Damien Thorn kills Peter

"Listen, Peter," Jennings said, coming a little closer to him, "I understand what you're going through. You want to love and be loved, but don't look for love among the dead, believe me!"

The words brought a smile to Peter's face. He looked up, and for the first time in a long time, something resembling a slight sense of relief flashed through his eyes.

"What are you saying?" Peter said with a grin. "You're starting to sound like Shakespeare! All this about love, the dead and the living... as if you just stepped off the stage yourself."

Jennings snorted, but a spark of goodwill flickered in his eyes.

"Well, if you want, I can add a couple more lines," he said, pursing his lips as if thinking. "Like, what does a shadow whisper when the light fades? Or something like that."

Peter laughed, and it was the first real laugh he'd made in a long time. It didn't sound like a loud, forced laugh, but more like a release-like the tension that had been clenching his chest had finally been released.

"Are you kidding me?" he asked, laughing. "It's definitely Shakespeare, only without the suit and gloves."

"Oh, I'm not good enough to make jokes like Shakespeare," Jennings replied with a grin. "But if you insist, I can try to give you a few life lessons. Just remember: they're from real life, not plays."

Peter closed his eyes, laughing a little more, but this time with relief, feeling the tension that had held him in an iron grip for so long gradually recede. There was more than joy in that laughter - it was a release, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders, one he hadn't realized how long he had been carrying. Jennings stood nearby, slightly puzzled, but he, too, couldn't help but notice how lighter the room had become, how the air itself had become softer.

Nevertheless, his gaze involuntarily slid to the desk drawer in which he had hidden the girl's photograph. The drawer was now closed, but the moment when he himself had hung the photograph on the wall was still spinning in Jennings's mind. He remembered how, a few weeks ago, he had hastily picked up this photograph, which had attracted his attention with its unusual beauty, and had decided that it would be good if it decorated his studio. No one would have thought that this picture would be the source of such worries for the boy.

"How could I have been so stupid?" Jennings thought, cursing himself for his thoughtlessness.

He watched Peter continue to stand by the window, his arms wrapped around himself a little, as if this world beyond the glass now seemed to him something much more real and tangible than everything that had been before. Jennings felt guilty before him. He himself had put up this picture, and now the boy, instead of meeting a bright day, had fallen under the influence of some dead girl, who had become for him something much more than just an image in a picture.

"What's wrong, Jennings?" Peter suddenly said, as if he'd heard his thoughts. He turned around, a slight smile on his face, but there was still a certain thoughtfulness in his eyes. "What are you planning? You're scaring me again with your silence."

Jennings winced slightly and, shaking his head, walked over to the table. He opened the drawer again and took out the photograph. The boy noticed that his hands were shaking slightly as he put the picture in the drawer. Jennings sighed heavily as he closed it.

"I just..." he began, choosing his words carefully. "You know, Peter, I blame myself for putting that picture out there. You were too close, and it affected you. I didn't even think it could affect you that much.

Peter looked at him with surprise and some kind of light, ironic kindness.

"It's all right, Jennings. It's my fault. I let that photo get into my head. It's just a picture."

Peter looked at Jennings with a small smile, as if he were releasing something invisible. He felt like he was finally letting go of all the weight that had been weighing on his shoulders lately. He knew he shouldn't make such a big deal out of nothing, but admitting it made him feel both relieved and ashamed.

Jennings nodded, his expression softening. He knew Peter had just taken an important step.

"You're right," Jennings said with a small smile. "I'm glad you realized that. You were trapped in this vicious circle, but now you're finally looking at things with a clear head again. It's nothing more than a picture, Peter. And all your worrying about it is a waste of energy. You don't want to spend your whole life attached to dead things."

Peter sighed quietly, a note of realization in his voice.

"No, I don't want to. It was all stupid. And thank you, Jennings, for hiding the photo. You helped me see it. Without you, I probably would never have realized how stupid I was acting."

Jennings looked at the boy with warmth and understanding. He knew that for Peter this was not just a step forward – it was a moment of awakening. And although Jennings himself did not consider himself a great psychologist or a wise mentor, he was glad that he could be there at this moment when Peter finally understood the importance of letting go.

"You made that move yourself, Peter," Jennings replied. "I just showed you the way. And you, you decided to move in the right direction. It's important to understand that we can't live stuck in the past. Everything changes. And we must be able to adapt, to move forward."

Peter nodded, feeling his chest make room for new thoughts, new decisions. He no longer felt that heavy guilt that had haunted him like a shadow since he had started looking obsessively at the photograph. He still remembered the girl's face, her eyes, but now it was just an image, not something that was going to dictate his life.

"Thank you, Jennings," he said again, but now there was confidence in his voice. "For a long time I couldn't understand why I was so worried. It really wasn't important. I was so focused on one thing that I lost sight of everything else. But now I see that the world is so much bigger than this. Thank you for reminding me of that."