CH: 1 THE ORIGIN STORY

The last thing I remember before struggling to wake up on this alien planet, was of me slipping out of the courthouse after the final readings of my parent's will.

That was quite the loaded sentence. Let me break it down for you as quickly and painlessly as possible…

Exactly one week prior to me escaping the Hall-of-Depression-and-Uncomfortable-Seats, I had gone to a party at my friend's house. It was just us and a few others from our school munchin on snacks and talking. Not doing anything that was remotely worthy of being mentioned, besides the time Brady Anderson, who had been sitting next to me on the couch, shot a mini basketball into the mini basketball-hoop from all the way across the basement living room. That had sent all the boys off on a rampage for a solid minute while the girls and I just rolled our eyes and laughed at their behavior.
It had gotten close to my curfew, so I had gathered my things and said my goodbyes to my friends, and the ever-vigilant parents that had been sitting upstairs. I had gotten into my car, and had drove the ten minutes home.

Upon arriving at my house, I noticed nothing different. It was only when I opened my front door that I had started to become suspicious. Usually my fat chocolate lab, Scottie, would bound up to me, barking his excitement at my return and begging to be pet. This did not happen that night. Instead, I was met with an empty hallway, illuminated by the kitchen lights down the hall. I could hear voices coming from the direction of my parent's door.

Dropping my keys and my bag on the stairs, I headed over to them to say goodnight. They had always waited for me to make sure I got home safe.

"Hey," I had said into the dark hallway, making my way to the slightly open door of my parent's room. "I'm home!" I said a little louder.

Confused that I wasn't getting any responses back from either of my parents, and still wondering why Scottie hadn't appeared yet, I had quickly finished my walk down to the door, and had banged it open with my palm a little harder than I had meant to, causing the door to 'bang' off the back wall.

What I had seen looked both completely normal, yet very odd.

The voices I had heard before were coming from the only laptop that we owned. It had been sitting between both of them, playing a rerun of a show they hadn't even liked to watch. They had been propped up with pillows, and looked like they had fallen asleep with their heads together. Scottie had been laying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and hadn't even lifted his ears when I had made my loud entrance.

The thing that had really triggered the alarm bells, had been the fact that my dad wasn't snoring. If he was so deep into his dreams that he fell asleep sitting up, with my mom resting her head against his, and with the laptop blaring a foot away from them, then he should have been snoring.

Besides the laptop, everything was silent.

Quickly making my way over to my dad's side of the bed, I had reached out a hand and shook his shoulder, expecting him to jump awake, apologize for falling asleep before I got home, ask me about my friend's party, and then send me to bed.

He had only slumped down farther, his head now resting on his chest, causing my mom's head to slip off his shoulder, and fall into my dad's lap.

Like the scared teen I was, I shook them both, calling for them, asking them to wake up. Soon, it got to the point where I was screaming, begging them to respond.
I remember having enough sense to grab my phone and call 911. While I had been hysterically telling the dispatcher my address, my blood had run cold at a sudden thought.

My younger brother Owen. He should have been safely asleep upstairs, but I had to check.

"Owen!" I had screamed while dropping my phone and running for the staircase. Taking them as fast as I could, I had forced his door open, yelling his name.
Laying on top of his covers with a book on his chest, he too, looked to be sleeping.
I had rushed over to him and had tried to pull him into a sitting position. His head had rolled limply on his neck behind him.

I remember feeling hot tears leak down my face, making everything fuzzy and out of focus. Then there was me pulling Owen off the bed and trying to give him CPR. Soon after that, I had heard muffled voices and pounding at the door downstairs. I had screamed for help, then black spots took hold of my vision.

After that, it was mostly a blur.
An oxygen mask on my face and the feeling of movement under me.
People yelling and sirens flashing.
The smell of disinfectant.
White walls flashing by.

Then there was nothing. Just blackness for a while.

You know how people say, in books or movies, or even in real life, that when you pass out you don't feel anything. It's like a "blissful, dreamless sleep". I must have not passed out correctly then, because even in the darkness, I knew something was very wrong. The feeling of sorrow was there, but the reason was just out of reach.

The next day I had woken up in the hospital. A neighbor of mine had sat with me through the night, and was asleep in a chair against the wall. It was Dan, a man whose kids I had babysat regularly. His chin was in his fist, and he had been breathing in and out slowly. His posture reminded me of the past few hours, and reminded me of the reality and heartbreak of my situation.
My crying had woken up Dan who had called some nurses, all of whom had then tried to calm me down for over an hour. That was most of the mourning time I was given, and it was with people I didn't know trying to keep me from crying too loudly.
A man had come in after that during this. He said he had been my parent's layer, but had moved to being mine since both of my guardians had passed away.
I continued to sob.

He asked me some questions which I doubt I answered, then a doctor had come in, forcing Dan, the Lawyer, and all of the nurses out of my tiny hospital room. For the first time that morning, it had been quiet.
The doctor seemed like a nice man, but he knew I didn't have the mental capacity for chit-chat, so he told me what I had wanted to know.

"Do you know what carbon monoxide poisoning is?" He had asked after sitting down on a stool and placing his elbows on his knees, his bald head leveled with mine.

I had stared at him a moment, processing his words, and then nodded, vaguely remembering hearing things about it. Mostly, that if you inhale it long enough, you die.
The doctor had gone on to explain, in detail, what it does to your system over time. He then told me that I was lucky.

"If you had been in that house even ten minutes longer, you might have died as well." He had told me gravely.

"I wish I had." I had hoarsely whispered back while looking down at the pale blue covers. I couldn't look him in the eye anymore. He had told me that I was lucky to be alive.
Lucky. It was more like chance. If I hadn't been at my friend's house, I probably could have saved them. Called 911 sooner, or given them all proper CPR, something other than sip soda and talk about the assignments that I didn't want to write. Anything would have been better than knowing I had a chance to possibly change the outcome of this nightmare. Even dying with them was preferable then the helplessness that follows me around and gnaws on my heart.

"Were they in pain?" I had asked when the silence had stretched on for too long.

His face had been a mask of pity. "No," he said, "Like falling asleep."

Soon the doctor left after checking my vitals. A policeman took his place right after. He had explained to me that a pipe under the house had burst and had leaked the poison right into our ventilation. My parents were assumed to have died about an hour before I had called for help, my brother about half an hour after my parents.

And on it went. A never ending line of people I needed to talk to and forms I needed to sign. I had turned eighteen three months ago, so putting me in foster care was, thankfully, out of the picture. My parent's lawyer had asked if I had any other family members that I could stay with until I graduated. I had told him that both sets of my grandparents had died while I was little, and my only uncle was on a remote island in the middle of the ocean that offered almost no Wi-Fi or cell service, teaching English to the natives there.

"We will try and get in touch with him," the lawyer had said, "But in the meantime, because you are a legal adult with no relatives in the immediate area, you can choose the next move." He had said, possibly expecting an answer.

I had blinked up at him, still trying to process all this information, along with what the others had been telling me all day. "What are the next moves?" I asked.

He had sighed and sat down on the hospital chair leaning against the wall. I recognized the look of pity.
He continued in the same way the doctor had, giving me facts and numbers that I couldn't fully process. Soon, I had become annoyed with his non-stop talking.

"If you were in my situation right now, what would you do?" I had asked sharply, cutting him off midsentence.

He had stared at me, then sighed again.

"The life insurance money you get from both parents is quite a lot. I would suggest holding a funeral service for them as soon as possible, and then moving the remaining money into a savings or bank account for you to use later. I would also consider selling your house. It's a buyers' market right now, and once the pipe is fixed, people will be jumping on the opportunity."

"Why would I want to sell my house?" I remember asking with a bite, too tired and angry to be polite. I had just lost my entire family, and now this man was suggesting I lose my home as well?! I almost couldn't bear the thought.

Another sigh. "The house was not fully paid off before your parents passed away, and even though they left you with quite a sum, without a job, the money will run out while you try to pay the mortgage on a house that holds a single teenager that was meant for a large family. You can pay off the debts with the money you get for the house, along with any other bills, and get yourself a smaller place to live. It'll be easier that way," He says in what I think is his 'understanding' voice, but he sounds like he's annoyed that I don't know about the ways of the world.

Tears had slipped down my chin as I signed all the paperwork. Some were for the house, others for the medical bills, but the worst were the police statements that I had to write out, describing, in detail, what I had seen. 'If only I had done something different,' I had kept thinking to myself.

Later, when I was finally released from the hospital, I had gotten a ride back home with Dan and his wife. They had offered to let me stay over at their house down the street until the pipe was fixed, and I could move back into my own. Not knowing what else to do, I had agreed. I stayed with them for two days while people entered and exited my home. Some were movers that my lawyer had hired that were taking the big furniture to storage facility, others were construction workers fixing the burst pipe, and a few were some of the last policemen finishing their investigation. The same day I was released from the hospital was also the same day a few news trucks showed up and tried to ask the crew some questions. Dan had asked if I wanted to say anything to the reporters. I had just continued to look out the window.

I didn't go to school. Didn't answer my phone. I hardly left the guest bedroom at all. I had sat and watched as most of my life fell into shambles around me.
On the evening of the second day, my house was declared safe to move into. I had walked into the almost empty shell of the place I had loved, and felt like I had been betrayed by my own home.
The lawyer-who's name I should probably remember-said that it would be better to move it so that the construction crew could get to the pipe, and so it would be faster to move into a new apartment. I remember walking into my parent's room where most of the things hadn't been touched. I took one of my dad's superhero shirts, and my mom's pillow, and had gone upstairs. I grabbed my brothers favorite plush dog, and took my haul to my room. I had changed into my dad's shirt, replaced the pillows, and then clung to my brother's dog.
That night was the hardest. I might have cried, but I don't remember much, other than the hollow feeling of loneliness that only seemed to get darker, and deeper every time I took a breath. It felt like it was swallowing me whole, and in the end, I didn't have the strength to push it away, so I let it take me.
I feel asleep dreaming of people who would never wake up.

The next two days I had spent packing. I could see the wisdom in my lawyer's thoughts now. I could barely handle one night alone in the huge, empty house, how could I live in it for the long term?

It's amazing how much stuff you can get done when you have nothing else to do but that one task. I didn't worry about tests, homework assignments, or even lacrosse practice. All I had been thinking of was what clothes went into which boxes, or if I really needed all the silverware now that it was only me.

Often the neighbors had come over and offered their help, usually bringing casserole dishes of food with them. I would politely decline, and thank them after they gave their condolences. This went on until the fifth day. The day of the funeral. It cost a small fortune to bury three bodies in the same plot, but I insisted that it was to happen. I would not have them be cremated. I wanted there to be a place where I could visit them.

I had gotten dressed and had actually put some effort into my appearance. I had driven my car down to the funeral home, and cried along with everyone else as people spoke about the injustice of their untimely death. I said a few words, but I don't think many people could hear me over the sound of noses being blown and violent sobbing. Every face I looked at was in some form of pity. I hated that look, but what could I do or say to grieving people who came to show their support? Nothing. So I had to let it be. At the end of the service, I went over to each of the caskets, and spoke individually to each of them. Those words I held deep in my heart, and are quite possibly the only things that had kept me going for the rest of the week. I placed a flower in each of their hands and threw dirt on their caskets. I left long after they had placed their gravestones.

The sixth day I had moved into the condo that I had found for sale while packing earlier that week. It was all unloaded in a few hours, and after placing the necessities in their rightful place, I sat on the newly-made bed, and had looked around me. I didn't know how to process any of it. I felt like I was living outside of myself. Someone else was making all the hard choices while another part of me watched and wondered where all of my feelings had gone.

I don't know how long I sat on the bed, but it had gotten dark out by the time the doorbell rang. Robotically, I had gotten up to get it. It was a UPS man who had me sign something, handed me a package, and then disappeared down the hall. I was in such a state of depression that I didn't wonder how UPS knew where to find me. I had moved into the apartment that day, I don't think I had even changed my address yet. But I didn't think of those things. I was only vaguely interested in the envelope that spilled out of the package when I had ripped it open. Looking inside I found a card. I read it.

It was from my uncle Zack, my mom's younger brother, and now my only living relative. He told me how sorry he was that he couldn't make it to the funeral, and his sadness over the loss of his sister. He surprised me by saying he would be coming to check up on me within the week, and also that he had gotten me something that might take my mind off some things.

Looking back into the envelope, I had tipped it over and spilled the contents into my hand. It was a gold chain with a small, gold pendent dangling from it. It was the shape of a cylinder that pinched off at the top, making a flat area for the chain to penetrate through. There looked to be some small jewels embedded sporadically around it. Probably fake. I doubt Zack could afford anything other than knock-off trinkets with where he was living.
There looked like there was a seam that went around the middle of it, but I felt like it might break if I tried, so I left it alone.
I had placed it on the table next to my bed, and had gotten ready to sleep, hoping that the next day would be at least marginally easier than the past week had been.

I went to the courthouse the next day, grabbing the necklace as an afterthought and throwing it into my bag. After sitting around for hours, I finally talked with a man about my parent's will. Everything seemed to be 'looking good', so I left, hoping to go home and mope in silence for the rest of the day.

I didn't get my wish.

As I left the main doors of the courthouse, a man had accidently bumped into me in his rush to get inside. That bump caused my bag to slip off my arm, and fall onto the cement, spilling everything that had been inside it. Sighing, I had squatted down to retrieve my items. After getting almost everything, I noticed the necklace I had gotten from Zack was lying in a heap a little ways away. Walking over to it, I had pulled it up by the chain, and checked to see if it was damaged. Noticing nothing different, I threw the chain over my head to get it out of the way as quickly as possible. As soon as the pendent had settled in place over my heart, the jewels had started to glow. I had looked down at the necklace once I noticed the light, and was shocked to feel the metal becoming hot.
Before I could take the necklace off to look at it closer, a wave of dizziness had crashed over me.

Putting a hand to my head, I tried to get to the park bench that was sitting a few feet away. I don't think I ever made it.

After what felt like passing out, I was vaguely aware of a sensation that felt like being sucked through a thin straw. Everything was pushed together, then pulled apart again. It felt like there was no oxygen to breath. This went on for, what felt like, quite a while, until finally, everything 'whooshed' back into stillness.
My eyes had closed during this horrible trip, and they still were, but I could feel the cold concrete under my cheek where I must have fallen over outside the courthouse. There was an annoying ringing in my ear making it hard to hear anything going on around me, but the one thing I could hear was a very loud alarm, blaring somewhere above me. Hopefully, it was an ambulance.

As soon as those thoughts had flittered through my semi-conscious mind, someone's fingers pressed against my throat. My skin felt like it had gone through a meat-grinder, and the added pressure did not feel good in the slightest. I might have moaned my displeasure, I can't quite remember, but soon the fingers were removed and hands were turning me onto my back. More air was available to me now, but the movement against my skin made it hard for me think of anything but the pain. With my brain confused on what to focus on, the pain, the free pressure from my lungs, or the loud alarm still blaring in my ear, I started to cough. The pain from the coughing made me cough even more because my body needed more air, which then irritated my skin, which made me want to voice my displeasure, which made the pain even worse when I tried to take a bigger breath to speak.
Someone must have noticed my plight, because soon after, I felt strong arms pick me up and walk in the direction that I was hoping was the ambulance truck.
Before I could think of doing much else, something that smelled like honey was sprayed over my face. I remember starting to think of the reasons why someone would do such a weird thing, when all of a sudden I didn't care anymore, and I could feel myself being pulled back into a state of unconsciousness. I tried to fight it, thinking I was going to be pushed through a straw again, but it was too late.
The last thing I noticed was someone slipping the necklace off of me before I dove into blackness.