Daniel held the letter in his hand. Written on a rich parchment degraded by repeated handling, it weighed on his conscience. He read it again, even though he had made his decision the first time he saw it.
Dear Mr. Medina,
According to the report compiled by the Houston Police Department earlier this year, you were the one who discovered my brother, Adam, when he took his own life. It noted that you attempted to save his life by removing him from the vehicle where he was in the process of asphyxiating himself.
While assuredly a traumatic experience for you, I would like to meet you to give due thanks for trying to help my brother and to learn the details of his final moments. Please call me at 713- xxx-xxxx to arrange a meeting.
Yours,
Richard Armitage
Daniel wanted to help the man’s family come to terms with their grief, but he knew that what he had to share with them, if he told the truth, would probably just bring more pain than what they had already experienced. After all, the guy had wanted to die. He had begged Daniel to put him back in the car that was already so full of carbon monoxide that he had gotten light-headed in the few seconds it had taken to pull the man out.
The Main Street meeting venue was a bar in a vintage building that still bore the signage of the credit clothing company it once housed. A dark-clad figure wearing a respirator mask, presumably Mr. Armitage, beckoned Daniel to a corner table. His raven hair and pearlescent skin favored his sibling. Daniel had previously assumed anoxia had caused the suicide victim’s dramatic complexion. The canister Armitage wheeled behind him as they ascended narrow stairs to the roof for privacy suggested he might suffer similarly.
Armitage removed his mask and chain-smoked, overlooking a small courtyard three stories below, while Daniel recounted his tale in all its painful accuracy.
“He begged you to put him back in the car?” he asked, exhaling a blue cloud. Daniel nodded, eyes tearing from smoke and emotion.
“We came to Houston together to give our people more room,” Armitage spoke around his sixth cigarette. “No invasion necessary. Bribes were all it took to ensure your atmosphere would eventually be suitable for our needs. These-” he indicated his cigarette and canister “-provide enough carbon monoxide to survive what poisonous oxygen remains in your surface atmosphere.”
Examining Daniel’s broken body in the courtyard, the ME attached no special significance to the dent in his temple whose shape matched the edge of a steel canister. The cause of death, grievous bodily injury sustained in a fall, was certain. A witness, who reported the victim was despondent ever since he failed to save a dying man, had tried unsuccessfully to talk him out of jumping. He said that he had assured Daniel that if he gave things enough time, everything would get better.
Literature in Small Doses 