Carefully the old man eased back into the least offensive chair. His silver hair glimmered in the light from the fireplace. He watched the other man in the other chair, with its matching red tartan design.
With brown eyes twinkling with laughter he spoke, “Well, old friend, your taste in color hasn’t changed, but then again I doubt it would, colorblind as you were.”
He shook his head with a chuckle, “Oh, I’m not criticizing you. Your colorblindness saved our lives out there.”
The old man leaned his head back, eyes closed remembering, “Those were the days, weren’t they? Hell, I believed you called it. We certainly may find out soon.”
Opening his eyes again, he looked over to his friend, “Remember it? Just the two of us, stuck in the hot, sticky jungle. Somedays, I felt like turning myself in just to ask if they could drop me in a dark room with no mosquitos.”
He chuckled again, bringing up his tea for a sip, but stopped before drinking. “Closer than brothers we were during that time. Lost in the jungle, just the two of us, relying on wits and each other. I’m not going to lie, I figured we would die from heat, disease, or capture before escaping.”
He smiled reminiscing, “But we made it out, you and I, with the help of your colorblindness, of course.” He saluted his friend with his teacup covered in purple flowers, still not drinking it.
“You know,” he said glancing at his friend, “I’ve kept an eye on you all these years. I know we grew apart, but after that adventure, we would never truly be apart. I wanted to make sure you did alright and you did.”
He motioned around the room, its only light the fire, “You married, raised three beautiful children, and had a thriving business selling books.”
“Me?” he asked glancing over at his friend, “Well, I became a psychiatrist. I wanted to help those that struggled with the problems we had, help people transition back to society, if possible.”
He shook his head, “No, I never married or had children. I guess you could say my work was my life.”
He paused, searching his coat with one hand, “I forgot. I should leave this letter here as I would hate for someone to take away my work from me. I worked hard to help others.”
He laid the letter on the small table next to his flowery teacup. “I think it fitting the two of us sitting here watching the fire. Don’t you?” He asked, raising his teacup and drinking his drink.
Then quietly he put down the cup, laid his back, smiled slightly, and watched the fire die.
Two days later the newspaper headlines and social media exploded with the story. It read “SERIAL KILLER CALLED ‘DOCTOR OF MERCY’ FOUND DEAD WITH FINAL VICTIM.”