Fisher Man
"Just hold that happy thought, Peter." Donna said, holding Peter's hand in a firm yet gentle grip. After seven years of being a hospice nurse she knew it was his time to exit this earth. Peter hadn't been conscious in three days now and hadn't responded to voice or touch. Donna knew from their talks prior how much he loved fishing with his father when he was a child. She repeated one of his own stories back to him as she held his hand in that final moment. It was a story she was familiar with not only by Peter telling her but also because she knew the location the story took place. It was the same lake she would take her young sons during the summer to camp and hike. She knew the place well although it held only regretful memories for her now.
As she finished the story she felt Peter's hand grip hers back, looking at his face she could see him trying to open his eyes. Donna had seen this happen before, sometimes just before death the patient would have an amazing moment of clarity. She knew from experience not to get her hopes up.
"It wasn't about the fish." Peter croaked out, his voice was barely audible.
"No?" Replied Donna. "Just about spending time with your Dad?" She asked quietly.
"We killed them." Peter whispered.
"The fish? You killed the fish?"
"The boys. We killed the boys." Were Peter's last words. After trying to take a few more struggling breaths Peter was gone. Donna sat there, still gripping his hand, staring at Peter's face. A face that seemed too peaceful after just confessing to murder. A realization clicked and Donna dropped Peter's hand, an anger rising up inside of her that she had not felt in many years. Unable to hold herself back she slapped Peter across the face as hard as she could then took him by the collar, pulling his lifeless torso up, his head lolling back and to the side.
"My boys?!" She screamed into his face. "You killed my boys?!". She started shaking his limp body. "You killed MY boys?!"