Death At The Opera - 7
River sat int he back of the carriage for what felt like an eternity. So long that he started to worry that his father might not come back. Had he left? Or had something happened to him?
Then he heard the driver of the carriage say something but from within his voice was muffled. He heard another voice respond and then River heard the distinct sound of the last suitcase being placed onto the back of the carriage.
His heart started beating with anticipation and when the door opened he felt it skip.
There, on the other side, he saw the face of his father. The face he knew so well. But it looked more tired than before and he had something leaking from his nose.
“Dad, you have a nosebleed.”
Milo quickly wiped the blood away with his sleeve.
“It’s okay, just a nose bleed.” He said as he stepped into the carriage and closed the door.
Milo sat across from his son and then lightly hit the ceiling three times. River heard the driver call out and then the carriage lurched forward. Milo saw a smile draw across his son’s face and it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
“I though maybe something had happened.”
Milo smiled back and shrugged. “Nah. I was just tired.”
River turned to look at the mist shrouded buildings for a moment as the carriage drove past them and then he went back to reading his books.
Milo watched his son read his stories with wide eyed wonder, the sight pushed all worry from his mind. Even as he pressed his coat up against his side, letting it soak up the blood that slowly cascaded from between his ribs.
In a wet and rat infested alleyway lay a bloodied human man. His eyes staring up at the cloudy sky above as he desperately tried to muster the strength to pick himself up.
“I’ll…I’ll get you…” Rykard hissed. “I’ll get you…you goblin rat…”
Lodged between his shoulder muscle and clavicle was a folded out blade, pointed down towards his heart.
The man only heard the skittering of vermin around him and the decreasing rate of his own heartbeat as he raged and raved. But where once he had been a mighty hyperian storm now he was merely a wet fart. A brute of a man slowly dying in a dirty alleyway. Brought low by his own stupidity.
“I’ll get you…Milo…Kravic…I’ll get…I’ll…”
Silence filled the alley for a moment as the city moved on in ignorance. And then the sounds of feasting began.
Milo found his eyelids growing heavier by the minute. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to rest a little. But for some reason he found himself raging against sleep. Pushing himself to stay awake and to gaze upon his son for just a while longer.
“Is Lexingrad even a good place to raise a child?” he suddenly heard the echo of his wife’s voice say.
“So long as we are together, we’ll have a home.” He found himself muttering, no longer having the strength to speak.
“What’s that dad?” River asked, looking up from his book.
“Nothing. Just that I can’t wait to go home.”
River seemed confused by that but then turned back to his book.
Milo smiled as his eyelids closed and all he could see was a distant memory of himself and his late wife holding their newborn baby boy together. Blue, beautiful and safe. And Milo smiled.
