Your seventh son will kill you, they said.

I laughed, but then remembered. Those years ago. I used to donate. How long has it been now? Is there a shelf life on those things? I put it out of my mind. There’s no way he would find me anyway; they keep that shit locked down. But still, it makes me think. I sip the whiskey in silence and watch the shadows move across the face of the Virgin’s statue.

* * *

We’re in the museum. People have begun to leave and pretty soon, it’s just him and me. I recognise the nose. It took me a while to find him, but my contacts came through. My gun is heavy in the holster, just one of many things weighing on me.

Once I knew where to look, it was easy to track him down. He seemed like a good kid. Good record til he dropped out of school. Fell in with an enterprising crowd. A little too enterprising. All it took was one venture to get him kicked out. But my boy cleaned up and picked up this gig to tide him through til next semester. Reminded me of myself at his age. But then again, they all did.

I screw on the silencer and follow him round the corner.

* * *

When I’m alone, their faces come back to me. The phone rings. I’m not alone now. I grab my coat and rush to the hospital where you are by now. As I enter the room, Nadine smiles. She holds you. I can’t take my eyes off you. “It’s a boy,” she says, and passes you to me. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

We’re in the room. It’s just you and me. I look into your face, your eyes. I recognise the nose. It’s my nose. You’re so small, so vulnerable. At the end, the other six, they were too. Tears fill my eyes. It’s killing me.

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