He held it in his hands. He hadn’t seen it in 27 years, but he was instantly transported back to that night. He didn’t know why he’d kept it and now he certainly had different feelings about it; he wanted it gone. The feelings that came flooding back to him were terrible; feelings of regret, anger and shame coursed through his body making his heart beat, his hands shake and his eyelids appear heavy as though to shut the world out. He felt sick in the depths of his stomach and his body went cold. He steadied himself; he sat with his back against the brick wall and he clutched it in his hands tightly. It wasn’t heavy but his arms could barely support the weight; they themselves felt heavy and weak. The lamps in the corners of the room had left impressions of light on his retina that now seemed to dance as he moved his eyes to stare across the darkness of his now firmly shut eyelids. His breathing was quick and he had started to sweat; he was both hot and cold simultaneously. He had somehow managed to trick himself into never thinking about what had happened; he had hidden the events in a box in his mind just as he had hidden what he now held in his hands. For 27 years he had successfully ignored what now consumed every emotion he had. His chest tightened as he dropped what he’d discovered to the floor. It struck the floorboards with an undramatic blow, but the sound echoed in his ears.
With his eyes still closed he felt a lightness in his head. The impressions of light still dancing on his retina seemed brighter than before; they seemed bolder and more purposeful. He knew he was dying. He had always known that this would consume him, in time. He had hidden his memory as a protection to himself. The dancing light grew bolder and he let go and gave in to the inevitable. His final thought a sadistic parallel; is this what she had seen?