Maleficent

A few days after we return from our trip, Charon and I are sitting, reading, when Virgil bursts through the door. "She said yes!"

I look at Charon, and he shrugs his shoulders. You sly fox. I knew that Virgil was courting Wendy, but was putting off proposing while he helped take care of me. Maybe he thought that he shouldn't be happy while I was suffering. I just couldn't find the words to bring it up. Evidently, Charon did. What a difference a father can make.

"The wedding is next week. Her dad said he'd host!"

I start to rise, slowly, managing the pain in my chest; in my gut. "Mom, you don't have to –"

"Yes, I do." I hug him, tears in my eyes, tousling his mess of short, dark brown hair. My boy is gonna be happy.

Charon

The smile on her face makes my heart soar.

After I give her some pain medicine we lay in bed, talking, reminiscing. Her favorite memories, unsurprisingly, are of Oasis – our honeymoon. She was young, we had no cares, an abundance of freedom, and she jumped my bones every ten minutes or so. I have offered, since her pain started, to make love to her one last time. She refused – first out of self-consciousness, ashamed of her aging body – then later, because she was in too much pain. "I should have taken you up on your offer." She said.

She's getting worse – she's using more meds, and they aren't lasting as long. She rarely sleeps through the night. I ask her if she'd like an IV, and she says no. Not yet.

They call it "Wasteland Pain Syndrome" – unbearable pain followed by multiple organ systems failure, no known cause. Doctors think it has to be a combination of things – injury, stress, radiation, drug or alcohol abuse – all of which she was subject to.

I can't bear to see it. Sometimes, I want to leave, because I don't want to see her in any more pain. When I can't take it anymore, Virgil takes over, and I spend some quality time with the Brahmin.

The wedding is beautiful – Virgil is handsome in his best, Wendy is radiant in her mother's wedding dress. Mallie sits on my lap, watching everyone, beaming with pride. She refused extra medication today – she said she didn't want to feel stoned at her son's wedding.

She's hurting, I know she is.

I try not to think about it. Wendy approaches us. "Thank you."

Mallie says, "He's yours, now." With a smile, squeezing my hand.

They stay their wedding night at the inn in town. Wendy will be coming to live with us.

Maleficent

I insist on supervising the digging of my own grave. I may not need it for a few weeks, but it's good to be prepared for the inevitable.

Wendy is in the house, cooking. Charon and Virgil take turns digging with our only shovel. When it's finished, Charon picks me up, and we head back inside. He sits me in a chair at the table – I don't eat much, but he knows I like to do what I can, before I can't do it anymore. Very soon, I'll be eating in bed, him feeding me.

I can't take this much longer. A last trip to the doctor confirmed it – Wasteland Pain Syndrome. It's always fatal, no known cause, and no cure.

It's time.

I've talked with Virgil. I'm at my limit. Only two months since the confirmation of the diagnosis, but the pain has become unbearable, even for me, and if I take any more pain medication at a time, I risk dying.

The last place I want to die is in the house.

I tell Virgil not to tell Charon what we're planning. His programming would kick in, and he'd try to save me, regardless of the pain I was in.

Charon

She wants to go outside tonight, to look at the stars. I carry her to the hills, close to where Virgil and I were hunting, a couple months earlier. I spread out a blanket, and sit, her cradled in my arms. We talk for a long time. About our life together. About love. About Oasis. We look up at the stars.

Then she says she's sorry.

"Sorry for what?"

"Leaving you."

"But you came back."
"No. You know what I mean." Tears glisten on her cheeks, her eyes sparkle. She doesn't want to leave me anymore than I want to let her go.

"It's okay. I'm here. Everything's gonna be okay." I whisper, in her ear, rocking her back and forth.

"Can you do something for me?" she asks.

"Anything."

"Take care of him. Take care of Wendy."

I clutch her close to my chest, and she grunts in pain. "I'm sorry." I say, loosening my grip.

"It's okay. It'll all be okay soon." Her voice has a faraway, eerie quality that gives me pause. "Mallie – "

"I love you, Charon."

"I love you too." Then I kiss her, long and deep. At least she can enjoy this.

I look at her face in the gloom, her eyes reflecting starlight. I'm so distracted that I almost miss the sound of something dropping from her hand to the blanket.

She gasps. "So…bright…" she says, as her eyes slowly close.

To my horror, I look down and see what she's dropped. A Med-X syringe. A big one. Too big.

Virgil

I tell Wendy to stay home.

Five minutes after they leave, I grab mom's old combat knife and head out after them.

After fifteen minutes, I stop, and give them some privacy. I'll know if it worked soon enough. I sit down on a rock, and begin to whittle.

I settle into a rhythm when I hear a blood-curdling guttural scream. She did it. Goddamn it, mom.

I run to the hills, as fast as my legs can carry me.

When I approach, he's crouched on the ground, clutching her lifeless body to his chest, rocking back and forth. Why did I agree to this?

"Dad, it's time." I hold out her combat knife, just like she told me to.

He whips his head in my direction, snarls, and pulls her closer. Shit. That's all I need is for him to go feral. Lose both parents in one day.

I sit on a nearby rock, and give him some time.

I watch him kiss her forehead, then run his fingers through her hair, over and over again. When he appears to calm, I offer the knife to him, handle first.

As he grasps the hilt, his face goes slack. Slowly, he lays her down on the blanket, and starts to remove her blouse. What?

Before I can question him, he yanks back the left side of her blouse, and makes a clean, deep cut under her breast. He fishes around inside her for a second, and then produces a small cylinder, about two and a half inches long, which he then places in my hand. Tell no one about the contract, she said. Not even Wendy. I place it in my handkerchief and carefully pocket it.

"Let's take her home." I order.

He buttons her blouse, leaving spots of congealed blood on the front. He picks her up as if she weighs nothing, and trudges back to the house. I quickly gather up the blanket, the syringe, and the knife, and follow.