Chapter Text
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The phone vibrated against his leg, and he received text messages so rarely that he stepped from the flow of pedestrians into a small alcove to dig out his phone. He stared down at the one word – BEHIND - much longer than it took to read it.
They’d found him.
That was actually the lesser shock as this text was his first contact with the Machine in months. He let his shoulders slump, stuffed the phone away, and went to the nearest coffee stand. He needed it. A tiny part of him was amazed it’d taken them this long to find him, and most of him was relieved it was over. With Nathan gone, Harold didn’t deserve the rest of his life.
They’d built it together, and it’d kill them both. That was fair.
Taking his mocha, he left a hundred-dollar tip and went to the nearest bench. When the first sip sat on his tongue, he allowed himself to study the crowd, but he was skilled enough not to make it obvious.
The word – TALL – blinked across his phone screen, and he sighed. He’d spotted him. FBI and CIA agents had a type, but more than that, he knew Mr. Reese by sight. He was alive, and that was a relief, but he no doubt wanted revenge.
Staring down into his phone, Harold said, “Stop.”
The word that appeared hurt his heart – FATHER. And Harold turned his phone off before putting it away. He’d suspected the Machine monitored him, but he didn’t want it. He wasn’t going to listen. Nathan was dead. Grace was gone, off to Italy, not willing to live in fear with him, and he couldn’t blame her.
Mr. Reese got his own coffee, and Harold made up his mind. It was time, and he went towards home, not rushing, not hiding, and forgoing all his usual tricks. He stopped at his favorite bookstore, just one last visit, and exited out the back.
Three more blocks, six flights of stairs – elevators weren’t safe – and he threw the four locks on his door. It’d keep Mr. Reese out long enough for Harold to get organized. He’d planned for this day, and he set it all in motion with many regrets but no hesitation.
He was ready to die.