Robert sighed. “Whenever you’re ready, continue. What did the murderer say to you?”

“He apologized,” Finn started, pausing to let Robert snicker. “Aye, he apologized for framing me, and he told me much of his story. The drinking and thieving that had followed him from his home into London, his mother whom he was leaving behind, and of course John’s murder.”

“John’s murder, which he committed and framed you for.”

“Yes.”

Robert took a glass of water from the table and drank it all in one fluid motion, perhaps wishing it was something strong enough to make these past weeks make sense. “Did he think you needed to be reminded?”

“I think he wanted me to know it wasn’t personal. I don’t know how much he really meant of what he said. I don’t know how much he even remembered; he was drunk most of that time, and he’s a violent drunk. But what he said was that he never desired to kill John. All he did was get drunk, hatchet in hand, and John was just… there.” Finn looked away uncomfortably. “Just how he framed me. He needed to get the police away, and I was just there.”

“What an unpleasant thought, that someone could be murdered or thrown in jail for the crime of being there.”

“Aye,” Finn said quietly.

“Did he not think I would have found John’s watch on his person before your trial?”

“I don’t think he remembered taking the watch. He just went through the motions of the violence he had surrounded himself with in London, and there was a watch to steal. Even drunk, I don’t think he thought about it at all.”

************************************************************************************************************************************************

Patrick pushed the door to Ailill’s study open slightly, throwing a sliver of light over the darkened room. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Ailill looked up from his book, which he was studying in the apparent darkness, and carefully closed the book and stood. “You can come in, you know. You don’t have to wait in the hallway.” He slotted the book back into its place on the old bookshelf, turning to face Patrick once that was done. “But yes, I wanted to see you.”

Patrick accepted the invitation into the study, closing the door behind him which shut out all the light that had previously occupied the room. “What d’you want to talk about, then?”

Ailill paused to turn on a light; he winced from the brightness, but the room was no longer a massive tripping hazard for the human, so it evened out. “How long do you have left in this town, Pat?”

Patrick shrugged. “I don’t think I’d be leaving here until someone else comes calling. Why?”

Ailill looked away, towards the ground. “I only have a few months left, you know? I have a school I’m going to, far away from here, and I don’t think I’m ever coming back. But I know that I’m leaving a lot behind when I go. All my friends, all the work I’ve done, probably even most of my library is going to leave my life by the fall.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, not entirely comprehending why Ailill was telling him. “Sure, you’re going through a big change, but why is it only now that it’s starting to hit you?”

“Because when I leave, it’s all over. I’m not going to come back here, and I don’t think I’ll ever see… my friends again.” Ailill sat, nearly crumpled over his desk as he turned himself away from Patrick.

Patrick knelt by the chair, quietly trying to gauge Ailill’s emotions. Nothing really offered itself up as a good thing to say to the elf, so he hung out quietly by Ailill’s side for a bit, eventually asking, “You can get your friends to visit you out there, can’t you?”

Ailill turned slowly. “I can’t get you to visit me,” he said as he turned. “You’re going to be too goddamn busy with your league and your team, if you’re even on this continent next year.”

Patrick focused, very intently, on the side of Ailill’s eye. “And what about me?”