Kurt was startled to find me reading Psalms. He didn't show it in his demeanor, but I heard the surprise in his thoughts.
"Professor. I hope they bring you solace." For an instant he wondered whether I had perceived his intentÂ’—to recommend Scripture as a balm for my troublesÂ’—and had picked up the book to placate him, but he did not voice the concern.
"I have always found solace in great poetry." Hence the King James, not always an accurate translation, but a superb rendition.
"Surely these are more than poetry." He crouched beside my chair in order to look up into my face. "There is God in these pages. He can help you where we cannot."
I smiled, as warmly as I could muster. All morning they had been visiting me, as if a rotation had been established to ensure I would not be alone. Of course, a telepath is never alone, but today the remembered screams of the dying drowned out the steady buzz of living thoughts...and I missed Jean's presence profoundly. Of all the minds in the mansion, hers had always answered me.
"It is I who must help you." Firmly, as if saying it would make me capable of what was needed. "The childrenÂ’—"
"Will be fine." He paused, looking pained. "What happened was not your fault." Behind his words I heard echoes: *was terrible, was unheimlich*, but I did not hear blame.
"Thank you, Kurt." I could not agree, but I appreciated his concern. I repeated my thanks in his mind.
He bowed his head. "I will leave you with your prayers."
I opened my mouth to tell him they are not prayers, but he had already disappeared. I returned to the pages, and if my eyes watered for a moment with renewed grief for what my old love had become, for what I had done as an instrument of his hands, no one was there to see.
The End