OLIVIA
Epilogue
November, 1929
It was raining.
The dark sky crackled with
ferocity as a bolt of lightning split the air. Caledon Hockley hardly noticed
it as he stood in front of the fireplace, staring absently down into the
flames, which popped and hissed around the logs in an almost hypnotizing way.
Years of drinking had taken their
toll on him. A few silver hairs were woven through the dark hair around his
temples and deep lines creased his once-handsome face. He was no longer the
suave, charming young man he had been. Instead, he was a broken and empty man…a
shell of his former self.
In his hand, he held what was
most likely the end of his fortune, the one thing he had left. It was gone now,
or it might as well have been. He had lost it all in a matter of days. His
bloodshot eyes moved down to stare at the thin slip of paper that he had
received from his investment firm. The lump in his throat was so huge he could
hardly find enough energy to swallow. With a defeated sigh, he let go of it,
letting it float down onto the floor with a small flutter, where it landed
quietly.
Stiffly and slowly, he walked
over to his desk and sat down behind it. He stared down at the desk. It had
been his grandfather’s and his father’s before him. Great men, both of them. He
was ashamed to place himself in their category now. They had done great things,
and what had he done? What had he done besides ruin everything he had ever
touched?
Bitterness, like sour gall, rose
in his throat when he thought of all the disasters in his life. One by one they
came before him, haunting him like so many ghosts. Once, he had everything a
man could ever desire. Now, he had nothing…and no one. He was alone. His father
had died two years before, and his mother had moved to Europe to live out the
remainder of her days, citing that Philadelphia held too many memories.
He rarely saw his children,
Catherine and Nathaniel. They were fifteen now and were too busy to visit with
him. He supposed he could place that blame on his shoulders as well. He could
have made time for them, but had not. When they were younger, he had tried to
find time for them, but months would pass before he would see them, and it had
sometimes stretched into a year at a time. He was ashamed of that, yes, but
that was neither here nor there now. What was done was done.
Olivia…pain he had tried to keep
buried deep within him surfaced when he thought of her name. Time had a way of
healing some wounds, but not always. She had been married to his former
valet--he still couldn’t bring himself to utter his name--for some years now after
their messy and nasty divorce was final. She had ultimately won custody of
their children and her freedom. He would have never thought it possible, but in
the end, Olivia had been the one to truly find happiness, while he had never
attained it. Not since Rose…
He released a long, deep breath
and closed his eyes. He was tired. He was so tired of his life, of everything
in his life being wrong. It had been wrong for a long time, and now he had
nothing worth living for. He felt defeated and useless.
Cal sat for a moment, and then he
slid a creamy, thick piece of paper from the stack on his desk. It was boldly
emblazoned with his name across the top in gold lettering. He lifted the pen
from its holder and began to write.
Olivia,
When you hear the news of
this, I’m sure you will have many questions and will wonder what to tell our
children. I wish I could give you the answers, but I have none to give. I am a
man who has many regrets, but life does repeat itself and so I must live with
the consequences of my actions. I have nothing now, and perhaps that is
fitting…perhaps I never deserved happiness at all. I am truthfully remorseful
for all that I have done, but somehow it is not enough. I must atone for my
sins in the only way I know how.
What I have left that is of
any monetary value I give to my children. It is all I have to offer them. Tell
my son to carry his name proudly and honorably. I am truly sorry for
everything.
Cal
When he finished the letter, he
folded it neatly and slid it into a matching envelope. In bold script, he wrote
Olivia’s name across the front. Then he opened the drawer in front of him and
peered down into it, looking at the small, black handgun he kept there. He
lifted it, feeling the weight of it in his hand. He knew what he must do now. The
empty, barren feeling that he had carried around with him would soon be gone.
He blinked the tears away. It was too late for that anyway. He lifted the
revolver to his mouth, pulled back on the trigger with slow, agonizing
momentum. Closing his eyes, he swallowed once. It would soon be over…
The End.