Two Things

 

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

Two things happen when Oliver knocks down the door. The first: Maggie screams. The second: Oliver aims the gun he’s holding at her and fires.

I press my lips together, feeling the lurch of my stomach and the tears blurring my vision, but I know that if I move I’ll be shot at too.

We all stand still, fighting the urge to run over to Maggie and help her. Margaret stands, frozen, not knowing whether to Heal Maggie and get somebody else shot at, or just to stand still.

Thirty seconds later, Margaret kneels on the ground, her hands finding Maggie’s bullet wound and trying to Heal it. Oliver sighs impatiently, aiming the gun at Margaret. I step forward quickly.

“Don’t shoot,” I say, my voice controlled. You could never tell from my voice that I’m shaking hardcore and that I feel like I’m going to throw up.

Oliver’s eyes whip over to me and I can the hand holding the gun slowly shift so that it’s aiming at me. Chase, Logan, and Brody are about to stop me but I gently Persuade all three of them to stay still. Under my breath, I mumble a few words, and they all stand there, frozen, their eyes cursing at me. I turn back to Oliver.

“You.” He says, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “You killed my father.” His voice is strangled and I nod, lowering my eyes for half a second.

“In self-defense,” I try to explain to him, knowing he doesn’t give a crap why I did it. I’ve been in his position, more or less. I know what he’s feeling. Only, it was his father who, out of spite, murdered my parents. I’d say the situation is a little bit different. Only, when one or both of your parents are killed, you don’t care so much.

“I don’t care why you did it!” He bellows at me, the hand that is holding the gun shaking in anger. “He’s dead!”

I take a deep breath, mumbling a few words of Persuasion, too low for Oliver to hear, so that Chase stays where he is and doesn’t try to save me.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, genuinely.

“You’re not!” He yells at me, the gun staring me in the face. I flinch away from it, and Erik speaks up.

“Son, you don’t need to do th—” But he’s interrupted.

“You’re going to pay for what you did to him.” Oliver says, slightly calmer, which worries me. I nod, taking a slight step away from him, my focus on Persuading the brothers to stay still wavering.

Two things happen when Oliver pulls the trigger. The first: Brody steps forward quickly, shoving me out of the way. The second: the memory Logan took from me comes rushing back.

The sound of the gun fired echoes around the theater room, and I drop to my knees, my eyes blurring and my heart stopping.

Erik, Logan and Chase charge at Oliver in anger. They tackle him, tossing the gun aside, and then disappear from my line of vision. Not that I’m looking at them. No, I’m staring at Brody, tears streaming down my face, not knowing what to do.

“Margaret!” I call out, my fingers moving to Brody’s wrist, checking for a pulse. His eyes are open still, he’s gasping for breath, and blood seeps from where he was shot. Margaret leaps up, racing over to her son. “Oh no, no, no, no” she repeats, moving her fingers over the wound, trying to Heal him. I hold Brody’s head in my lap, cradling it in my arms as his pale lips try to make words.

“Shhh,” I tell him, tears running quickly down my cheeks. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” I say, hoping it’s true. Margaret starts to sob, her hands still trying to Heal his bullet wound.

“I c-can’t…these aren’t n-normal bullets,” she sobs. “I c-can’t heal these bullets.”

I realize what she’s saying and shake my head wildly. “No, no that’s not possible. We can take him to a hospital, we can…” my voice trails off. These aren’t normal bullets. The gun must’ve had bullets specially made at the Company so that Margaret, nor any other doctor, could heal a wound from them. I feel my own pulse slow, my breathing become shallow, and I look at Brody’s face in my arms with growing dread. “No,” I whisper.

Brody blinks a couple of times, his eyes locked on mine. “Skye,” he says quietly, so that I have to lean down to hear him. His voice is low, cracking slightly. I brush back his dark brown hair from his eyes. “Shhh, Brody,” I cry, “You’re going to be okay.” A lie. Something that he knows is a lie.

“I love you,” he says quietly and I nod, tears streaming down my face.

“I know,” I tell him, having remembered the memory. Brody relaxes and smiles slightly.

“Please take care of Chase.” He says, and I sob, nodding my head. He grabs his mother’s hand then, his eyes shifting to her. “Mom,” he says quietly. “Mom, I love you.”

Margaret blinks her blue eyes, still sobbing, and grasps her son’s hand with both of hers. “I love you too, Brody.” She says, eyes blinking away tears.

“I need you to be okay when I’m gone.” Brody says to both Margaret and I. I look away, clenching my teeth and look back, shaking my head.

“I can’t…I won’t be okay.” I tell him, my fingers just below his jaw, feeling his pulse get slower. He breaths with difficulty now.

“Promise me that you’ll be okay,” he says directly to me, his eyes on mine again. I watch as tears splash soundlessly against his hair. “I promise,” I say, not knowing whether or not I mean it.

He looks at his mother and she takes a deep breath, wiping away tears. “Okay,” she manages, “I promise.”

Brody smiles at us, his eyes wandering back to me. Chase, Erik, and Logan rush back into the room, breathing heavily and their eyes take in the scene in front of them. Brody’s dying, and they know it.

The all slowly drop to the ground beside Brody, and Brody smiles, coughing. “Take care of each other,” he says, his eyes fluttering closed. I can still see him breathing, but only barely. I lean down, kissing his cheek softly. “Thank you,” I whisper, thanking him for everything he’s ever done for me. I feel more tears rush down my face and I pull away from him, lips pressed together.

“Goodbye, bro” Logan says, his voice cracking. Chase clenches his jaw.

“Thank you, Brody.” He says quietly, his eyes filled with pain and gratitude. I don’t know what he’s thanking him for, but Brody’s eyes flutter open, looking at him.

“Take care of her,” Brody says, voice almost inaudible. Chase nods, jaw still clenched. Logan looks away, tears on his face, and Chase blinks away the ones that invade his eyes. Brody looks at his father then. “I love you, dad.” He says and Erik takes a deep breath. “I love you too, son.”

And then Brody goes limp in my arms, and I can no longer feel his pulse. I take a breath, my eyes not leaving his face. Erik reaches out, lowering Brody’s eyelids and stand up shakily, walking over to Maggie, who is lying still on the ground. I want so much to say goodbye to her but I can’t force myself to move. I can’t. I’m numb, and I don’t want to move. Logan and Margaret both get up slowly, walking over to Maggie to say goodbyes. I want to join them, but I can’t.

Chase stays where he is, his eyes on his brother and then on me. “Skye,” he says softly.

I look up, and feel horrible for the relief I feel when I see that Chase isn’t hurt. I look back down at Brody’s limp body and start to cry. I stop a minute later when I remember that I promised him that I’d stay strong, that I’d be okay.

Chase shifts Brody’s weight to him and then lowers Brody’s head and shoulders to the ground. He then stands up, pulling me up with him and holds most of my weight as he steers me out of the room. I feel numb. This can’t have happened.

We end up in my room and Chase takes me to the bathroom, sitting me on the closed lid of the toilet. I sit there; staring straight ahead and listen to the running tap water. I then watch as Chase wets a facecloth, turning off the tap and kneeling in front of me. He gives the cloth to me but I sit there, not moving, frozen numb. He sighs quietly and takes it from me, gently wiping my face with the warm cloth. When he pulls his hand back I see blood smeared all over the cloth and Chase sees the question in my eyes, but looks like he doesn’t want to answer it. I figure it out on my own though. Brody shoves me back, jumping in front of me to block me from getting shot. So when he got shot, some blood splattered on me.

Chase wipes away the rest of the blood from my face and then looks at me with a look I can’t place. “I’m sorry,” he says and then looks down, away from me. I blink in confusion, and then realize what the look was: self-resentment.

“For what?” I ask, finally speaking. Chase stands up, walking over to the sink to rinse out the facecloth.

“I should’ve been the one to die,” he says, leaning against the sink and closing his eyes with a sigh. I get up slowly and walk over to him, my eyes unbelieving.

“Chase, he was aiming for me. I was the one that was supposed to die.” I say fiercely, my hands framing his face. He opens his eyes, and I can see all the pain that he’s in. He just lost his brother, and I’m the one having a breakdown. Man up, Skye. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this,” I say, my eyes still on him.

He nods, but the pain doesn’t leave his eyes. “This is my fault.” I admit, quietly. “I should’ve been the one to die, and I wasn’t. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it was Brody.” I whisper. I blink away tears and wrap my arms around Chase’s neck, my face against his chest in a hug.

“He knew what he was doing,” Chase whispers into my hair. “He knew that it meant, and he still did it. It was his choice and it’s not your fault.” He tells me, and I nod slightly, wiping away tears.

“What happened to Oliver?” I ask quietly against his chest.

“He’s dead.” Chase says. I nod again, expecting as much.

I sniff quietly, pulling away from Chase. “I’m going to lie down for a while.” I tell him, as it’s probably past midnight yet I know I won’t be able to fall asleep. Chase nods, walking from the bathroom. I crawl into my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and curling into the fetal position. Chase leans down, brushes a piece of hair away from my eyes and then stands up, turning to leave. “Please don’t go.” I call out, my voice breaking. I don’t want him to ever go. I can’t loose anyone else. Chase turns around, his eyes watching me. “Okay,” he says quietly, walking back over to me. He sits on the other side of my bed, and I turn on my side to face him, lacing my fingers through his outstretched hand. I close my eyes, feeling so many different emotions and hating it. Why can’t everything be simple, and fairytale-ish like it is in movies?

I shiver, pulling the blankets closer around me and close my eyes tightly.

 

 

 

 

 

When I wake up—I guess I could sleep after all—Chase is asleep next to me, the pain no longer on his face due to the fact that he’s not awake.

I don’t move, I don’t want to move, but rather lay there silently, watching the slight rise and fall of Chase’s muscular chest as he sleeps. I sigh at the sight of him. I know I say this a lot, but I love him. Like, a lot.

When, minutes later, Chase opens his eyes and sees me snuggled in the blankets, he smiles. “Good morning,” he says quietly, and I nestle against his chest.

“Today isn’t going to be easy, is it?” I ask softly. I feel him take a breath and then shake his head.

“No it’s not,” he answers, rubbing my back comfortingly. “But we’ll get through it.”

I nod, sitting up reluctantly, leaving the safety of Chase’s arms. I crawl off my bed, Chase doing the same, and wander over to my dresser, pulling open several drawers before closing them with a sigh.
“I don’t know if I can do this.” I admit, trying to stay strong but doubting my abilities to do so. Chase sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. “I know, baby.” He says, understanding. “I know.”

We’re having Brody and Maggie’s funerals today. Erik arranges everything with the funeral home and asked for it to be as soon as possible. So, today it is.

I walk into my closet, grab a black dress from a hanger and change into it mechanically. I leave my hair the way it is, don’t bother putting makeup on, and grab a pair of black heels before walking out of my closet, starting to feel numb again. Chase is wearing black pants and a black button-down, in the process of buttoning up his shirt. He doesn’t see me standing there and pauses, his fingers on the middle button, taking steady, controlled breaths. I see something glisten on his cheek and realize that it’s a tear. I take a step backward, giving him time by himself, but he sees me and smiles slightly.

“Are you okay?” I ask him softly, taking a few hesitant steps toward him. He sighs, his eyes still filled with pain.

“I will be.” He answers, and I can tell that he actually means it. I stand in front of him, buttoning up the rest of his shirt, my fingers brushing against his smooth golden skin.

I finish buttoning his shirt, and look up into his eyes. “You ready?” He asks me, and I nod, not completely sure of it.

We walk, hand in hand, from the room, walking through the quiet hallways of his big house before we get to the kitchen.

Elena, Margaret, Erik, and Logan—all dressed in black—sit at the table silently, their eyes lowered. I press my lips together, feeling a pressure on my heart, and walk over to their refrigerator, grabbing some milk and a box of cereal.

Chase grabs two bowls and two spoons and we join everybody at the table, sitting down quietly. After a few minutes of silence, I can’t take it any longer.

“How did you sleep?” I ask Chase, breaking the silence finally. He looks up, meets my eye and realizes the same thing I do: this family is going to fall apart if we don’t try to save it.

“Not bad, considering that you snored like an eighty year old man the whole night.” He responds, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

Margaret, drinking a glass of water, chokes on it and starts to laugh, surprised at Chase’s answer.

“Chase!” She says, pretending to be appalled by the way he answered me.

Erik presses his lips together to keep from laughing and I pretend to be hurt.

Our playful banter continues throughout breakfast, causing Margaret and Erik to laugh several times. Logan, however, sat quietly the whole time, not saying a word. I’d look over and see Elena watching him worriedly, and a thought occurred to me.

After breakfast, I grabbed Elena by the arm and pulled her aside. “I need to ask you something,” I tell her and she nods, her white blonde hair brushing her shoulders.

“Ask away,” she says and I do.

“I see the way you look at Logan,” I say and her cheeks start to pink but I hold a hand up as if to stop them. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m not mad or something. I just…he needs somebody right now.” I explain.

Elena nods, understanding what I’m saying. “The only reason I’m staying here is for him,” she admits and I nod, knowing this.

“I know,” I tell her and then pause. “But he doesn’t.”

Elena smiles slightly, squeezing my arm. “Thanks, Skye.” She says before walking outside, to where everyone else is, ready to go the funerals.

Erik and Margaret get into their car with a wave to the rest of us, knowing they’ll see us in ten minutes or so. Logan frowns, his keys in his hand and I watch as Elena walks up to him, taking the keys. “You get shotgun,” she says, and Logan looks surprised. Elena walks over to his car, getting in the drivers side, and I see a smile slowly spread over his face as he gets into the passengers side.

I look over at Chase, who was watching them as well, and walk to his car where he is standing. “You ready?” I ask him and he nods, smiling slightly at where Logan and Elena had been standing.

 

 

 

 

The funerals went as anticipated, no unexpected visitors or dark omens. The atmosphere was filled with sadness and grieving. What was interesting, however, was feeling the shift in the air after each person said their words of goodbye. It’s like the mood got less heavy, and it grew more accepting. It seemed, you could say, as if things might be okay after all.

Reviews

[Rusty]

Took me awhile to read this chapter, busy with school, but I really like how your ending it!!