Last Request

"Tell me what you want, my friend. Anything in the world and I will make it happen. Tell me your fantasy. Your deepest, darkest desire. Let me give that to you."

Adelaide is hesitant. Naturally. She is kind-hearted and pious, but even souls such as hers have a darkness that rarely touches the light.

This cannot be easy for her. My purpose is to help her embrace her fears to help her achieve her greatest desire—no matter the cost. She is my oldest and dearest friend. I will do anything for her.

Anything.

The knitting needles gripped loosely in her hand clatter against the tiled floor by my feet. I retrieve the sharp objects and place them on her lap. She will need them again. I am sure of it. Smiling, I place my hands on top of hers and ask, “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve finally come to me, Adelaide? After all of this time, why have you finally called upon me?”

When her flat brown eyes meet mine, they still my heart. Not because of the beauty they still hold, but of what of the hopelessness that lies beneath. “I’m dying.” She spits the phrase out with venom though her mood has nothing to do with her own impending death.

I nod to her husband, his body laid stretched flat on his back. Tubes are shoved down his throat feed him. The mask that covers half of his face forces oxygen into his body. “So is he.”

My friend shakes her head. The golden mane that used to cascade down her waist has been reduced to thinning wisps of lackluster blond strings. Her skin is dry and flaking devoid of color, save for the reddish-brown welts that have begun to sprout up on her face and neck. Colorless puss-filled welts seem moments from erupting from her flesh. “He did this to me. He is the cause of my death.”

This is true, and she is much closer to death than she realizes.

"Adelaide, my friend, you must say it. What fantasy—what gift do you want me to help you fulfill?"

She withdraws her hands. Links her fingers with her dying husband's while the other caresses his cheek. Without looking at me she says, "I want to take a life."

It is my duty to fulfill fantasies. To make even the darkest of demons see the light of day and help my client slay them. And now here is my oldest, most pious friend asking me to fulfill a need. A want. A fantasy. A dark fantasy.

However, that is not what she is really asking for. She desires the strength to carry out the act.

"Do you wish to take his life?" I ask, my eyes never leaving her thin frame.

"Violently," she whispers, forcing tears to remain in her eyes. "I want him to suffer." She turns to me, what little life in her shining—if only for a moment. "Where do I start?"

The clean-up will be messy, but if this is what she wants, as her friend, her oldest friend, who am I to deny her? She isn’t just a client. She is my dearest friend.

I place a comforting hand on her shoulder, urging her to look at me. I need both physical and verbal confirmation if I am to grant her this wish. "Are you sure this is what you want, my friend?"

Tears cascade down hollow cheeks and pale, flaky flesh. Salty droplets get lost in puss-filled boils that mar a face men used to fight for and women would covet. "In all our years together, out of respect as your friend, I've never asked anything of you other than your friendship. I will forever be in your debt. I will never be able to repay you, but I know what you are and what you're capable of and still I love you. Will you do this for me? Will you make this happen? Will you help me fulfill my fantasy?"

Adelaide is wrong; the honor of calling such a righteous woman my friend, after everything that I have done that has rolled off her back without judgment—I am the one who owes her. "I have no problem fulfilling your fantasy, my friend. I'm ashamed that it has taken this long for you to come to me. You are aware of the potential consequences?"

Her nearly-deadened eyes meet mine. She smiles, revealing teeth that are rotting and black. Her gums, a sickly shade of blue and purple. Thin strips of blood line the spaces between her remaining teeth. "That, I will deal with in the next lifetime."

Gently, I take the golden aluminum knitting needles from her lap and take Adelaide’s hand. She is weak. Her heartbeats become slower and more ragged with each breath while the machine next to us shows her husband’s rhythm steady and strong. The needles are lightweight, but with the right force, they can be a powerful weapon.

I wrap both of her hands around the needles and cover them with my own. No words need to pass between us. After years of being battered and worn down, after this man has riddled her body with so many diseases, Adelaide is drained. It’s time to put an end to all of this. I place a gentle kiss on both of her dry knuckles and nod my head.

Tears splash against the front of her thin gown as she sobs, her hands shaking beneath mine. “I am so tired.”

A heaviness weighs the room as I realize I’ve come too late. Adelaide is too weak to carry out her dying wish. I have failed my friend.

But I can help her.

The boils, flaky flesh and patchy clumps of hair don’t bother me. I gather her close and wrap my arms around her frail shoulders. “I am going to miss you, my friend,” I say, placing a kiss against her temple.

I don't give her time to ask if she's ready. She is too good a person. She might stop because she might think that's the right thing to do.

She'd be wrong, of course.

I place my hands around Adelaide’s grip on the knitting needles and we both plunge the sharp edges deep in his left side. Laughter spills from her lips for the first time since the final stages of the sickness took over her body. I can hear her heart slow to almost nothing. Breath labored, she asks, "Again."

Together we withdraw the needles and puncture the center of his chest. We've hit a lung. He begins thrashing about, sending his tainted poisonous blood around the room. The machines next to us are blaring but I can barely hear them over the melodic sound of Adelaide’s laughter. She seems to be teetering on the edge of sanity and I am glad that I can give her this. Happiness. On what is to be the last moments of her life.

Her heart is pulsing fast and erratic as time has begun to run out. "Last time," I say.

"Thank you."

Those are her last words to me as we pierce her husband's heart.