There lies a dead man in our house. Unfortunately it is not my father.
No, It is Burke Haymoor, whom I had treated for three days before I got the ’joy’ of declaring him dead. During those three days most of his relatives visited him. All of them were equally annoying. They were not less annoying when I delivered the news of his passing.
I watched them cry and shout. The daughter, Polly, kept shaking her father, hoping he’d come back to life through such a silly act. I’ve always pondered why people shake the dead. While I observed the young woman’s hopeless attempts, I wondered what it would feel like to love your father like that. If it’d be my father dead on that bed, I would smile in relief.
Eventually The Haymoors left. Aside for Burke. I wrapped him in linens and collected the empty bottles of potions from the table next to him. I noticed one of them was wrongly shaped. After sniffing it, I came into a conclusion my father had in his drunken state again mixed potions and had given the patient hemlock extract. That certainly explains the lack of reaction in Burke, as hemlock causes paralysis before killing the person.
Now, I could go to the Watch and tell that my father has in fact managed to murder someone. Not knowingly. But I still think it counts as a murder in the eyes of law. I could watch my father being hung and what a jolly day that would be. However by turning my father in, I would also condemn our practice. Who would seek a house of healing that is known to kill it's patients?
It comes to the question. Do I hate my father more than I care for my profession? Somehow the thought of him stealing my life in his death does not appeal to me.
I never quite knew you Burke Haymoor and I most certainly did not enjoy the company of your rowdy relatives. However, I am deeply ashamed that I allowed your death under my eyes. I can only hope you did not suffer in your paralysed state. I know, I do you wrong by not turning your killer in. But had you lived my life, I trust you'd understand.
