Dying With My Children Read online

wanted to be holding my hand, telling me I’m loved, as my life drained away.

  George, the fixer, is trying to calm Janet now, if shouting at her and shaking her could be considered calming. Realising she’s far too distressed, he violently hammers on the door, tugging on the handle, screaming for the nurse to return.

  It was so much calmer a few minutes ago when I granted one of the children a chance to administer the drug. They all stood motionless, peering at me, trying to comprehend the offer. I gave a little speech, explained it would mean a lot to me if one of my children performed the procedure, rather than a stranger, an employee. The injection port meant no needles needed to enter my body, I knew they’d find that disturbing, they just needed to empty a syringe into a tube and let death peacefully visit me.

  Once they realised I was serious, it was so reassuring, so confirming, to see them almost falling over each other to get to the needle. I raised my hand, asked for a dignified calm, and suggested those who wished to do the deed should draw straws to determine who would be my executor. This rattled them somewhat, the phrasing, the reality and the consequence of the deed forcefully driven home. George stepped forward, gave a somewhat disjointed rambling speech that I believe was supposed to unite us in grief, and then offered his services. A sombre mood descended upon us and no-one contested George’s pitch. By default, he was given the task of administering my death.

  For all its faults, money is a wonderful liberator. It’s given me the ability to do so much more than the average man. Everything has a price, everything. Whatever you want in this world can be yours; it’s just a case of finding an agreeable price. This house is an example. I wanted a retreat in this area but nothing for sale fitted my requirements. I flew the helicopter around for a few hours, getting a feel for the terrain, when I saw this house, proudly standing atop a hill with an unbroken panoramic view for miles around. As I landed on their tennis courts, the owners protested, charging from their house towards me. Within ten minutes, we were enjoying a pleasant gin and tonic, waiting for their solicitors to arrive to sign over the property.

  I wished I had the same vista now as I had then, instead of the small skylight that barely illuminates this cellar room. The room was used for food and wine storage for many years; the thick walls perfect for keeping the room cool whatever the season. As my health deteriorated and the summer sun grew fiercer, I sought the quietness and coolness this room afforded. I spent more and more time in here; Cassandra would read the newspapers to me as I drowsed, the treatment having stolen my mindfulness. It’s fitting that this room became my infirmary, the last room that I will know.

  Just moments ago, my children gathered around. In a gesture of kindness, Janet placed her hand on mine. I could feel her flinch as she felt the coldness of my skin. I described to George how to use the syringe, repeating what the nurse had patiently explained earlier in the day. It’s a very simple procedure; he looked relieved. I explained how I wished I’d been a better father to them all, how I had wanted to be there for them, but the mood was of impatient embarrassment. They knew I didn’t mean those words, and I knew that they didn’t care. I wound the speech up and asked George to do the deed. I closed my eyes, and imagined Cassandra’s hand on mine, not Janet’s. The ping of the life support machine deafened us in the silence. I felt a slight pressure in my arm, sighed and open my eyes as George stepped back.

  It's ironic that the only person I wanted to be with me at this time isn't here, but that's my choice, not hers. Cassandra has no idea this is happening, I kept it from her, but she'll find out all about it tomorrow. Today was my bit of fun. You see, those bastards would’ve fought for all my wealth and their expensive lawyers would’ve won. She wouldn’t have retaliated, money doesn’t interest her, she would be happy sculpting a brick in a tenement. But I had to protect her. My money will liberate her muse, giving the financial freedom to create great art, and this, this is the only way I could do that. I was dying. I had no future. Yet knowing she would be secure, that gave me peace.

  I tell George to put the syringe back on the tray and to look under the bed. He kneels slowly and lifts the sheet, uncertain as to what he’s staring at. He looks towards Bertran who shrugs, also unsure what it is.

  As I said, money can buy you anything, everything has a price, and untraceable cases of cash liberate the most puritanical morals. I tell my children to stand closer. I want them to hear over the ping of the life support machine. I explain the device under the bed, briefly of course, as shortly I’ll be dead. The little darlings all looked so confused, worried. I raise my hand to cut-off their questions, time is no longer a luxury I have.

  I smile as I picture their faces. The look of shock when I told them what I was doing, that I was doing this for Cassandra, my way of shielding her. Ah, it was priceless. Even Janet sobbing didn’t ruin the moment.

  I’m dying, and I’m content. All but one of my children are here with me.

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  From the author:

  Thank you for reading this story, I do sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. I’ve been reading novels and short stories for many years and inspired by two ‘budding author’ friends, I was tempted to try my own hand at writing. This is the last of three short stories, linked by the theme of death and all with a twist at the end; the other two being ‘Body Recyclers’ and ‘To Kill the President’. These stories were initially intended as a ‘warm-up’ as I hadn’t written fiction since my time at school many years ago, but they took on a life of their own. If you enjoyed this story, please look out for the others and any future stories I may write! My aim is to return to my novel, but keep an eye out, I’m already getting tempted to write another set of themed short stories. Please do get in touch if you’d like to find out more, I’d love to hear your feedback!

  Email: mailto:[email protected]