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The woman in the photograph had her steely eyes locked onto the camera.
It always felt weird to Mick, to be looking at pictures of Mum when she was younger. Less than his age. Even now, he didn’t like thinking of her as someone more than Mum. Elaine Mundy had not been a person to him, not really. Only Mum.
You’re supposed to have moved on from your parents by now, Mick, his brain told him. You met them one last time. That’s closure. No use dwelling on it anymore.
And maybe Mick should have been inclined to agree with his brain here. Maybe he should’ve closed himself back off, buried it all away, let it simmer and not let it be anything at all. Should have.
He couldn’t. Not anymore.
There were footsteps to his left; Mick’s head shot up on reflex. Combat boots, a flowing coat, eyeglasses. A graceful silhouette.
“Herr Sniper,” Dr. Ludwig said, uncharacteristically quiet. “May I sit?”
Mick shifted uncomfortably, but he nodded. Now there was a weight beside him. He didn’t know what to do with it.
“The woman,” the doctor said, “she is your mother, correct?” His brow narrowed. “I don’t intend to pry, it’s just—” Mick was sure he did intend to pry. That was fine.
“Was,” Mick said quickly. A little too icily, probably. “She was my mum. We talked about her already, remember?”
“Yes.” The gloved hands fiddled with one another, like they also had no idea what to do with themselves. God, he was so fucking quiet. If it were anyone else, Mick would’ve relished it, but on him it was wrong. Something was wrong. “Of course. My apologies.”
“It’s alright. Y’forgot.”
But Dr. Ludwig wasn’t listening, not anymore. “Your mother,” he murmured. “Your mother, your mother, your—”
“Doc.” Mick couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “Are y’alright?”
“I’m…” The doctor looked almost embarrassed to admit it, as if he were hesitant to exhibit a normal emotion. Mick was in no position to judge. Although, then again, the doc looked like he was just bursting with the need to tell someone, anyone. “It is my mother’s birthday today.”
This — this was not a good tone, Mick knew, because by now he knew that much, not like when he’d given up trying to understand what everyone even meant. These words carried heaviness; this was not a fond memory. Mrs. Ludwig was gone, and she had not left peacefully.
“Oh,” his mouth said.
Bitterly, Dr. Ludwig stared at the wall. “I was foolish. I could not save her.” Mick once again got the impression that he was talking less to him and more to the inanimate object he was looking at. He really did not know what he should be doing about this. “It was my fault.”
And maybe it was, the awfullest, nastiest part of Mick thought. Maybe he’d sold her soul to the Devil, or cut her open for research, or said take her, not me. But maybe he hadn’t.
“It wasn’t,” Mick said, as if he knew anything at all. He swallowed, thought of the stitches that cut across his torso. This was risky, but... “You— you couldn’t bring her back? Not like y’did with me?”
Dr. Ludwig shook his head. “I was young,” he said. “Inexperienced. There was so much I had yet to learn.” He paused, angled his gaze downwards. “It’s far too late for any of that now.”
“Y’could—” Neither Mick’s mouth nor his brain knew what to do. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”
A shrug. Listless, half-hearted. He didn’t want pity. Mick wasn’t about to give any more of it to him. “It doesn’t matter.”
Mick thought it did matter to him — a lot more than he was letting on — but he didn’t mention it. Best not to. Besides, what do you even say to something like this?
And then: “The reason I mention this—” Dr. Ludwig’s eyes turned to Mick’s, a sort of stony resoluteness set in them, “—you said…you spoke to your mother. In Heaven. And that she was proud of you.”
“Yeah.” It didn’t matter to Mick whether or not he believed him. He knew what he saw. “Sure did.” He bit his lip. “You, uh…you believe in Heaven, doc?”
“Of a sort.” Dr. Ludwig laughed, a little mirthlessly. “I certainly won’t be going there, not if I die. (if, Mick noticed. If.) But…but she could. She could.” A pause. “Couldn’t she?”
“She was a good woman?” Mick didn’t think she could’ve been fully good, not if she’d raised a man like this. But maybe good enough. And, hey, the same could probably be said for Mum.
“The best. Just as yours was, I’m sure.”
“Then, yeah.” Mick looked at the ceiling. “She’s up there.”