"Hello, Ian. As you may know, I am currently out of town… You know I wouldn't contact you unless there was no other way… This is something I think I can trust you with, you're responsible enough… I'm sure you can understand the dilemma this has put me in… They've found him … Tell her… Daniel Cahill will never be returning, and as much as it pains me, it will pain her more… Tell her, I wouldn't have the heart to do it over a phone call… This cannot wait… Tell her… Tell her… Tell Amy…"
He stood before his mirror and stared deeply into the familiar eyes that stared back at him. How, how? The words still echoed in his head, even now. Tell her. Tell her what? Tell her how? She was on her way over; it couldn't be too long now. Tell her. The seconds ticked by, and the reflection offered no answer.
Would she cry? Yes, he decided. Yes, she would cry. If Natalie had died out there, he would have cried. He would have cried for days and days, never leave his room, never ever. But would she? He had no words he could tell her, no amount of "I'm sorry"s could revive him; nothing he said could bring him back. "He would have wanted you to be happy." But would he really? Ian had no way of knowing what he would have wanted, not now that he was gone.
Amy will not be the same, Ian thought. They had been so close, nothing could replace him. Would she ever get over her loss? No, probably not. It would break her heart. And it broke his heart to be the one to give the news. Why was he the one who had to give her the news?
The doorbell rang. His palms were clammy. Here we go. One more look at the clock, one more look in the mirror. His legs moved mechanically towards the door. He reached it, too soon. He opened the door and invited her in, hardly aware of doing so.
"So?" her sweet voice echoed through the house and made his ears ring. He wasn't sure what to say, exactly. The only thing she knew was what he had told her hastily over the phone. Come quick. It's important. Hurry. She probably thought he was out of his mind. He noticed how heavily she was breathing. She must have hurried, like I said. He was still staring at her. She was still staring back impatiently. "Uh…" he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
"Uh…" he said again. What was he supposed to say?
"Well?" She was impatient. Of course she was. If he didn't say anything, maybe she would leave. Maybe she would just walk out of the door and never come back to him again. He half hoped she would. Just leave. It would save both of them a lot of… A lot of what?
"If you don't hurry up I'll leave. I don't have all day, Ian."
"No, no of course you don't." he wanted to say.
"Your brother…" Now he had her attention. She hadn't seen her brother for months. "Your brother… Dan…"
"What about my brother?"
"He's… he's dead, Amy." Ouch. Way to be smooth.
"You think this is funny? You think this is a game?" her voice was just louder than a whisper, but the fire in her eyes spoke a different story, as if she wanted to shout and cry.
You idiot, Ian.
"No, no I don't." his voice came out angry. He sounded angry. He was angry, he realised. Angry at her for assuming he was playing games with her, but mostly angry at himself. But she was there to yell at. To focus his anger at. "Don't think I've never lost anyone, Amy. Don't think you're the only one here… Look, I'm sorry about your brother, I am-"
"Oh, you're sorry… You're sorry?! Ian Kabra is sorry? No, no, let me tell you something, Ian Kabra," she took a step towards him and lowered her voice. "Ian Kabra is not sorry. Ian Kabra cares about objects, not people. Ian Kabra is a heartless, money-greedy snake."
She stepped away from him. "This," her voice grew louder and louder each passing second. "This is what Ian Kabra is sorry about." In one swift motion, she knocked several antique vases off a shelf. "This is what Ian Kabra cares about; this is where his heart, if you can even call it a heart, that is, lies. Objects."
She flung open the door, and when she was already halfway out, but still halfway in, she turned around to face him one last time. "I am going to find my brother. I am going to find him. And if not, you are going to pay, Ian Kabra. Although your life's worth could not even begin to rival my brother's."
And she was gone, but her smell still lingered in the air, for a while, and so did her words. You are going to pay, Ian Kabra. And soon even they seemed to fade, so that Amy's exact wording was lost in time, but her meaning was not. And when her words had faded, and every sign that she had been there, all that remained, all by which Ian knew that it had not been a dream, and that he would not wake up, were the smashed vases on the floor.