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“I expected more from you."
Henry glared down at his cup of coffee as he attempted to appear impassive. The black liquid sat perfectly still, undaunted by the angered gaze that bore into it. The saucer was gold-rimmed, but it hardly shone with so little light creeping in through the window. Grey clouds hung thick and heavy outside, allowing only the faintest sunlight to pierce through. Everything was perfectly still. No birds chirped outside; no orange butterflies landed on the windowsill. Typically, the garden just outside of Julian's house seemed to sparkle with life, but it all seemed so dull this afternoon.
"I'm more than a little disappointed in you as well," Henry said flatly as he finally steeled himself enough to look Julian in the eye. He almost felt sick at the concerned look to his professor's face. It was so clearly practiced and calculated that it disgusted him.
"Henry, you killed someone. Two people, actually. You can't be angry with me for disapproving of that," Julian said gently, as if he were speaking to an unruly child.
"That's not what I'm angry with you for," Henry replied immediately. Under the table, he dug his nails into his thighs through his dark grey slacks. "You have tried to mold me into someone I am not. You are upset because you've failed, not because of what I've done. Don't pretend for a minute that you are superior to me because of your morality."
Julian's face twisted into a tight-lipped smile. Henry caught himself examining all of his small physical imperfections, from his slightly uneven eyes to his pale yellow teeth. These are the kind of things that people seldom notice about each other because they are too insignificant to pay any mind to. However, as Julian fell out of Henry's favor, the most unimportant traits now seemed to mock him. He wondered how he had ever worshiped a man whose nose protruded in such an awkward, bumpy manner.
"What I have tried to do is mold you into a better scholar. You have tremendous potential, but you possess some traits that could easily inhibit your chances for success. It is not a question of ability but one of personality," Julian said patiently.
"And what about my personality offends your sensibilities?" Henry asked in a clipped voice.
"You are narrow-minded and self-righteous. You believe that there is one right answer to everything, and somehow, you always seem to think that your opinion is the right answer. You have to allow yourself to be guided."
Henry twisted his cufflink back and forth under the table as he listened. He knew his expression was steadily gaining a disgusted quality, but he did nothing to remedy that.
"So, you're upset because you've lost control of me; is that it? You probably would have told me to kill Bunny if I had asked for your opinion. You would much rather that I had killed him with your blessing. I may love and admire you more than anyone else, but I do not like being controlled. That's why I killed him. I knew that he had power over me, and I couldn't stand it."
Julian reached across the table and squeezed Henry's shoulder.
"I am not asking you to surrender your will to me," he said softly. "I just want you to be more… receptive to ideas, to people, and especially to criticism. I want you to be the best you possibly can be."
"I understand," Henry replied after several beats of silence. His anger faded quickly, and he found himself in desperate need of approval again. This was how it always went. They would have 'arguments' where Henry was angry and Julian only mildly exasperated, and these always ended in Henry seeking praise again.
Julian took a long sip of his tea before setting it back down on the saucer with a satisfied sigh. He offered a familiarly kind expression, and Henry nearly laughed in relief. This was the Julian he knew, the Julian who loved him. Everything was alright again.
"Henry, why did you shoot yourself?" he asked in cutting voice even as his fond expression remained.
"What?"
"You shot yourself in the head. Twice. Why?"
"I didn't-" Henry stopped when one of his migraines came on in a split second. He doubled over and grabbed the edge of the table for support while he clutched at his head with his other hand. Usually, he at least got an aura as a warning, and his migraines never hurt this bad during the initial onset.
He shakily drew in a breath as he managed to look up at Julian again, ignoring the wave of pain the movement brought on. His vision swam as if he were underwater. The sky outside seemed to have darkened into a deep maroon, but sunset was still hours away. The lack of life outside the window now obtained a pounding urgency.
"Help me," he gasped out as he clawed at the table. He distantly heard shattering porcelain as he accidentally knocked his coffee cup to the floor.
"Why don't you understand?" Julian asked exasperatedly. Henry took a deep, shuddering breath as he noticed something warm and wet against his palm and dripping down his cheek. He slowly held his hand out in front of him, trying to pretend that he didn't notice the rush of fluid from the source of pain in his head now that he was no longer covering it. His palm was slick with blood. "I can't help you, Henry."
Henry pushed himself to his feet using the table. His vision was darkening, turning Julian into a blackened silhouette. He reached out to grab his hands. He wasn't sure why, maybe to beg for some compassion. He found that it was Julian himself that had darkened instead of his vision as his hands came in contact not with warm flesh but a mass of cold, hard shells. The shape that had been Julian dissolved into a swarm of countless black beetles that climbed up Henry's arms. He pulled away with a yelp and tried to brush the armored bugs off of him.
He looked out the window to discover that the sky really was a dark shade of red. The earth had disappeared; all that existed outside of the house was an endless, red sky. Henry walked through the house in a daze. Blood dripped onto the floor from the holes in his head, and the floorboards separated behind him as he went.
All of the paintings, most of which had been lush landscapes or Neo-classical pieces, had been replaced with other images. He passed one over the mantle of Charles passed out on an armchair, clearly drunk, with bloodied knuckles. Henry averted his gaze and walked past this one quickly. In turning, he saw one of Camilla after the bacchanal, her hair dyed red with blood. Henry stumbled out of the sitting room. He didn't want to see anymore.
As he stepped into the hallway, he was immediately faced with a painting of Francis, and this scene, he didn't recognize. He looked older, thinner, and he was curled up in a bathtub with his arm cradled against his chest. There was a long slit in his forearm, running from wrist to elbow. Henry felt nauseous. He limped down the hallway as best he could. The next painting was of Richard as Henry had seen him last, clutching at his stomach where the bullet wound was.
He saw that there was a final painting, but he resolved not to look at it as he went past. However, the hallway that had gone on before now ended right after this painting. This one corner of the house was dark. Red light poured in from the doorway that Henry had gone through, but this part of the hallway was tucked away enough that maybe Henry could ignore the absurdity outside. He sat down on the floor across from the painting. He did not want to look at it, but he found that he couldn't resist the temptation as the minutes ticked by.
It was the size of a full-length mirror. The background was dominated by white, fluffy snow, and ferns grew around the edges. Bunny laid dead on the ground exactly as Henry remembered him, down to the blood trickling from his mouth. Henry couldn't help but laugh. It was dry and hoarse.
"I don't think we will meet again, my friend. You're probably in the Asphodel Fields, and I'm destined for Tartarus.
"ἔνθα σʼ ἔπειτα, ἄναξ, κέλομαι μνήσασθαι ἐμεῖο.
μή μʼ ἄκλαυτον ἄθαπτον ἰὼν ὄπιθεν καταλείπειν
νοσφισθείς, μή τοί τι θεῶν μήνιμα γένωμαι."
The red light from the doorway seemed to fade, and with it, Bunny's painting. It was fitting, Henry thought, that the last thing he should see would be Bunny's face, considering that his face had been the last thing Bunny had seen. He did not look away nor close his eyes.