The Non-Human Society

Chapter Fifty Two - Vim - Primdoll

      Pulling the chair over to the bed, I studied the old man.

His thin chest and body told me he had been bedridden for years. His eyes were lucid and clear, but the exhaustion that mired his very clear concern made even me feel tired.

He tried to sit up... but couldn't. His body wobbled in the effort then abruptly fell back to the lush pillows he laid upon.

"I can't even face my death on my own two feet," he complained.

"That is why they warn you not to wait too long to die," I said.

The old man coughed as he smiled... as if his body reluctantly fought back against a laugh.

Sitting down, I sat right near the bed. Close enough that if we both extended our hands, we'd be able to touch... but not any closer.

Glancing around at the room, I noticed the... odd stillness of it. The morning sun-rays filtered in from a half-closed curtain. There wasn't much dust in the air, and the room was rather... clean, considering how big it was.

The man was obviously too frail to keep the room tidy, so the servants did so.

Either the servants cherished this old man, or did a very good job out of fear.

Judging from the carnage that lay just outside the room, littering the long hallway and the rest of the house...

"You had a few loyal men," I said to him.

His eyes narrowed at me, and I noticed the hint of amusement in them.

It's been a long time since I had sat in front of a man who was capable of tossing aside his fear and hate... and find amusement in his upcoming and inevitable death.

Usually women got like this more than men.

"Two good men. Three wonderful women. My sons stole the rest," the eldest male of the Primdoll family said.

I nodded. Those two men were right outside.

Or well, their bodies were.

The women... hopefully were still alive. I had only killed four since entering this house, two had been his daughters. The other two had been guards themselves.

Most of the maids had hidden. Or cowed, curled up against the floor and walls in my presence.

I had left them alone.

Sitting back in the chair, I studied the old man. He wasn't trembling... he wasn't crying...

In fact, he somehow looked a little better now than he had upon my entering his room.

The adrenaline probably helped.

"My children are evil," he then said.

His voice was raspy, but not strained. He wasn't in pain.

"They were," I agreed.

The man squeezed his eyes shut. Finally, the first tear slid between the old wrinkles around his eyes.

"I hate you... yet I thank you. For stopping them," he said.

"You're welcome," I said... and honestly meant it.

The old man breathed deeply, and I noticed his heartbeat. It was beating fast... but now there was a strange rhythm to it.

Poor man was about to die from the grief. The torment of emotions, and shock.

Would it be a heart attack or stroke, I wonder?

Would it be kinder to just...

"Who was she? Your wife?" the man then asked.