Chapter Text
He didn’t dare light any of the candles, even with the fog on the street he was just sure someone
would look through his window and see. Calming his thoughts, trying to prevent the panic rushing
to his head, breathe in, breathe out. There is still moonlight cutting through the outside of the
window, not that he needs it, he knew his way through the rooms above his shop like he knew the
precise knot for a fly, this small space had been his home for years.
His panicked breaths made the task of gathering his possessions difficult as his hand just couldn’t
stop shaking. Attempting for the second time to open the trunk where he kept his most precious
books, the key slipped from his sweaty hands, falling to the floor. The fog outside seemed to seep
into his mind, his thoughts felt sluggish, but he knew he couldn’t let them be consumed by fear.
Finally, the chest opened with a click, that resonated within the room, he sped up his movements
finally taking out the two leather bound books inside. Releasing a small, pleased, sight, he took
them to the small bag that already contained a change of clothing and a pouch with all his saving.
The books, however, were the most valuable of the lot, they would allow him to survive for a while,
enough to get away.
Looking around he evaluate his meager possessions, and after a quick thought, added his fly fish
equipment, even though it pained him, he had to limit the number of items he took, it wouldn’t do if
a lot of things where missing, the police might take notice and look too close into his supposed
suicide.
Closing his suitcase, he gave a longing look at his store, where the last memories he had of his
father, that and the books of course, were all he had left of his mother.
He didn’t remember her clearly, but her loss had deeply affected his father, who had never truly
recovered. He wasn’t really surprised when, after he presented, his father had thrown himself to
drink his sorrows away. A pistol to his head ending what had become an unassuming life after a
gambling debt ate his dowry, leaving them in a deep financial debt.
Debt he had devoted the lasts years to pay. The fact that they had deemed his store not valuable
enough was a small mercy, it allowed him to make the payments without having to take more
unsavory paths for acquiring money. Not that society had forgiven him either, he became a pariah, a
merchant. Not that he was rubbing any elbows with nobility, but any door that his status as a
valuable omega could have opened, now was shut tight. If there was anything that the ton despised
more than a lack of blue blood, was someone who went into trades.
It didn’t matter to him, he was never one to care for socialization. Even if he was one of them by
blood, his mother’s family never really acknowledged him. Thankfully his father had taught him his
trade, and the fish and boat repair knowledge had allowed him to grow the store’s business in little
time.
His standards of life had steadily reduced from the warm comfort of his childhood, yes, he had to
let go of many things, but he had managed to lead a steady life without depending on someone
else, he had even considered getting a dog, after all, loneliness had become an unwanted
companion. However, apparently life was decided that people like him didn’t deserve happiness. A
few moments ago all his plans were cut short. His only way forward was now within the bag he had
finished packing. He had to vanish, yes, in a way that left no doubts of his whereabouts. The idea
for suicide had sprung in his head after he remembered the story in the papers last month, about
an omega that had thrown herself into a river. She was not the first to do so, and he had felt a
strange sense of kinship, he might as well had ended similarly after his father’s passing but decided
against it. Ironically that was the way he found now. Hopefully nobody would look too close on why
the son of a fisherman wouldn’t know how to swim and would blame his delicate omega
sensibilities.
As tasteless as the Tattler usual writing was, had to thank that vulture Lounds for always founding
the more unsavory details of crimes. Two omegas dead by their own hand in less than a season
would make a splash, three would become a statistic, allowing him to pass unperceived. No one
would think it peculiar a small store owner committed suicide in a similar fashion, surely blaming it
into spring fevers or something.
He thought about just leaving, but decided that a note would sell it more,
… I cannot see a path forward, forgive me, for I cannot allowed myself to live with my actions
tonight. I hope the waters can clean me of my sins, mother please receive me into your warm
hand...
Releasing the breath he was holding, he put the page in a visible place, and with a last trembling
look, he gathered his bag and shoes. Refusing to even look in the direction of his bedroom, he
decided that maybe a pair of shoes on the bridge would help with the story he grabbed a pair of
boots. Luckily, he had left them near the door, and that meant he did not have to go back to the
room.
Shudder
He left the shop in a hurry, there really wasn’t a motive for locking it, not that he could, the alpha
had made sure of that. In a few days, someone would surely get suspicious when he wasn’t there to
open his store, and become alarmed, he thought, as he moved in the streets, helped by the fog to
remain invisible. And then they would find the body of Lord Randall, and his suicide note, and then,
the life of Milton Lafontaine would come to an end.