The mansion was silent, save for the occasional strangled sob that seemed to echo throughout the halls. He was grateful that the heavy wooden door blocked out the majority of sound; he knew how much everyone was hurting, he certainly didn't need to be reminded.
Locked away in his room (no longer his and John's), Bobby Drake took one last look at the family portrait clutched between his ever whitening knuckles. His Dad, his Mom, his younger brother (all no longer his), himself…all smiling widely, looking every bit the perfect, loving family (he, no longer a member of).
Sighing, and ignoring the slight frost that was beginning to inch its way across the glass, covering the faces of the occupants in the photo, Bobby placed the frame on top of a pile of other memories, all carefully organized in a shoebox on his bed.
Abandoned lighters, graded biology papers with reassuring comments written in red pen, birthday cards filled with proud remarks and well wishes for continued success at his new "prep" school, letters to and from a hero-worshipping boy who delivered the final severing tie to his old life with a single phone call….
Firmly attaching the lid onto the shoebox he removed it from his bed only to place it in the corner of his dark closet, closing the door with far more force than necessary. Shutting off the lamp that rested on his bedside table Bobby plunged his (no longer his and John's) room into darkness, collapsing in exhaustion on his bed as the events of the past couple of days finally caught up with him.
In the span of one day he had lost his teacher, his best friend and his family. Bobby wasn't sure how much more he could handle.
Turning on his side he gazed out the window pretending not to see the seemingly angry bursts of red light sporadically appearing in the woods far beyond the mansions property. He ignored the glass snowflake hanging from his window, glittering in the moonlight, a gift from a friend and teacher (no longer here for him) during his first week at school, when he was so young, so scared and so alone.
In the darkness of his room (no longer his and John's) and in the darkness of his thoughts (no longer believing they will go away), Bobby screws his eyes shut hoping, wishing, praying that his dreams (nightmares) won't be colored in shades of red.
A flicker of flames, tousled red hair, red lips pursed in disappointment….
The mansion was silent, save for the occasional strangled sob that seemed to echo throughout the halls. He was grateful that the heavy wooden door blocked out the majority of sound; he knew how much everyone was hurting, he didn't need to need to be reminded.
Locked away in his room (no longer his and John's) with his knees hugged to his chest, Bobby Drake drowned in the sounds of his own strangled sobs wishing that the river of tears on his face would just unfreeze.