Patience shifted restlessly in her bed, pushing at the weight that had settled on her chest once again. It was a burden she had grown accustomed to over the months, though tonight it felt heavier than ever. "Move," she muttered, straining against the creature's mass. The massive serpent slithered off her chest, its coils pressing against her body like an uninvited weight. At first, when she had trapped Caliban in her home, the snake had felt like a protector. A dark, monstrous guardian. She welcomed its presence, using it as a shield against the world that hunted her, reporters eager to exploit her story and acquaintances who circled her like vultures. It had kept her safe..safe from scrutiny, safe from exposure. But now, its presence felt suffocating. She couldn’t even bear to look at it anymore.
A fluttering at the window caught her attention. It was Icarus, a small songbird who visited her every morning. The bird perched on the ledge, pecking at the crumbs Patience had left out for it the night before. The little creature tilted its head, chirping something that sounded like, “Call Leo.” Patience smiled faintly; Icarus had always been a gentle nudge, urging her to take small steps toward life again. “Stretch, Patience,” it would sing. “Go outside, Patience.” This morning, after the weight of the serpent lifted from her chest and the hope of hearing from Leo lingered in her mind, she followed the bird’s advice. Reaching for her phone, she typed a quick message: “Good morning, Leo. Still coming by Monday?”
She waited for the telltale dots, the promise of a reply. When none appeared, she tossed the phone aside and buried her face in the pillow on the empty side of the bed.
The world called her a whistleblower, a hero in some circles, a villain in others. Patience knew neither title was true. She had never been a hero. Not really. She knew the truth she had failed. Being cleared of charges did not make her innocent. When Alexander first asked for her help, to delay the safety reports, she hadn’t hesitated. He had always supported her, and she had intended to return the favor. But when the crash happened, when that plane went down, she knew she had done something unforgivable. She had made the wrong choice, the one that would haunt her forever.
The storm had come through, and she had lost it all her career, her reputation, her marriage. Jack had left years before, his new life a distant memory, and her daughter, Evelyn, was caught in the wreckage of it all. Alone, with only her conscience as company, Patience’s world shattered. She wasn’t an engineer anymore. She wasn’t a mother, either. Evelyn barely knew her anymore, and their bond was slipping away. Leo, her only lifeline, was the only reason Patience hadn’t completely crumbled.
Her phone buzzed, breaking her from her thoughts. She grabbed it and read Leo's reply: “Of course. I’m coming. Are you up? Have you eaten? I’ll be there at 8:00 tomorrow.”
Patience’s heart lightened. She could feel the weight of the burden lifting, even if just a little. She looked at Icarus, her constant companion, and slowly, cautiously, she got out of bed. She opened the window, letting the bird flutter inside.
Icarus hopped over to her, singing softly, “I’ve been waiting.”
Patience stared at the bird, but something was different now. Icarus was larger, her feathers shimmering with an ethereal glow Patience had never seen before. The snake hissed from the corner of the room, but Icarus paid it no mind. She stood between the two creatures, and Patience felt the pressure build in her chest.
“I can’t stand the thought of Evelyn finding my body,” Patience whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “It’s the only thing keeping me alive.”
“But you are alive,” Icarus replied, her voice deep and soothing.
The snake twisted around Patience’s ankle, its weight an oppressive presence. Patience, trembling, let the words slip from her lips. “Maybe I am alive... but all those people aren’t.” She could feel the weight of the lives lost, the families destroyed. “I’m responsible for 358 deaths. I have no right to live. No right!”
Icarus floated closer, her wings glowing softly as she spoke. “You didn’t know.”
“I should have known,” Patience cried out, falling back onto the bed. “I should have demanded answers. I should’ve stopped it. I... I…” Her words were swallowed by the storm raging inside her.
“There was nothing you could have done,” the bird said, drifting closer. The snake moved up the length of Patience’s body, its cold, oppressive coils wrapping around her.
Patience’s hand trembled as she reached down, touching the cold scales of the snake. The rage in her heart surged as she turned toward the bird. “There were 358 people on that plane! 358 families in mourning. I am responsible for all of it. I’m the one who doomed them!”
Icarus gently nuzzled Patience’s hand, pulling it away from the snake. She perched beside Patience, wings wide as the woman fell back onto the bed, her body racked with sobs. Tears streamed down her face as the grief overtook her. The fury, the guilt, the sorrow—all of it tore through her like a hurricane.
Icarus, unfazed, stayed with her, holding her in soft, warm wings. Slowly, impossibly, the bird began to grow morphing from a sparrow into a magnificent swan. Her wings expanded, spreading over the bed like a comforting embrace. Patience buried her face into the soft feathers, letting the pain wash over her.
The snake slithered away, retreating to the corner of the room as Patience wept.
Eventually, the sobs began to subside. Icarus didn’t release her; instead, she continued to hold Patience, keeping her safe. The storm inside Patience faded, leaving behind a hollow, exhausted feeling.
Then, in a soft whisper, Icarus spoke, “Shirley Armstrong.”
Patience flinched, a sharp pain lancing through her heart. She lashed out, striking the swan, but Icarus held her steady, speaking the name again, “Shirley Armstrong.”
Patience collapsed back into the words. “Shirley Armstrong.” She whispered it like a prayer.
Icarus spoke again, “Brian Collins.”
“Brian Collins,” Patience repeated.
One by one, Icarus spoke 358 names, each one like a live ember in Patience’s mouth. The names of those she had failed.
When it was done, Icarus whispered one final word: “Forgiven.”
Patience wept once more, but this time, it felt different lighter. Icarus waited with her until the tears ran dry and Patience finally fell into a fitful sleep.
The next morning, Patience woke and felt the strangest sensation: lightness. The oppressive weight of Caliban was gone. She glanced at the corner of the room, and there, across the floor, the snake lay still. It had shrunk somehow, smaller, less menacing. She gave a command, “Leave.”
Caliban’s yellow eyes regarded her for a moment before it slithered toward the door. Patience stood, walked to the creature, and knelt by its side, placing a hand gently on its scaly back. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For helping me hold on to my humanity. But I’m ok now. I release you.”
The snake seemed to shrink further, its form fading into the shadows as it slithered away.
Icarus was gone, but Patience knew, somehow, she wasn’t alone.
She washed her face, dressed, and prepared herself for the testimony ahead. She was ready.
