Page 97 of Where Light Cannot Follow

Constance.

My mind catches on the name.

Because she reminds me of Ms. Hernandez. And it's Christmas morning. The morning I told my assistant she had to be at work or face termination, the morning her mother was dying, and I couldn't spare an ounce of⁠—

I wipe tears from my face with the back of my hand and pull out my phone. Find her number. Press call.

"Mr. Dante, I swear I'm on the way—the train was delayed and I⁠—"

"Go home, Ms. Hernandez. Please."

Silence on the line.

"Oh, please, Mr. Dante. I need this job. I swear to you, I was at the platform on time, but there was a signal failure and⁠—"

She keeps talking, but my mind fills with static. Not only did I fail to rescue Virgil, fail to give him another chance at collecting memories, one more taste of life before we faced the weight of my choices, but I have returned to the existence of a man I no longer recognize. A man who treated those he saw as beneath him with derision and cruelty.

"Ms. Hernandez, please." My voice cracks, thick with tears I don't bother hiding. "You're not fired. I want you to spend Christmas with your mother. In fact, take off through the New Year. We'll figure everything out after that."

Another beat of hesitation. "I'm not fired?"

"No," I manage.

"Mr. Dante, if this is some roundabout way of letting me go, I swear to god⁠—"

"I died last night."

Silence.

"There was a car accident. But I was... brought back."

"Oh my god." Her voice shifts, concern flooding where fear had been. "Are you—I mean, are you all right, Mr. Dante?"

No. I'm fairly certain I'm not.

I sink lower in the chair and watch the sun continuing its slow climb over Manhattan. "Physically, I'm fine. But it gave me an opportunity to consider my life. To see it clearly, perhaps for the first time." I swallow hard. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hernandez. For the lack of humanity I've shown you. For treating you as though your life mattered less than my convenience. And I'm⁠—"

My voice breaks, because I suddenly imagine Virgil's bright eyes, his quiet pride, the way he'd look at me if he could see this moment.

"I'm grateful for the opportunity to say as much. Please, spend the holiday with your mother. Your position is secure—I'll have legal send you documentation today if that would help."

"Do you..." She hesitates. "Do you need anything, Mr. Dante? Is there someone I can call for you?"

The only thing I need is the one thing I apparently cannot have.

"No. But thank you for asking."

"All right. Well, then... Merry Christmas, Mr. Dante."

"Merry Christmas, Ms. Hernandez. Please give my regards to your mother."

"I will. Thank you."

The call ends. I slide the phone back into my pocket.

I know doctors. Specialists. People who owe me favors I've never bothered to collect. Perhaps I can get her mother seen quickly, as soon as the next few days. Perhaps there's still hope for someone.

I will try to do what good I can with this life.