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As soon as David pulled the trigger, he knew he made a mistake. His body went cold, the gun suddenly impossibly heavy in his hand.
He had killed River, he had killed his boy.
God, what had he done?
But David had been so sure that this was an imposter sent by the stoats watching him. He resembled River in a funhouse mirror, River’s face–or at least close to River’s face, but his mannerisms and voice were off.
David stared at the blank face looking back at him, a face he had looked at hundreds of thousands of times with love and affection. A face he stared at now with scientific curiosity. If it wasn’t River, then who could it be? Who would dare come to him wearing his grandson’s face? Science fiction wasn’t real; doppelgangers and clones didn’t exist.
Who could this be if not the boy he raised?
But–no. It couldn’t be River.
It couldn’t.
Rose would never forgive him.
He would never forgive himself for killing River–for killing his boy. This dead man in his bathroom–this grown man–couldn’t be the little boy he had raised. It couldn’t be the boy who showed up at his home at six, all knees and elbows, sandy blonde hair and the biggest blue eyes David had seen.
They were Rose’s eyes he realised immediately, the boy staring at him with wide-eyed wonderment.
It couldn’t be his boy.
It couldn’t.
David wanted to get closer–he wanted to make sure it wasn’t River. It couldn’t be River. But he couldn’t will his body to move because if he moved closer and it was River, then he couldn’t live with himself. He couldn’t hurt River.
River was a piece of David’s heart existing outside of his body. Surely he would feel something worse than the simmering level of dread he felt now if he had killed River? He would know if something had happened to River, if this imposter had done something to him–if this imposter had hurt him.
David would know. He would feel it in his bones, no matter how old and weak they were, he would know if River was no longer in this world. If River was no longer in this world he would know because it woud be dark and gray and lifeless. Surely if River was no longer living there was no God on this Earth or in heaven that would make David continue without him. He had committed a lot of sins in his life, for his country, or for his family, but surely nothing he had done could be bad enough to condemn him to live while River didn’t.
The face stared back at him unseeing, it secrets kept even in death.
“It’s me,” a voice called out.
The front door opened and shut and ice wrapped around David’s spine. A finger traced over the gun as the voice carried upstairs. Was this River? The real River? Could it be? Could he dare to hope?
“It’s me, River” someone yelled.
“Wh–” David tried to reply but he couldn’t form words, couldn’t fathom what he would say to whoever found him.
Only one of them could be River. Or maybe neither were. Maybe he was too confused to remember. Maybe the stoats had upped their game and this was more of an elaborate set piece.
“Just let me know you’re decent.”
Well that sounded like River, didn’t it? That’s something he would say.
“Oh–Fuck. Whoa, whoa,” the person said when he spotted David and the gun and the body.
It looked like River. It sounded like River. David desperately wanted it to be River. He had never wanted something more in his life than for it to be River. Not as much as he wanted to be First Desk, not as much as he wanted Rose to accept his marriage proposal, not as much as he wanted his daughter safe from a monster.
“Grandad.”
Grandad. Not Gramps. Granded–his name for the last twenty years. The most important name or title David Cartwright had held in his long and storied life.
Grandad.
Could it be? Could it really be River or was the imposter the one here now? Another come to kill him?
“Jesus, what the fuck have you done. Just put the gun down, okay?”
No, he had killed River. He had. He had.
David adjusted the gun. The visitor put his hands up. He was scared. David didn’t want to scare River.
“It’s me. It’s River.”
But–no. It couldn’t be. He’d killed River. He’d killed him. His body sat feet away, evidence to David’s betrayal of the only child who had ever loved him. The only child he hadn’t failed.
Until now.
“Please it’s River. It’s me!” the person said and David let himself believe if only for a half a second it was true.
“How’re you here?” David asked. “I just shot you.”
“No you haven’t.”
David wouldn’t let himself be hopeful. He couldn’t let himself believe that this was River if it wasn’t. How could River be here, now? One of them had to be an imposter. One of them had to be his boy. If David had killed River then he couldn’t let his guard down now, he owed that much to River.
“Please just give me the gun,” the person begged.
He really did look like River. More so than the dead body in the tub. He should know River, God he should know him anywhere. At one point he could pick River’s head out in a group of lads his age no matter the distance. David’s ears could find River’s voice in a crowd. He knew River like the back of his hand at some points, better than even.
But David barely knew himself lately, which was hard enough. It was hard enough to lose himself; it wasn’t fair to lose River, too. Not after everything he had done to save him. Not after all the lives he sacrificed in the name of one.
“You mean–what? He’s an imposter pretending to be you?”
David ignored the hope his voice held. He couldn’t afford to be wrong.
“I don’t know okay, just give me the gun.”
“How do I know you’re not an imposter?” David asked.
“Ask me something only I would know.”
It didn’t take David long to think. Both his and River’s lives depended on his memory now.
“Uh, I met my KBG counterpart in Berlin, Christmas Day, Nineteen Eighty–”
“Eighty-two,” River answered quickly–David let himself believe it could be River, if only for a second.
But–no. Anyone could have done research and learned that. Anyone from the KGB especially. It hadn’t been that long ago that David had killed another Russian with the gun he held, what would another be?
But then the man across from him knew what happened next. He knew about the snowball fight that Sergei would not have reported back to his superiors. David knew because he hadn’t reported it either. There had only been one person he ever told about that–River.
“Oh my God.”
The relief he felt washed over him like a drug, intoxicating and dangerous. David hadn’t killed River. He hadn’t murdered the only person in this world still alive who loved him.
“It’s all right. I’m here. I’m here now. You’re alright.”
River was here. Nothing was alright, least of all David, but River was here. River was alive. And at the moment that was more than enough.