The Eyes

The Eyes

It was the eyes.

The eyes told tales of a life lived, they told of things best forgotten. One glance was enough to tell him that behind that dark facade horrors lurked. He lowered his gaze, unable to cope with the truths they told.

"What can you tell me?" he asked, without lifting his gaze.

"You know as much as me." The tone was mocking but the voice sounded familiar, it evoked memories of a distant time. But when? And where?

He looked up again, the face showed no emotion, the eyes unflinching, yet somehow he knew he was being mocked. For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw a glimmer of a smile. But the thin, pale lips remained tightly pursed, he dropped his gaze again, somehow ashamed.

"Who are you?" It shouldn't be like this, he was stronger than this. He knew that much.

"You know as much as me," said the somehow familiar voice.

But what did he know? He knew that he had to unlock the secrets hidden in those dark eyes. He knew that the truth was going to hurt like nothing he'd felt before, he knew that the pain would be beyond bearing.

He lifted his head and stared straight ahead, holding the gaze, forcing himself to be strong. The truth will out and no one but he could do it. It had to be, there was nobody but him left, he somehow knew that.

This time the face did smile, the thin lips curling upwards, the unblinking eyes betraying the emptiness of the gesture. "See, there are things you know."

That voice again, quiet this time, but still stirring distant memories.

"What have you done with them?" he asked.

For what seemed like an eternity, their eyes locked, the room silent except for the drip of a tap. The eyes seemed to lose their certainty for the briefest of moments before the man replied. A chink in the armour perhaps, a pathway to the truth he sought.

"We both know what has to be done, that is certain. The only relevant question is, do you want to know the truth first?"

"I must," he replied.

"Very well then, we must take the journey together." The man rubbed his temples with bloodstained hands as he spoke. He stared at them, dark blood-encrusted fingernails, noticing the way the blood had engrained in the folds and creases of the man's hands.

"Where do we start?" he asked.

"We weren't always like this," the man told him. "We were happy once, normal, not so long ago either."

"I don't care about me, it's you we are talking about!"

The man laughed, hollow and empty, without joy. "Oh no you don't! You can't shirk off your responsibilities just like that!"

"I am not responsible..."

This time the mockery was plain to see. He couldn't face it, he felt overpowered by shame. He could feel the truth coming, and he doubted he was man enough to bear it, not alone, not without...

"I think we know differently, don't we?" the man spoke softly, almost sympathetically.

He heard himself sob in reply. "I can't bear to be without them," he said quietly.

"We know what has to be done then."

"But I need the truth, I need to know first."

The man smiled again, "that is your choice," he said.

This time he smiled back, "no, it is our choice," he told him.

"You are learning," said the man. He picked up a newspaper, from the front page a picture of a beautiful woman smiled out at him. "You remember her don't you?"

He nodded, how could he have ever forgotten her, she'd been his life.

"And below her?"

He nodded and looked at the smiling pictures of three kids, his eyes misted up with tears, he reached out and stroked the pictures with bloodstained fingers.

"Turn it over," said the familiar voice quietly.

Shakily, he turned the newspaper, the headline read - "Family Slaughtered - Police Seek Husband."

"She was having an affair," he said.

"I know," said the man.

He looked up from the newspaper, the man's eyes were filled with tears, the truth was out. In his bloodstained hands, the man held a newspaper and a gun.

"It is time," said the man.

He put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, the blast shattered the mirror, the room became silent again, except for the quiet dripping of the washbasin sink.