Samantha held the bronze tube gingerly, eyeing the confounding device with dread. She didn’t ask for it, yet here it was, willed to her by John‘s dying breath. A slow sigh escaped her lips, composing herself. She still hadn’t finished the letter she received from Willard Buss, and wasn’t quiet ready to finish reading it yet. She tucked it away into her jacket, not willing to leave it laying about with Rhys still present in the apartment. She tilted her head, listening for any disturbances from the living room where he lie.
She still wasn’t sure what happened last week, but John had mentioned something about the kaleidoscope, and that Rhys was going to need some help recovering from what he saw. Her brother had been screaming for what seemed like hours at the time. John was pretty sure he had passed out from the lack of oxygen, and said it was probably for the best. Rhys came to his sense later and was noticeably more silent, but he was far from okay. She already had an idea of who she was going to contact to help Rhys. A man by the name of Skinner had treated John before, and she still had the card John arrived with: The one with the the name of their ‘supposed’ brother that he was so convinced they had. Provided she could get the man to leave his professionalism on the shelf for a moment, she might get some answers regarding John, and maybe get some help for Rhys. However, she needed to plan before she started that.
Samantha sat in silence for several minutes, contemplating the letter on the table. She read the opening statement, penned by an unfamiliar hand.
The following is a transcription to the best of my abilities of the last will and testament of Jonathan Miller, on the 25th of May, 2018. A man of imposing stature and a more imposing character whose courage showed us that our past is not to be wholly feared as events made of stone that we must carry around for the rest of our waking moments, but a kaleidoscope of experiences that add color to our lives.
She closed her eyes and took a breath, composing herself before she began to read once more.
Sam, Rhys, I’m sorry to leave like this. I know I’ve been a little erratic since you found me about five months ago, but I appreciate that you took care of me in my time of need. I still don’t recall much after what happened in California, except a few glimpses here and there. All I know is that it has something to do with that damned kaleidoscope. I’m tempted to leave it here in this silver mine, but I told one Sir. Nigel Mulberry that I’d have a chat with him about it since he inquired. Perhaps he can help you destroy it, after his curiosity is satisfied. And, speaking of which, Rhys, I’m sorry you had to see it. I think you’re a bit of an ass for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, but i’m partially responsible for that. Sam, take care of him.
Since I’m giving up the ghost here, I have a few things I kindly request be addressed.
First and foremost, There is this kid you gotta write too. Any of you reading this, really. Jeremy Pendergrass. I’m not going to get into the details, since Dr. Buss here can peek at the reports possibly, but he is gonna need it. I promised him I would keep in touch, but unless someone pulls the same shit with me that Dr. Pendergrass did with his son, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. I have some things I was gonna send his way, which is why I had all those toys, Sam.
Second, another apology to Vicki from R&D. I’ll leave that to you Dr. Buss. There isn’t much to add other than I kinda fucked that up.
Finally, Ask Dr. Skinner about Richard. I’m not sure why you don’t remember him, but I loathe to think that I’ve imagined a sibling as old as I feel for twenty three years. Well, more than that, because I’m definitely not twenty three anymore. Just see what he has to say about it. If it just turns up that I’m nuts, then drop forget it, I guess?
That’s really all I have to say, I guess. Just know it’s relatively painless. I’ve been given a bit of morphine, since the werewolf won’t be needing it. I love you guys.
The unflappable demeanor presented in the letter angered Samantha a bit, almost believing it all to be some obnoxiously cruel joke, but she had seen and heard the video as well. John’s phone recorded several minutes of him talking candidly (albeit pained and labored) to Dr. Buss about his final words. Apparently John didn’t think the letter would be convincing enough by itself. The imagery was bloody and surreal, and glimpses of some others could be seen in the background as they tended their wounds. She listened to the closing remarks from Dr. Buss, stating John’s time of death, shortly before two in the morning.
As Samantha closed the phone, a voice whispered from the livingroom. Rhys was hovering near the doorway, wide-eyed, yet tired.
“Sam… You’ve got that look. What are you getting ready to do?”
She offered her brother a tight-lipped smile. “Travel. Looks like I’m taking time of for grieving in New York.”