The Remains

XXVIII - Jess

Rosia snatched the pen out of Albane's hand. She glared at him. "What's this for?"

Albane chuckled. "The note." He placed the knife down on the table. "I really want a lonely, worthless kind of feel coming out of it."

Aunt Rosia clicked the pen. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll write it for you. I thought you would want the chance to leave one final message."

She started writing. I kept still. Aunt Rosia paused. "What's another way of saying, 'I'm sorry'?"

Albane turned, and strolled over to the other side of the lounge. "What about, 'forgive me'?" Aunt Rosia reached into her pocket, and pulled out a necklace. At the end, there was a pointed metal pendant. She put it on underneath her blouse, and jabbed the point into her chest.

Albane turned back around. He walked over to a picture on the wall. Aunt Rosia standing with about ten children surrounding her. He straightened the frame, and wandered back over to Aunt Rosia.

She tapped the pen on the desk. "You know you're a remnant too, right? That, soon, you'll have to die to complete your little eradication."

"No need Mother. I can't contribute to the gene pool anymore."

"And I assume no one else could be trusted with your little exemption?"

"Clearly not. If you'd had any responsibility, you would never have had children."

"You'd rather not exist?"

"Yes, Mother. I would prefer to never exist than live forever."

Aunt Rosia sighed. "This is pointless. Our family tree isn't complete. Every missed record, every illegitimate child that got swept under the rug. That's another whole host of remnants. You can never kill us all."

He shrugged, and loosened his tie. "You and I sense Remnants. Remnants, like our observant guest." He waved at my few pieces of ash. "So, I'll just follow their trail, and sniff them out. Sooner or later, We'll be done."

Aunt Rosia signed the bottom of the note and shook her head. "I volunteered all over town. At the police station. At the orphanage. I sort for the second-hand clothes store. I fill in at the diner. And this is the best you give me. A note and a grisly scene for some poor bastard to find."

Albane pulled off his jacket. "I am sorry Mother. But this is the way." He passed her the knife. "Go for your wrists. It's better, if you'll believe that."

Aunt Rosia's hands were shaking.

Albane shrugged, and turned his back. "The ones we killed quick, they all went insane. Good people became psychopaths. But the ones we made suffer, they were themselves, more or less."

Aunt Rosia took a deep breath.

Albane coughed, and wiped a tear out of his eye. "And leave the knife in. I don't want to have to stab you with another piece of iron while you're dying." I could see a little bit of the chain of Aunt Rosia's necklace poking over her blouse collar.

Aunt Rosia straightened her note on the table, and slammed the knife down into her wrist.

Blood dripped from the ceiling. Blood dripped from the walls. An old woman took a shaky breath. Then didn't take another.