IT WAS NIGHT, and the old leather case lay in his lap. He hadn’t opened it—had not been able to bring himself to open it—after Bolles had left him earlier that day. And now, as he stared down at the thing that held the spirit, he wondered if the inspector had ever discovered what was inside. Had Montgomery opened the case and seen the shame that the negative revealed? Garrett’s shame … and his disgrace. These had been Elizabeth’s words. But what shame could there have been in loving the one person he was not supposed to love?
Had he loved her? Had he ever been able to love her? Or did she just represent something he had wanted to possess?
He opened it.
The lip of the case was smooth, the surrounding leather cold. The edge of the glass shone like a blade. The glass sat comfortably within the stiff walls of its envelope … impatient. Did it want to come out?
He touched it. The glass was hard. He was surprised at its durability. The glass’s edge pressed into his thumb as his other fingers settled along its sides.
But there was something else. In the case—a folded paper. It was a note of some kind—a message that was not supposed to be there.
Garrett pulled out the paper, unfolded it, and read:
You are a great man. You will do great things for people. You will open their eyes. You will teach them how to see.
She is all that is left of me now. She is yours. Keep her, guard her. She needs you. Everyone needs you. I left so that everyone could have you.
Please forgive me.
No, it could not be. Her speaking to him—even now.
Her selflessness overcame him like a tide from which he could not escape. She had wanted to be gone so that he could be saved—so that his dishonest, ambitious self could be saved. Her child had been his, and the people would have punished him for it. Elizabeth was right—even after everything he had done in the name of progress, the people’s eyes would see only one thing.
But there was the question that burned inside him hotter than anything he had ever felt:
Had she loved him?
Had she sacrificed herself, and her child—for him?
His career had been meaningless. His life, one grand absurdity.
He let the soiled note fall to the floor and removed the negative from its case … this odd piece of artistry, this mere bit of glass that had summoned a lifetime of memories. The night was dark, and the air outside was black. Garrett’s window had become a mirror, and he looked at himself, ashamed.
He wanted to hold it up—to examine the negative—but he was afraid of what he would see. Would she be there? Would she scold him? Would his own face judge and scorn him? He did not want to behold the appalling things that he had turned his eyes away from for so many years.
And then, there she was—in the window.
His breath caught in his throat as he tried to cry out. She was not in front of the window, or beyond it, but in it somehow. Isabelle watched as he struggled to catch his breath, the soft folds of her hair at one with the rippled glass.
His whole body trembled. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t. Then, finally—
“By my own life …” he whispered. “I never knew …”
But in speaking those words he faced his own dishonesty. There was something terrible that he had always known.
He felt his heart begin to pound. What more could he possibly say?
She was a dark shadow in the window. She was silver—black and white. Would that she would tell him what it was she wanted to hear.
“What is it?” he asked.
Isabelle made no sound.
“I will take care of her,” he said.
But still she did not reply.
Senator Garrett’s hand moved up toward his chest, for his heart was beating with such force that he could hear it. Garrett pressed his hand hard there, clutching at his nightclothes, until he felt the hot rush through every part of his body.
“Isabelle!” he exclaimed.
She appeared to smile, but her eyes were dark.
And as if the strength of his younger self had possessed him, he jumped out of his chair, and leapt toward her.
THE CRASH WAS a sound like no other the house had ever known. The night was hot, and the warm air swept in—the house was, strangely, not so determined to keep it out.
Jenny and Elizabeth emerged from their hiding places. The crash had come from Garrett’s room, yet they both hesitated before entering. Elizabeth eyed Jenny, and Jenny eyed her mistress, and there the two women stood, glaring at each other outside the door.
But each face was pained. Only the worst could have happened.
Elizabeth pushed the door open—Garrett had not locked it—and the warm air opposed her, like a barricade. The room did not stifle because the room had been exposed … and yet something still kept Jenny and Elizabeth from the broken window.
The air had sucked the curtains out. Shattered glass lay on the floor.
Jenny ran to the window, but Elizabeth did not follow. Elizabeth did not want to see what her husband had ultimately come to.
“Oh, Senator!” Jenny shrieked.
And she began to utter unintelligible cries.
There was nothing that Elizabeth could have done to prevent this. She had given him everything. And he had been ungrateful.
Elizabeth leaned out the window, feeling as if she herself were falling. There on the ground lay her husband’s shattered body, his blood seeping over the pavement like a slow, determined stain.
“Oh, ma’am … ma’am …” Jenny was going on.
But Elizabeth said nothing as she backed herself away.