Letters, Lessons and Puzzles - The End

I have several ideas for endings, this one fits with Part 6 as-is. I've included the last bit of Part 6 as well.

Let me know what you think.

***

I have to get back, Smythe thinks, without that madman. Retrace my steps, find the way back.

 

He cautiously re-crosses the road and sneaks through the gate, leaving the argument behind him to run painfully back along the path. He looks up the hill, trying to see where he came from. Eventually he spots the memorial and climbs the slope towards it. He wants to keep running but all he can manage is a stagger. With effort he passes the morbid stone thing and reaches the top of the slope, his legs finally failing him as he falls into the floor of his own hallway.

 

I am here, he thinks, I am home.

 

But it is not right. The rug, the pictures are missing. Upstairs. Upstairs to the library.

 

He climbs the stairs like they are the side of a cliff, clinging pathetically to the banister with both hands. At the top he sees the welcoming light of his bedroom seeming to blink on and off.

 

The library, he thinks, that's it.

 

He staggers the last few yards, opens the door and falls towards the floor… but he never makes it there...

 

***

 

Smythe jerks and twists, confused and trapped. The covers fall away and he finds himself in his own bed.

 

A dream… A dream! A dream? No… just like a dream? What's the difference?

 

Then he sees it; the muddy slipper kicked into the corner of the room. Almost unwillingly, he pulls back the covers to see he failed to remove the other slipper and has muddied his bed with it. His entire body aches like he has not ached since he was a boy. Just willing himself up into a sitting position makes his head throb and his back protest from the base of his skull to his backside. He moves his head, at first as a test, then in curiosity. Finally, ignoring the pain, he looks around the room.

 

So, he thinks, my assault on the house was not imagined. He winces, this time not in physical pain but in memory of what he has done to his beloved study.

 

Time for that later, perhaps much later. He looks at the clock; 05:51. It doesn't make sense, but since only the utterly improbably seems to be making an appearance perhaps it does.

 

He removes his remaining slipper and gets to has feet uncomfortably. Every movement relieves one ache while introducing or restoring several others. 

 

Muddy footprints are smeared around the bottom of the bed. He traces them back into the hall to a single set coming from the library. He walks gingerly up to the library door to confirm it is closed. He gets as far as holding the handle but he cannot bring himself to turn it. Best left for another time, he thinks.

 

He heads to his study to retrieve his tablet but again he cannot face the room. To his relief he sees his tablet is in fact on the bedroom dresser where he left it the night before. I know what I have to do, he thinks.

 

First, a message to his staff telling them he will not be needing them today. He would have to tell them something later but all he could manage now was 'I will not need your service today. Your will still receive your wages and I shall expect you tomorrow.’

 

He sends it, it will do. It is terrible, I should have had Roberts do it. He looks at the clock; 06:02. Right, Roberts.

 

He selects Roberts’ details in his directory and hits voice. Hardly the time to show one's face, he thinks, especially when I haven't yet summoned the guts to look at it myself.

 

“Good morning, sir,” comes Roberts’ crisp answer, “What can I do for you?”

 

Smythe can hear the uncertainty. It was early, he thinks, I never call at this time.

 

“Morning,” he replies, realising his thoughts were no better ordered than his house.

 

“I need you to cancel the appointment at Sudsbury today,” Smythe manages, “It can wait.”

 

“Very well, sir,” comes an uncertain response, “Can I ask why sir? Are you unwell?”

 

“Unwell? No,” he says, shocked by his own uncertainty, “I, we, have more important things to do.”

 

“Indeed, sir,” says Roberts, formally, all concern has dissolved.

 

He thinks I'm about to give him a list of orders, thinks Smythe.

 

“I have a number of personal things to attend to,” he begins, “I have given the staff the day off so they are not here to… to bother me. You should also have the day to do as you please, paid of course. It is not that you would bother me,” he adds hurriedly, “but because you deserve it Roberts. You deserve it.”

 

That last part comes out as a gabble and the silence from the other end of the line is deafening. Has Roberts not understood?

 

“OK, sir.” Roberts replies at last, “Thank you, sir. Are you sure you are alright, sir?”

 

“Yes, yes Roberts I'm fine. In fact, I've not been this well for some time,” he can feel himself smiling but he has no idea why, “you will see how well tomorrow. Please make sure you put something in the diary so we can talk and discuss an increase to your remuneration.”

 

Another pause.

 

“I, erm, I will.” Roberts stammers, “Thank you sir. I hope you have success with your, erm, personal matters today.”

 

“Thank you Roberts. Pay me no mind, enjoy your day,” and he ends the call.

 

I should have done this such a long time ago. Is this what my other self was going to do? Does that make me him?

 

Whatever this is, whoever I am, change only comes through action, he thinks. There one last action that will truly change me.

 

He calls his cousin. She answers.

 

“This is a surprise cousin,” Toni says, perky and bright as always.

 

“I'm sorry, did I wake you,” he says, even though she is clearly wide awake.

 

“No, not at all,” she says, “We're all up, kids are great alarm clocks! Grandkids doubly so! I'm glad you didn't hit video though! What is it cousin, we only spoke the other day?”

 

“You are always inviting me to dinner,” he begins.

 

“And you never accept,” she replies, he can hear her smile in it.

 

“Well, I have changed my mind, and I'd like to change a lot of things.” he says, surprising himself, “Is tonight convenient?”

 

There is a slight pause, and he is worried he has been too hasty.

 

“We would be delighted to have you!” she says, “We eat at five, you're welcome any time and to stay as long as you want afterwards.”

 

“Thank you,” he pauses, feeling too many things for his inexperienced emotional pallet to process all at once, “can I bring anything?”

 

“Just you, cousin,” she says, “although, a surprise pudding would make the kids' week.”

 

“I'll bring a selection,” he says.

 

“A selection? That sounds generous! Are you OK?” she asks.

 

“I am.” he says, with more certainty that he thought he had. “Yes cousin, I am. Will you, ahem, will you have time to talk afterwards?”

 

“I'll make time,” there is noise in the background, Toni laughs, “I have to go, see you this evening!” And she is gone.

 

That's that, Smythe thinks, I have broken the seal, courage spent, hard work to come.

 

He looks around the room and imagines how the rest of the house must look in the light of day.

 

Speaking of hard work...