing noises coming from an unseen person, he meant. It was still rather unnerving, he knew, although he couldn't exactly help it- despite what he had initially thought, he was still human, like everyone else, and humans have a tendency to make sounds to express emotion; in this case, it was a feeling almost of boredom, though it was predominantly an attitude of resignation, coupled with the knowledge that he did not have long to live.
As a matter of fact, it was a miracle he had lived that long at all; he was supposed to have been dead much earlier- he had felt the darkness coming upon him, and uttered the name of his former fiance and only love, Flora. But it turned out that he was still alive; and now he could only wait, until the quiet darkness came and took him away.
Unbeknownst to the nurse sitting across the room from him, he turned his eyes toward the ceiling in thought. It would not be long now, until he would no longer be here . . . but then again, he could be free from what he had done to himself when he was in death's embrace. Perhaps, that thought made him long for a release even more, though it meant that he would lose his own life . . .
But what did it matter now?
He had overheard the doctors earlier, in the state of semiconsciousness that he had been upon arriving at the hospital, saying that the prospect of him actually living wasn't good; they had said that both his lungs had been pierced by bullets- once again, it was a miracle that he was still alive at all. Maybe the Good Lord had kept him alive long enough so that he could see Flora one more time, before he had to leave the human world . . .
He realized that as he neared death, he had grown more repentant; but then again, after he had realized all that he had done, he had begun to hate himself for it. He knew that he had been in quite a fit of rage when he had tormented and killed to spite them, spite them all . . . but his thoughts also went back to Iping, where he could have gone back to normal, had they only left him alone!
Though no one knew it, his eyes flared briefly, in one last outburst of rage- but it soon sputtered and died as he gave a few hacking coughs, in the process retching up blood that would began to show only when it coagulated; a wonderful thought, indeed, though a true one. It was just another sign that he was dying, and that he didn't have much time left before he would live this world.
Jack Griffin closed his unseen eyes, falling back even deeper into the pillow of his hospital bed as his thoughts came more quickly.
* * *
Into the hospital room of Jack Griffin was not the only place that the afternoon sun's rays were falling; they also managed to find themselves landing in the room of Flora Cranley, who was reflecting upon everything as well. She sat in a window-seat in her room, gazing out over the rolling lands of her home; but her thoughts were elsewhere . . . namely with her former fiance, Jack Griffin, who had been wounded last night as he fled from the barn where he had been sleeping. For, even though neither of themn particularly liked to acknowledge it, the only love of Dr. Cranely's daughter was the Invisible Man.
She remembered how it had been before he had disappeared without a trace- how close they had been- and also how heartbroken she had been when he left, causing her to completely ignore the occasional romantic overtures of Kemp. Thoughts came into her head of her emotions whenever she had learned what had befallen Jack . . . and now, she could not help but feel those great pangs aching within her broken heart, for she had learned that he was going to die soon . . .
The blond-haired woman looked away from the scene beyond the window, to stare in silent thought at her floor. How she wished everything could have ended differently- people were dead, things were gone forever- all because of things being tampered with that should've been left alone; why did people have to do such things? If they could only leave be what should- but instead, an insatiable curiosity and wonderment towards the unknown caused them to play with things beyond the reach of man . . but they could never seem to understand that.
Why did it have to be this way?
Nobody could answer that, only the Creator of the universe, who made everything like it was for a reason- though we humans cannot see it.
The thoughts came faster now; she looked back out the window, to where the sun shone gloriously and everything seemed alright in the world- although she knew otherwise. Not even the uplifting sight of such a beautiful day could help her spirits now- she had already been crying for hours as it was- because her only love was dying, almost as though paying penance for all the crimes he had committed in a fit of madness and rage.
Tears began to come with the thoughts, right when she thought that they had stopped flowing; now, however, they dripped even faster onto the floor, and she began weeping all over again- a thunderstorm of emotions. The raindrops coming from her eyes made only think of thing now: Jack, and how he was dying, maybe even dead now. The tears came harder.
While she was still in the midst of weeping, she heard a knocking at her door; wiping the tears from her eyes, she went over and opened it.
It was her father, and his somewhat large eyes were filled with a sort of regretful sadness that she had seen quite frequently lately. For a moment, neither of them said anything; but after a while, this bout of silence was broken by Dr. Cranley, who said, "Flora, there is someone who wants to see you . . ."
* * *
He had been laying in his room for a couple of hours now, with nothing better do than reflect on his cursed fate; not only was he invisible, putting him at a disadvantage that he had never imagined, but he was dying. That meant that nobody would ever see his face again, more likely than not . . .
And Flora was included in them.
He sighed now; how he wished he could see her just once more- he did not have much time left now, and he knew it; as he had been reflecting upon before, it was a miracle he was alive at all right then. But he could sense the blackness waiting for him, and there came into his mind the knowledge that he maybe had half an hour before it consumed him. And still, he did not cringe from death, nor did he accept it with open arms- death would bring release from this world, and what had befallen him in it.
And so he sat back and waited.
He could vaguely hear voices in the hall; one he recognized- it belonged to one of the doctors. The other was strangely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it . . .
What torment.
The voices stopped, and he thought, for a moment, that the two people who had previously been conferring had gone away.
This thought was soon banished as his door was flung open.
He turned his head to see who it was, expecting another doctor telling him that he was about to die- but instead, he saw . . .
Flora?
* * *
There was a rustle, an unseen movement, as she flung open his door and stepped into the white-walled hospital room; this much she could detect through her hearing. Silence hung over the sterile atmosphere between the four walls for a brief moment before that soft, wonderful voice, with a touch of melancholy love and astonishment, spoke her name.
"Flora?"
She had stopped as soon as she had entered the door; now, she rushed over to his bedside, first getting the empty chair that had been positioned across from his bed. There was another movement, and she felt him take her hand in his unseen one.
"I'm so sorry that it ended this way, Flora," the bodiless voice said sadly, accompanied by a tired sigh. "I never meant for it to be like this . . . how I wish that we could've been together once more . . ."
There was a brief silence, in which the daughter of Dr. Cranley began to speak.
"Jack," she managed to choke out, the tears beginning to come once more, "I . . ."
Jack silenced her gently; she could feel an unseen finger pressing itself against her lips, and she felt around for his hand before taking it and pressing it to her face. As her tears flowed more freely, eventually running down the hand of her former fiancee, she heard a sigh that came from the abysmal depths of the soul. There was a brief silence once more- save for her crying- before she heard him begin to speak again.
"Don't cry, Flora," he said, in that now-melancholy voice which she had rarely heard before; "I want you to promise me that you won't be too sad after I'm gone. Please, will you?"
She nodded her reply, tears still streaming down her face.
"Very well then, Flora. I have to go now . . . I love you, Flora . . ."
And the hand fell limp.
At the cold touch of death creeping over her beloved, she dropped his hand; as she was choking on her own sobs, she desperately felt around for it- finding it, she cried, "Father!"
Her father, accompanied by a doctor, rushed into the room- just in time to see the most astounding thing . . .
There was a brief flicker, and then the outline of a skull could be seen, laying on the hospital pillow; Flora looked down and to see the spectral outlines of finger-bones held in her own hand. A moment later, these outlines had gradually become cloudy, then solidified; a hand could be seen, and the beginnings of facial features as well. A moment more, and the face of Jack Griffin, serene in death, could be seen in the white-walled interior of the hospital room where he had met his end.
And Flora Cranley, fiancee to the invisible man, could only cry.