Free Oculus (Oculus #1) by J. L. Mac, L. G. Pace III

said. Pocketing the gold, I turn to leave. Her hand snakes over again and tugs at my sleeve.
    “Wait, Sic.” It’s her use of my name that stops me more than anything else. Other than Anna, I haven’t known that anyone else knew my name. “Did she suffer?” I look down, that damn lump forming in my throat again, and then shake my head.
    “No,” I rasp. Embarrassment floods through me at my inability to keep it together when it comes to the subject of Anna. “It was peaceful at the end.” Gently, I remove her hand from my sleeve, then turn and walk into the crowd.
    “Wait,” she says quietly. Turning back to her, I meet her tear-filled gaze. “Anna asked me to give you something for her if anything ever happened…please, wait here for just a moment.” She disappears inside the tent, and for a moment I consider leaving. The thought of a gift from Anna is what keeps me in place. When Mirabelle returns she’s holding a leather-bound book in her hand. As she passes it to me my breath catches in my throat. Embossed on the cover in gold leaf is the title, The Count of Monte Cristo.
    “Moral wounds have this peculiarity-they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.” The quote spills from my lips before I even have time to think. My hand strokes the fine leather cover, wondering at what cryptic message Anna has sent me from beyond the grave. She knew of my love of this book. The story of imprisonment, betrayal and vengeance speaks to a part of my soul. Yet, in the end the man finds love and a semblance of peace out in the world in anonymity.
    “Open it,” Mirabelle says gently. Looking up at her in confusion for a moment I nonetheless comply with her command. The book falls open at the very quote that I had just uttered, marked by a sealed envelope. Pulling out the envelope I see Sicarius embossed on the front.
    Looking at the letter I suddenly feel raw and exposed, vulnerable. Tucking it back in place, I close the book with a solid thump. Opening my pack, I carefully place it inside. I glance up, feeling the weight of Mirabelle’s gaze upon me. “Thank you for this.” Not trusting myself to hold my emotions any longer, I move quickly away into the crowd.
    Once I’m away from Mirabelle’s, my embarrassment turns to anger. Like a security blanket, the red hot emotion burns away the pain leaving clarity behind. I’m here to make purchases, not to reminisce about my dead…Anna. My irritation must be apparent because the next few stalls I stop in handle my transactions without any small talk. I unload everything but a portable HAM radio, a hand crank charger to keep it juiced up, a pack of dry food and what I normally carry in my pack. In the end, I have my additional burdens down to those items and a good amount of gold.
    After the last transaction, I decide to return to Mirabelle’s to get the password for the next market. As much as I don’t want to talk any more about Anna, she already trusts me, and it will save me the time of having to prove myself to anyone else. As I near, I see her talking to the white-haired man that had been watching me earlier. Mirabelle brings him over with her and makes introductions.
    “Sic, this is John Baton. John, this is Anna’s associate, Sic.” He holds out his hand and I shake it reflexively. His grip is stronger than I would have assumed for someone his age and he meets my gaze boldly as we shake hands in greeting.
    “Sic,” he says warmly. “I’ve been a friend of Anna’s for quite a few years. I was sorry to hear about her passing. How are you holding up?”
    The question takes me off guard and I respond before I think about it. “What kind of inane question is that?” Mirabelle gasps and John looks as if I’ve slapped him for a moment before he nods, looking somber.
    “Yes, it is an inane thing to say. People have a programmed response to surprise and grief that