Dickens Final Novels & Stories

We arrived at the morgue, and the worker yanked open a couple of fridge drawers. There I was, along with my mom, just lying there. Due to the ice and snow, I looked pretty much the same. Not bloated or anything. Mom's story was different, though. Wolves had gotten to her, and all that was left was her head. "Vanessa, don't look," Mom whispered, pulling me close and covering my eyes with her hand. For some reason, I could almost sense the warmth of her spirit.

They were all spread gruesomely and randomly, as if a mockery to the pathetic state that a leader like Dicken has fallen to. Be that as it may, Dicken simply lay there silently as if he felt no pain. He kept his eyes close, his cold visage remaining as still as a statue, although one could see the sweat droplets on his forehead if they were watching carefully. After I cut out the last speckle and let everything inside ooze out, Dicken’s stiff body suddenly relaxed as his breaths became steady. Then, as if having fought a violent battle, he fell asleep in exhaustion.

“I was hoping you’d answer. I want to see you. Tonight. Come to my place for dinner. Just you and me.” I closed my eyes, relief flooding me. A safe place. A real choice. “Yes,” I whispered, almost desperate. “I’d like that.” When I walked back in, Dickens was still there, watching me like a hawk that had just lost sight of its prey. His jaw flexed, but he said nothing. Instead, he stood, adjusted his jacket, and smirked. “Well,” he drawled, his eyes never leaving mine, “I suppose it’s time I take my leave. But remember, Isabella—some debts can’t be ignored.”

His eyes widened in admiration as he carefully pulled out the novel I’d been reading—Charles Dickens’s Great Expectations. Before I could respond, Eleanor's voice from my phone hit my ear–I realized she had already picked up the call.

As he sat in his car to begin the drive home for some sleep before the storm he knew was coming broke in the papers the following day, he phoned Dick Littlecock, the redoubtably bigoted Daily Rail journalist, and scourge of the enemies of middle, middle England and said, ‘You are not going to believe what I’m about to tell you, Dicky, my old sausage. ‘What? No way! Him of all people! You just don’t know, do you? This is going to be great,’ said Dick, as his micro penis grew stiff with the salacious details. ‘This is going to be great!’

"Yeah." Silence settled comfortably between them. Not painful. Just honest. Upstairs, Aiden's laughter echoed from his room where Zara was probably teaching him something she absolutely shouldn't. The sound drifted through the house. Warm. Alive. Alicia looked at Henry's letter one final time. Then carefully folded it closed. For years Henry Dickson had built an empire. For years he had believed power was the answer. But in the end, the secret he protected wasn't money. Or Harbor.

I smiled slightly, pretending not to notice anything amiss. Later, Yvonne made herself comfortable beside me, acting like she was in her home. It was a far cry from the timid scholarship student she had once been. "Goodness, Candice, you look terrible!" she exclaimed dramatically, reaching for my arm, but I shifted away just in time to avoid her touch. "Mr. Yeager, just look at how much Candice has sacrificed for you," she continued with mock concern. "Her complexion is so sickly, and her figure is completely gone—she's hardly the glamorous socialite she used to be."

My wife's student, Talon Palmer, hired someone to stab me, leaving me critically injured. In six years as an attorney, my wife Audrey Taylor had never lost a case. Yet she stayed up all night compiling nearly a hundred pages of trial materials, all to prove Talon innocent. I stood in the doorway for six straight hours, torturing myself as I watched her work. Finally, I asked hoarsely, "Why?" She didn't even look up. "You accused Talon of being the other man. All he did was ask that thug to pretend to be his brother and scare you. Everything that happened afterward was the thug's own doing. It had nothing to do with Talon." I shook my head in disbelief. Hysterical, I rushed forward and tr

For the first time in ten years the house stood behind me instead of around me. Inside, in the quiet of what had been Varek’s study, a different conversation was already beginning. I did not hear the words, but I learned later what was said. Varek, stripped of position and facing the internal consequences of his long deception, made one final call to the family fixer. Cade Riven answered on the second ring. Varek’s voice was low and stripped of every earlier performance. “There is still one problem that needs to disappear,” he said. “Handle it.”