LEVI
37 YEARS OLD - SEVIERVILLE, TN
My eyes bore into the blank page of a leather-bound journal. The pen in my fingers feels as heavy as the weight on my chest. I haven’t written a riddle since my mother’s funeral. I flip to the previous page, reading the last one I’d ever written.
My hunger is never sated.
My heart is never full.
Solitude is my destiny.
Who am I?
The answer returns to me as though I wrote it yesterday.
Before I can linger on the past, my phone rings. I glance at my nightstand to find Astor’s picture lighting up my screen.
It’s not actually a photo of him, but his favorite video game character—Link. The best Christmas I’ve had since my parents passed was playing The Legend of Zelda with Astor until the wee hours of the morning every night, until New Year’s Eve, when we finally beat it.
Setting aside my journal, I pick up the phone, turning my voice serious.
“Hello, Father.”
Without missing a beat, Astor’s voice turns equally severe—and British.
“My child.”
We break character in unison, chuckling.
I don’t actually call or consider him to be my father, but it doesn’t change the fact that that’s basically what he’s become.
There’s a certain weariness in his voice lately that never fails to make anxiety creep in.I can’t lose you too.“How are you feeling? How’re the bees?”
“Good…”
Lonely,is what I don’t admit.
“The bees are happy... Producing lots of honey. It’s become popular at the local stores. I’ve had to get Beau to help out a few times a week with harvesting and deliveries.”
I can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s wonderful. Which name did you decide on?”
A few weeks ago, I’d still been trying to decide, and I’d had him help me narrow down the list.
“Nectar of the Gods.”
He hums thoughtfully. “I think that one was my favorite, too.”
“How’s everything with you?”
He sighs for a moment, pausing. “Fine.”
My brows knit together. “Fine?”
“Yeah, just...fucking bored and tired of work shit. As usual.”
Of killing people and all the other nefarious deeds his line of work requires,is what he doesn’t say.
“You could retire?” I suggest for the thousandth time.