THE LAST HOUR OF SEVEN BELLS
The Mother
The third visitor came on a Wednesday.
She was old, her hands gnarled, her back bent, her eyes sharp. She walked with a cane and carried herself with the dignity of someone who had survived too much and lost too many. Her name was Helen. She was the third victim’s mother.
Nora invited her in.
She offered her tea.
Helen accepted.
They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the steam rising from the cups, the silence stretching between them.
“My son was not a good man,” Helen said.
Nora didn’t speak.
“He sold drugs. He hurt people. He destroyed families. I knew it. I tried to stop him. I tried to save him. But he wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He made his choices. He paid for them.”
“Not in the way you wanted.”
Helen’s eyes flashed.
“In the way he deserved.”
She set her cup down.
“The Bellman did what the police couldn’t. What the courts couldn’t. What I couldn’t.”
“You wanted him dead?”
“I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to stop hurting people. I wanted him to stop destroying lives. And if death was the only way, then yes. I wanted him dead.”
Nora was silent.
“You’re not shocked?”
“I’ve seen too much to be shocked.”
“You’ve lost too much to be surprised.”
“Yes.”
Helen leaned forward.
“The Bellman took my son from me. But he also took my guilt. My fear. My shame. I don’t have to worry anymore. I don’t have to wonder. I don’t have to hope.”
“You’re free?”
“I’m empty.”
“Same thing?”
“No. Freedom is a choice. Emptiness is a wound. The Bellman gave me one and left me with the other.”
She stood.
Her cane tapped against the floor.
“I don’t forgive him,” she said. “But I don’t hate him either. Hate takes too much energy. And I’m too old for that.”
“Then what do you feel?”
Helen looked at her.
“Nothing. And everything. And I don’t know the difference anymore.”
She walked to the door.
She paused.
“Thank you, Detective.”
“Thank you for coming.”
Helen left.
Nora sat alone in the silence.
The weight of the world pressed on her shoulders.
She did not cry.
She was done crying.
She was ready to feel.