My Love Until the Last Goodbye (Mary and Maximus) novel Chapter 1138

Anthony Moriarty was spending a weekend with his family—his father, his wife, and his little daughter were with him. It was one of those rare weekends when he could sneak away to relax a bit. What he didn't count on was a piece of news that would shake up his plans, at least for a moment.

"Babe… Hey, you've got a call!" said Angela Moriarty, handing her husband the phone.

"Yes, speaking…"

"Mr. Moriarty?"

"This is he," said Anthony as he dried his hair after getting out of the pool.

"We're calling from the geriatric care clinic…"

"Oh," Moriarty replied upon hearing that.

He quickly walked toward the garden, trying to put some distance between himself and his family. It was a delicate topic, and he didn't like involving them in it.

"Go ahead," said Moriarty once he was far enough away.

"We're calling to inform you that Mr. Frank Levett has passed away…"

"Wow. For a moment I thought it was something else. You already have instructions on what to do when that happened, so I don't really get why you're calling."

"Mr. Levett left some letters for you…"

"For me? What could that blind and unhinged man possibly have written to me?"

"The letters are sealed, so you can come pick them up whenever you're able. Unless you prefer we mail them to your address."

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll make room in my schedule and come by as soon as I can."

As soon as he hung up, his wife wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, noticing that despite his usual tough demeanor, he looked shaken.

"Something wrong, love?" Angela asked gently, trying to soothe whatever was bothering him.

"Frank Levett is finally dead…" the man said, still trying to process the words.

That old man—tongueless, fingerless, blind, earless—had slowly wasted away in the silence of a retirement clinic.

Maybe his death wasn't dramatic. He didn't end up riddled with bullets like many had wished. No one came to slit his throat or chop off his head. No one dismembered him or dissolved him in acid. No, his death came in a room at a geriatric facility.

Yes, the kind of place where most old men go to live out their final days. A place where they can still interact with others and give life one last breath.

But for Frank Levett, it had been hell. Without all his senses, the man suffered from delusions. He heard voices. He felt someone walking beside him.

Maybe it was Alexia. Maybe it was his son. Or maybe—just maybe—it was one of the many men who'd died because of him. Like Leonardo Palmer, for example.

One thing was certain: the man didn't die peacefully. Sure, he didn't get the brutal punishment Marcus had hoped for, but he knew exactly what he was doing—his death was going to be slow and excruciating.

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