Frank crossed the quad to Eduardo, who stood facing the wall, like a school boy sent to the corner to consider his behaviour. Harrison rested his hand on the old man’s shoulder and felt his legs buckle slightly, even under such a slight touch.
- It’s all right Eduardo. It’s all over now.
Eduardo allowed himself a further moment of composure before turning round. When he did, the courtyard somehow seemed bigger than he’d remembered. He must have lost some sense of perception in the few moments he’d closed his eyes and took himself away to a happy place; a world exactly the same as this one, but only one where he was fitter and stronger; a world where he could hold his head high each morning and face whatever the day brought with pride. A world where he had never become embroiled in this corrupt, fatal web of lies and cover-ups that was the Counterpart Project. Somewhere in the back of his mind, amidst the daydream, Eduardo had heard the 4 gunshots rattle into Lionel’s heart. Quick enough in succession to pass as a single noise, but far enough apart that you could count them if you were quick enough. He’d detached from what he knew was the meaning of that snap of noise. So loud, yet so brief and insignificant in the context of passing time, but enough to remove Lionel Martinez from this material world.
Eduardo walked over to the chair where the hooded figure sat. The ropes had kept him upright, meaning only his head slumped forward out of line with the rest of his body. Harrison checked for a pulse. Nothing.
- He’s gone.
Eduardo stared at the dead man in the chair. He was void of emotion, which surprised him somewhat. He felt no sadness. No guilt. Why did he not feel anything? And then he realised. While he couldn’t see the face of the man he’d killed, it could have been anyone. His mind was protecting him from the truth; the ultimate in straw-clutching. Could the man under the hood be some insignificant other? A mannequin, or a bag of rags and rocks? He knew the face that lay lifeless under that hood sack, but Eduardo allowed himself the fantasy that it was someone else for a moment or two.
- Take the bag off his head, Harrison.
- You don’t need to see his face without his soul in his eyes, Eduardo.
Frank was wrong. He did need to see it. Didn’t want to see it. Needed to see it.
- I want to see his face. Take the bag off!
- I don’t think….
- I said take the fucking bag off him….
Eduardo lost patience and started to pick at the string fastening around the hood with his boney fingers, the slenderness of which leant well to picking the loose knot apart. He threw the length of string to the floor and went to remove the hood, but couldn’t bring himself to. He paused a second, breathed out sharply to gain composure, then nodded at Harrison to do the honours.
Lionel looked like he was sleeping. His eyes were closed and the expression on his face looked far too peaceful than one of a man who knowingly met his end, screaming and shouting at the hands of 4 gunmen. Even now, numbness grasped Eduardo. A dam of resistance inside him seemed to be holding back emotions that he dared not grant escape to for fear that they would ruin him.
Then he thought of Adam Trundle and the first of many tears ran a winding descent down his cheek as the King fell to his knees.