Of Immortals and Men | COMPLETE

Chapter 18 The Rarest Thing in the World

Chapter 18

The Rarest Thing in the World

“There are causes worth dying for, but none worth killing for.”

~Albert Camus~

  

          It wasn’t possible. Her son had died a long time ago; so long that she had barely any recollection of that life. The idea of him being alive pained her, and as she looked into Conan’s eyes—the strange boy that bore his same name—Margery felt herself get angry.

          “Does that name mean something to you? Do you…know me?” Conan was eager, blatantly so.

          “Get out of here.” The request came off as nothing shorter than a demand.

          Margery did not even bother to answer his questions, when she turned to leave for her door.

          “Wait!” Conan pleaded as he went to grab her arm, but he never reached it. Instead, her arm stretched itself and grabbed his neck. With a mighty force, she thrust him out and away from her home, making Conan land far into the woods from where he had come.

          “My son was not a werewolf…” It was the last thing Margery said before heading inside, and she knew perfectly well that Conan had heard.

       Slowly, Margery trotted into her bedroom, and without any thoughts on her actions, she rummaged through her drawers in search of something—something she had buried away along with the haunting memories.

          Her undergarments were pushed aside when the feel of a stack of some sort reached her fingertips. In an instant, her eyes dimmed and lost their worry as the overwhelming feeling of sorrow found her once more. Margery lightly grabbed the pile of old photos and fell to her knees. The pictures were very old, having no color in them but the tone of sepia. Some were in bad shape and others were painfully clear and new as day.

          Her bobby hair style back then reflected a simpler time, a loving time where all that mattered was the little child that she held in her arms.

         “Conan…” In a small moment of surprise, she put her hand over her mouth to suppress a sob when a tear escaped her and graced the picture.

          The boy in the photo was a lot younger than the Conan she had met, and one thing she was definitely sure of was that he was not a werewolf. Nevertheless, the familiarity was uncanny, looking into that older boy was like seeing a future that had fleeted her—a future that was lost to her baby boy. They were so much alike, same brown tousled hair and green eyes.

        “He did this to you…” The voice came from behind in the direction of her bedroom door, blocking any means of escape.

          It was her…

        Margery had been too busy mulling over any of the possibilities—any shred of hope that maybe her child was somehow alive—that she failed to notice the arrival of her next visitor.

          Composing herself to the best of her abilities, Margery took the stack of photos and put them back into her drawer as calmly as possible. She wiped a few stray tears away from her eyes, and turned around to face the intruder.

          “I was surprised to see that you had gotten here after he did.” Margery said nonchalantly.

          “You had expected both of us?” Her tone was stern.