It was raining the night I died. In the morning, the trees were covered with glistening dewdrops that sparkled like rainbows and diamonds in the rising sun. My stupid family could barely contain their happiness.
That poetical milquetoast of a firstborn sat on the veranda with his prissy cup of tea and smiled at the new day. Our slut of a daughter put on her finest dress and drove off to some hookup. Billy, the youngest, was perhaps the only one of ’em to show any melancholy whatsoever; said some foolish nonsense like, “Wish the old sinner’d repented before he died.” What’s the kid gonna do, run away to a monastery?
Well, I must say the apples have fallen very far from the tree. I blame you; it’s why I had to put you away in that asylum. You were ruining my corrupting influence. If they would have just stopped visiting you, I wouldn’t have had to go the whole way and given you that overdose.
It will be interesting to see if Billy accepts the inheritance. I didn’t expect it of him, but I had given up hope on all of ’em. Worst part of it is, he probably did it for noble reasons, or at least told himself they were noble. But still, I got him.
When I told him last night how twenty years ago I had murdered his mom, he pretended not to believe me. He, of all of ’em, was the best liar, so not a total loss.
When he said, “Sure thing, pops,” in that offhand I-don’t-care-you-old-crow way, I thought my final shot had failed and I was going to succumb to that stupid disease. But I won, Meredith! After everyone else went to bed, he came back to my room. I would have preferred if there was a thunderstorm, but the drum of the rain against the window was good enough.
I pretended to be asleep when he called to me. Didn’t want to startle him. Didn’t want him to lose his nerve. Meredith, he gave me an overdose, just like I did to you. I doubt Andrew, with all his love of verse, could have done anything so poetical.
Frauds, all three of ’em. But for Billy, he’s the best kind. The others are empty frauds, playing at having souls. Billy, now, he knows he’s got a soul, and he puts on that pious mask when he knows I’m his father, when he’s proved that he’s my son. Mine, not yours.
Well, the kids will have a shock when they read the will. It’s all Billy’s if he’ll take off the mask. Had to bully my lawyers quite a bit before they found a way to make it legal. They should have the videotape by now.
Tale Told 