Chapter 232

Iris & Arthur

Iris

When we reach Augustine’s hospital room, we pause outside. Through the small window in the door, I can see her lying in the bed, tubes and wires connecting her to various machines. She looks so small, so fragile.

“Are you ready?” Arthur asks softly.

I take a deep breath and nod. I’ll never be ready to say goodbye to Augustine, but we can’t put this off.

The doctor meets us at the door. “She’s been asking for you,” she says. “We’ve made her as comfortable as possible, but I’m afraid there’s nothing more we can do. The bleeding in her brain is too extensive.”

“How long?” Arthur asks.

“Hours at most,” the doctor replies. “I’m very sorry.”

Cliff makes a small, pained sound behind us. I reach back and squeeze his hand. He and Augustine have been friends for decades; this is hitting him just as hard as it’s hitting me.

We enter the room quietly. Augustine’s eyes are closed, her breathing shallow. I approach the bed and gently take her hand in mine.

“Augustine?” I say softly. “It’s Iris. Arthur and Cliff are here too.”

Her eyes flutter open, unfocused at first, then settling on my face. A weak smile curves her lips. “Iris,” she murmurs. “You came.”

“Of course we came,” I say, fighting back tears. “How are you feeling?”

It’s a stupid question, one I regret immediately, but Augustine just chuckles—a sound that quickly turns into a painful-sounding cough.

“Oh, you know,” she says once she catches her breath. “I’ve been better.”

Arthur moves to stand beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Is there anything we can get you? Anything you need?”

Augustine shakes her head slightly. “Just your company. That’s all I want now.”

Cliff steps up to the other side of the bed, taking Augustine’s free hand. “Hey, old girl,” he says roughly. “You’re causing quite a stir, you know.”

“Always did like to make an entrance,” Augustine replies with a weak smile. “Or an exit, as the case may be.”

I choke back a sob. Even now, facing death, Augustine is trying to make us laugh in an attempt to ease our pain. It’s so typical of her.

“Do you remember,” she says suddenly, “when you first moved into the building, Iris? You were just a slip of a thing, so shy, always preferring the company of your paints to other people.”

I nod and quickly wipe away a tear. “You brought me your famous cookies that day. Chocolate chip.”

“That’s right,” she says, smiling. “And you ate nearly the whole batch in one sitting. I knew then that we’d be friends.”

“The best of friends,” I agree, squeezing her hand.

“Oh, and remember when the power went out during that winter storm?” she continues. “It must’ve been five years ago now. We all ended up in my apartment because I had that old kerosene heater.”

“You taught us how to play canasta,” Arthur recalls. “And you won every single hand, rather suspiciously, might I add.”

Augustine chuckles, “I may have stacked the deck a bit.”

“I knew it!” Cliff exclaims, and for a moment, it’s almost like old times—the four of us together, laughing, sharing stories.

But then Augustine is seized by another coughing fit, and the illusion shatters. When she settles again, there’s blood on her lips. The doctor steps forward to wipe it away, checking her monitors with a grim expression.

“I’m so glad,” Augustine says, “that… you two found your way back to each other. When you first met, I told Cliff that I’d never seen two mates more perfectly matched. Do you remember that, Cliff?”

“I do,” he says with a nod. “I know you said you were being a romantic old fool.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” Augustine says with a weak smile. “Look at them now.”

I feel tears spill down my cheeks, unable to hold them back any longer. “Augustine…”

“No, no,” she says. “No tears yet. I’m not quite finished. I want you to promise me something, both of you.”

“Anything,” Arthur says immediately.

“Be kind to each other,” Augustine says in a surprisingly intense voice given her condition. “Always, always be kind. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

“And stay by each other’s side,” she continues. “The world will try to pull you apart—it always does. Don’t let it.”

“We won’t,” Arthur promises, his arm tightening around my shoulders.

Augustine nods once, clearly satisfied. “Good. That’s good.” Her eyes begin to drift shut, then open again with visible effort. “I’ve had a good life, you know. Long. Full of friends. Full of love.”

“We love you,” I manage to choke out.

“I know you do, dear,” she says softly. “And I love all of you.”

Her eyes close again, and this time they don’t reopen. Her breathing becomes more labored, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a little victory.

We stay with her as the minutes tick by, none of us willing to leave, all of us knowing what’s coming. Cliff tells stories of the early days, when he first started working for Augustine at the apartment building.

Arthur recalls how Augustine was the first person to truly welcome him when he moved in. I remember all the times she watched Miles for us, how she taught him to bake cookies, how she always had a kind word and an open door.

And through it all, Augustine’s breathing grows slower, shallower.

Then, quietly and calmly, she goes.

Her hand turns limp in mine. The steady beeping of the heart monitor flatlines. The doctor steps forward, checks for a pulse, then shakes her head.

“Time of death, 10:47 AM,” she says quietly.

I break down then, sobs wracking my body. Arthur pulls me against his chest, staring numbly at her body. Across the bed, Cliff stands with his head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Augustine is gone. Our friend, our neighbor, our family in all the ways that truly matter, is gone, perhaps before her time because of an injury that Silas caused.

But she went peacefully, surrounded by people who loved her. And in the midst of my grief, there’s a small comfort in that. A bittersweet end to a life well-lived.

…

Arthur

The hospital cafeteria is nearly empty at this hour, the lunch rush still an hour away. I sit at a table in the corner, staring into a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold. Iris and Cliff are still with the hospital staff, filling out paperwork and making arrangements for Augustine’s body. I needed a moment alone, to process everything that’s happened.

In the span of twenty-four hours, my world has been turned upside down the right side up then upside down again multiple times. My father tried to kill me and kidnap my son. My mother confessed to being part of a conspiracy against me. Silas, my newly-discovered half-brother, has been arrested. And now Augustine, one of the few constants in my life these past years, is gone.

And even more strangely, Augustine’s death was actually the biggest factor in Silas being arrested. Before we arrived at the hospital, apparently she told the staff that the man who took Miles had shoved her when she tried to get him to leave.

So now Silas is in trouble not just for attempted murder, but voluntary manslaughter.

I like to imagine that Augustine is laughing and flipping him the bird right now from wherever she’s watching.

I’m still deep in thought when Ezra slides into the seat across from me, setting down two fresh cups of coffee.

“Thought you might need this,” he says, pushing one toward me.

I nod gratefully, abandoning my cold cup for the steaming one. “Thanks.”

“How are you holding up?” Ezra asks after a moment.

“I’m…” I trail off, not sure how to answer. “I’m still here.”

“Better than the alternative, I suppose.”

We sit in silence for a moment, both sipping our coffee, both lost in our own thoughts. Then Ezra clears his throat.

“The press is having a field day with all this,” he says. “Wendy’s confession and Augustine’s death allowed Silas to be arrested less than an hour ago. The evidence Wendy provided was… comprehensive.”

“Good,” I say firmly. “Let them all rot in prison.”

“The public is relieved that you’ve retained your position as President,” Ezra continues. “But they’re asking questions about what happens next. What your plans are.”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “My plans haven’t changed, Ezra. Despite everything that’s happened—or maybe because of it—I still want the same thing: a peaceful life with my family. I don’t want to run in the next election.”

Ezra nods slowly. “I thought you might say that. And I understand, I do. After everything you’ve been through…”

“It’s not just that,” I cut in. “It’s not about being tired or traumatized, although Goddess knows I’m both of those things right now. It’s about priorities. Miles, Iris, the new baby on the way… they need me more than Ordan does. I think my presidency has come to a natural end, albeit a little sooner than I once hoped.”

“I get it,” Ezra says. “But the question remains: if not you, then who? The people trust you, Arthur. They’ll want to know that whoever succeeds you has your endorsement.”

I study Ezra’s face, noting the concern there. He’s always been more than just my Beta; he’s been my friend, my confidant, my most trusted advisor. He’s stood by me through everything—the good, the bad, and the utterly insane.

He’s smart, principled, and most importantly, he cares about the wellbeing of Ordan and its people.

“If I had someone to endorse,” I say slowly, “someone I trusted completely, I would happily do that.”

Ezra nods. “That would certainly help with the transition. Did you have someone in mind? Caleb, perhaps? He’s well-respected, although I’m not sure if he would want to step down from his judiciary position—”

“I mean you, Ezra.”

My Beta’s eyes widen into saucers. “Arthur, I’m a Beta,” he protests immediately. “I’m not an Alpha. I can’t—”

“Being President isn’t about being an Alpha,” I counter. “It’s about leadership, about vision, about making tough decisions for the greater good. And you’ve demonstrated all of those qualities time and again.”

Ezra looks like I’ve just told him the sky is purple. “You truly think I should run in the next election?”

I smile and clap my friend on the shoulder. “Ezra, I couldn’t possibly think of anyone better for the position.”