by Tom Fowler

Created on: August 05, 2008

Sad Endings

"Good evening, Fillmore."

"Good evening to you, William. Has Milburn arrived yet?" Fillmore Mears pleasantly asked his host as he crossed through the wide front doorway into the warm and cozy atmosphere of William Westmore's spacious town home.

"Oh yes. He's sitting by the fire. Go in and join him," was William's equally pleasant reply, "I'll join you both in a moment."

"Are we ready?" Fillmore asked before allowing William to leave his presence.

A slight but sad smile appeared on William's lips as he answered, "We're ready."

"Good," Fillmore Mears answered simply.

"Hello, Milburn," Fillmore announced softly as he entered the den and approached his friend. Milburn Thomason was sitting by the fire nursing a snifter of brandy and did not notice his old friend until he was right above him, smiling thinly and extending his hand in friendship. The gesture touched Milburn deeply; he and his two companions had been fast friends since boyhood.

Milburn Thomason would have given anything at this moment, even his sizable fortune, to be able to rise from his wheelchair and greet his dear friend, but diabetes and the recent amputations below his knees prevented that. Once a big, robust outdoorsman, he was now reduced to life as an invalid and seventy-nine year old widower. Only his leathery face and ruddy complexion remained from healthier, happier days. Instead, he answered softly, "Hello Fillmore. Are you still certain you want to do this?"

Taking Milburn's hand, he nodded, "Still certain. William is preparing the concoction." Fillmore Mears voice was dull and without emotion. Also a man of great wealth, he was a tall, slender man with patrician features. He sported a shock of distinguished gray in the middle of an otherwise still black and wavy head of hair. His appearance belied the fact that he was worn down by heart disease and stomach cancer. He had only weeks to live, if that long; but, at age seventy-seven and a widower for the last three years, he didn't really care. He was more concerned with his friends and what they planned to do tonight.

"I know," Milburn answered, trying to sound light-hearted, "and I assume he'll be out shortly. How are you feeling?"

"I feel fine. Maybe it's because I'm already feeling the relief we seek. How are you?"

"Weak, as usual, but glad I'm with you two." Fillmore smiled and started to reply when their host entered with a silver tray holding a decanter of clear liquid and three crystal glasses. William Westmore's den was large and

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