Chapter 11
A Polaroid photo sat in a frame on his desk – two young women laughing together. One resembled Issac, while the other looked like a combination of Emma and the receptionist.
“Must be his love and relative,” they both thought.
“Sit.” Issac had just returned from a business dinner, smelling faintly of wine. He sank into the sofa, frowning. “If you want the positions, see reception for paperwork. Someone will train you. Standard probation period salary. Accept, and you can sign the contracts.”
For three years, Issac had surrounded himself with women who resembled Evelyn.
He never touched them. Father Michael at St. Michael’s Cathedral had told him: live kindly, practice abstinence, pray daily for the departed soul’s peace, and she would find tranquility in her next life.
Issac followed these instructions precisely.
He kept these women nearby, as if their resemblance to Evelyn meant she was still with him somehow. Only then could he sleep without nightmares haunting him.
Issac didn’t know or care what people said about him.
Since the sunny day Evelyn died, the city had remained perpetually overcast. The sun hid behind clouds, leaving everything in a permanent gray haze around him.
He felt constantly suffocating, drowning in air.
Dr. Lucas Reed’s bloodshot eyes still haunted him, like warning lights judging his every move. For three years, he’d dreamed of Sophia crying “Why didn’t you save me, brother?” and Evelyn’s bloated face in the water, smiling “Congratulations on your marriage. Be happy.”
Regret and agony burned through his days and nights. Unable to sleep, Issac lit a cigarette by the window.
Would any of the city lights below ever feel like home again?
After cutting ties with his parents and divorcing Summer, he’d returned to this apartment – the one he’d bought with Evelyn during college. Back then, he could only afford this small space, where Sophia would occasionally stay.
Those were his happiest, most carefree days.
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It’s Too Late for Your Expired Regrets
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Chapter 11
The layout remained unchanged. He could almost see Evelyn snatching away his cigarette, laughing “No more smoking!” and Sophia dramatically taking photos: “I’ll tell Mom and Dad if you don’t quit, brother!”
Now he stood alone, both women gone forever.
The cigarette burned his fingers, but he didn’t flinch, letting it sear his skin.
His phone rang only one person would call at this hour.
–
“How are you?” Dr. Hannah York’s voice was gentle. “It’s been three months since your last check–up.
Time for another?”
“Yes.” Issac crushed out the cigarette. “Tomorrow afternoon?”
“Knew you’d be awake. Out of sleeping pills?”
“Yes. Could you prescribe more?”
“Issac,” she said softly, “have you forgotten your suicide attempt? I can’t exceed the safe dosage. You need more than just sleeping pills. Come tomorrow.”
After hanging up, Issac sighed heavily. After rinsing his mouth, he removed his watch, revealing an ugly
scar beneath.
“Goodnight,” he whispered to the empty room. “Goodnight Evelyn, goodnight Sophia.”
But sleep wouldn’t come. In the darkness, a bloated face knelt beside his bed, black eyes streaming bloody
tears.
“Issac,” the corpse spoke with Evelyn’s voice, “why wouldn’t you look at me? Why did you make me drink when you knew I had cancer? Why? You wanted to kill me, didn’t you? To join your sister in death?”
“Yes,” Issac stared at her without fear. “I’m sorry, Evelyn.”
Ghostly hands gripped his throat. As his breathing constricted, his face reddened, yet he smiled.
“Kill me, Evelyn,” he choked out. “Kill me so I can atone for what I did to you both.”
The strangulation marks on his neck were obvious. Dr. York knew immediately – another unconscious self–harm episode.
After his suicide attempt, he’d been placed under strict observation at the hospital. All potentially dangerous items had been removed from his room. Hannah York happened to be his attending
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Chapter 11
psychiatrist.
He was her first patient. That night, though she’d already done her rounds, something made her uneasy. She went to check his room at midnight.
Issac wasn’t in bed. She found him in the bathroom corner, using broken plastic from a shower head to repeatedly slash at his wrists. The dull edge had somehow torn through skin and flesh.
After that, Issac became a priority watch patient. Twenty–four hour surveillance cameras monitored him, removing all means of suicide. Until one night, watching the monitors, Dr. York saw him lying there, eyes closed, hands wrapped around his own throat.
He wouldn’t die this way- oxygen deprivation would make him pass out and release his grip. But Hannah was terrified, barely daring to let Issac out of her sight after that.
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