Death. Bellamy Blake didn't fully grasp the concept until it was served to him on a silver platter. His own mother, dead.
Murdered was the correct term.
The clouds looked heavy in the sky, as if they were attached to a thread – threatening to detach at any second. He stood stoically over an empty six-foot hole in the ground, watching as strange men lowered his parent's body into the Earth. Her coffin, a deep shade of brown, adorned with bouquets of flowers brought by relatives he had not heard from in years.
He let his hand fall to his side and inched it closer towards his twin sister, Octavia. The two interlocked fingers, holding on to each-other out of fear that there wouldn't be anything else to hold on too soon. Bellamy looked down at her, a girl once so bright and full of life, had slowly been drained. The protruding dark bags underneath her brown eyes seemed to create a slide for her tears. She shivered in the wind and moved closer to her brother.
But Bellamy was cold too, hardened by this nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
To his right was John Murphy, but to Bellamy, he was just Murphy. The slender boy pulled his arms closer to his chest, refusing to let his body's warmth flee. Bellamy was glad that Murphy came, in fact he showed no signs of hesitation when the morbid opportunity was offered.
Tree branches began to quiver, as if they wept with him. The sun offered up its last ray as the casket, void of a life, settled into its new home.
one year later.
Pop music blared through a pair of speakers hung up haphazardly on the wall. The wooden floors beneath Bellamy's feet thudded, matching each note of the song. Hormonal, acne-ridden teenagers colliding their bodies against one another in some misdirected attempt to find a partner for the night. The room smelled of sweat and cheap liquor, along with the occasional scent of marijuana – probably embedded in some red-eyed teenager's clothes from a previous smoke session.
Bellamy stood, his back pressed against the wall, his hands holding a plastic red cup of water between them. It was loud, too loud. He could feel the early stages of a headache settling in. The colors of the ever-flashing strobe lights made the scene look like something out of some cliché teen party movie. But that's what it was. A party. It was the end of the year party, thrown every June to mark the end of the school year. Of course, it wasn't a school-sanctioned event. It was always at some random senior's house, one with rich parents and a big house the entire student body could destroy for the night.
Murphy pushed through a crowd of dancing teens and inserted himself next to Bellamy, the alcoholic liquid in his own cup splashing onto his hands, he licked the drops off and looked up at his boyfriend. "Having fun?" he asked.
Bellamy made a 'I can't hear you' gesture.
Murphy leaned in closer, his lips trailing along the other boy's ear, "Having fun?" he asked, slightly louder.
Bellamy shrugged his shoulders, "I'll have more fun now that you're here." He smirked.
The two boys had been inseparable since the tail end of sophomore year, so they had been dating for about two years now. They did everything together, shop, eat, sleep, it was almost as if they were married. Their relationship turned last year when Bellamy's mother was murdered – it was a deeply emotional time which seemed to strengthen the two's bond, but at the same time Bellamy grew cold and shut Murphy out for a while.
Octavia, on the other hand, didn't have a romantic partner to turn too last year. It wasn't until only a few months ago did she find Lincoln, a college sophomore who she fell madly in love with. And a little too quickly, for Bellamy's taste. There were times where Bellamy felt like Lincoln was playing Octavia, and there were times where he tried to keep the two apart. But it was only in Bellamy's nature to be over-protective, he was the big brother after all.
Even if he was only older by three minutes.
There was no father in the picture for the twins, and after the loss of their mother, the only parental figure the two had was their mother's brother. They moved in with him and he has provided generously. But, he was emotionally distant and the twins couldn't blame him. He lost a sister.
So, Octavia only had Bellamy looking out for her.
Bryan, a six foot four, freckled, brown-haired, baby-faced, football stud came tumbling into the room, he held up both arms and received a mighty round of applause from the party-goers. Bellamy didn't understand why; football season was long over. But, Bryan was the quarterback of the local college's team and therefor a local hero around the small town. Bellamy gripped onto his shoulder, "Hey, you've seen Octavia?" he inquired.
Bryan took a swig of his drink, the pungent stench of alcohol slapping Bellamy in the face when he opened his mouth. "Yeah! She's upstairs. With Lincoln." Bryan winked as if he forgot that the inappropriate gesture wouldn't sit well with Octavia's brother.
"Thanks." Bellamy let the man go off into the center of the party as Bellamy moved in the opposite direction – away from it – as Murphy followed closely behind.
Bryan and Lincoln were best friends, both high school football stars that couldn't seem to let that small town fame die and decided to became the next best thing - college football stars. They did everything together, camped, hiked, ate, probably slept at the same time, they even worked at the same movie theater. If Lincoln wasn't dating Octavia, Bellamy would've assumed he was gay.
And with that thought two other guys Bellamy always thought were gay came tumbling into the slightly vacant living room: Jasper Jordan and Monty Green. These two were also best friends, but not football stars. They were the town's local geeks/stoners, always talking about some cheap horror movie, some dumb video game, or some good weed.
Monty was inebriated, obviously, running wild, and a sober Jasper was trailing behind him trying to get a hold of the other boy. The scene looked like a farmer trying to catch a slippery, muddy pig.
"Come on Monty, I gotta get you home!" Jasper pleaded.
"One! More! Drink!" Monty's word slurred into one another, the vowels crashing and the consonants fading.
"You need some help Jasper?" Bellamy asked, handing his cup of water to Murphy, preparing to jump into the scene.
"Please." Jasper's wide eyes said enough.
The two boys covered the exits of the room, Monty ran back and forth between them, trying to slip through random passerby's in a desperate hope to sneak off into the party room and get more liquor. Eventually the boy tired out and Bellamy managed to scoop him up into his arms.
"You guys are no fun!" A sleepy Monty proclaimed as Bellamy loaded him into the back of Jasper's jeep.
"You're a life-saver bro." Jasper gave Bellamy a friendly slap on the back, in which Bellamy responded with a nod and a wish for him to drive safely.
Bellamy turned on his heels and was just about to head back into the party when his pocket vibrated. He dug his fingers into the opening of the fabric of his jeans and slipped out his,
Cell phone.
A text.
From an unknown number.
Bellamy blinked in the laminating glow, his eyes scrunched as he made out the small array of words in front of him.
"You love helping, Bellamy. But you can't help everyone. You can't save everyone."
The text was cryptic, and Bellamy didn't know what to make of it.
So, he tucked his phone into his back pocket and headed back to the party, telling no one of the text.
And later that night, a brutal murder would rock the small town to its core and open closed wounds that would set off a new mystery, with Bellamy and his twin sister, Octavia, at its center.
Welcome to: The Dying Game.
