The House That Death Built
“He moved her to a different hospital. One that was not third- or second- or even first-rate. This was a place reserved for the truly wealthy, for those so famous that no one knew their names, only the things they had done, the fantastic inventions and innovations and practices and products that moved the world.
The woman improved, bit by bit.
He needed money for it, to be sure. And he hated how he got it. But each time he wanted to stop, he asked himself how long she would survive without what he was doing.
He kept working.
Kept giving money to her.
She got better, bit by bit, and the light gradually returned to his life.
But in his quiet moments, the seconds and minutes of his life when he was alone with himself and had no one to lie to, he admitted that the light was different. It was shaded at the edges.
The darkness was his.
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