Welcome to Carrying Simon! If you've stumbled upon this story, I'm sorry to report that it's a sequel. I'll brief you on its predecessor, Where the Lost Ones Go. A nuclear war nearly destroyed the earth, and the human race leaves and start a colony called "The Station" in outer space. 150 years later, a young man named Neil is sent on a mission to assess the condition of the earth to deam its habitability. He never returns. His sister Christelle, goes to find him and fufill his mission. Earth has appeared to recover from the disaster, but what she finds are the vampires left behind. She resides with the Cullens, who currently live in the remains of Paris, but is nearly discovered by other vampires and forced to go into hiding. Far away, in what used to be Austria, she finds a colony of feral humans living underground. Eventually, she finds that the vampire hunting her was her brother, turned during his mission. She leaves Earth, bringing the human colony back to the Station, grieving for her loss and angry that the Cullens probably knew Neil's condition without reveiling it to her. Whew, how's that for an intro? Anyway, grab the Goodie of the Day, apple turnover, and enjoy!
One would think that I should be accustomed to the sound of the steady beep by now.
It is all I ever hear now; it is always on my mind. Never does it cease, never does it decrease, it only continues, pounding in my brain. It's inescapable; it's in my room, down the halls, on the tongues of the gossipers. No matter how hard my hands press to my ears, it is the only sound I hear.
Sometimes, one of the beeps will die, only to be replaced by a continuous, single note to lasts forever. Its end is no release; it only adds upon the mountain of guilt that fills my being.
Right now, my mind is distracted by my hands, holding my father's pale, weak hand. The silent demon was slow to strike him, for he had been careful, but even now his eyes darkened as the spirit worked its spiteful magic. We had tried so hard to protect each other, to quarantine those already struck by the sickness, but it was too late. It wouldn't be long before my father became another statistic on the Station.
He was sleeping, drifting in and out of consciousness. That was the scariest part, the sleeping, because there was the constant possibility that he wouldn't wake up. Would my nightmares ever cease?
"Christelle?"
I turned my head to face that familiar voice, who somehow always tried to cheer me up. George was, as was the law now, in his white biohazard suit, as was I.
"Yeah, George?"
"You know, you never leave this room," he stated.
"Yeah, and?" I asked more bitterly than I should have been.
"I see what staying here does to you; it's killing you to just sit here and wait. You need a distraction, you need time to think and rest. You're in here all day every day."
"What distraction could I possibly get George, when a fourth of this Station is a constant reminder of father, of grandma, of Jared and Clarice? What do you suggest?" I hated being rude to George, my very best friend, but I didn't feel like being polite to anyone at the moment.
"Anything, Christelle, anything is better than mourning and blaming yourself for all of this."
"But it is my fault! Everyone who has died, their blood is on my hands, George!"
"You couldn't have predicted that this would happen. No one could have. I mean, we washed them and cleaned them so well, and checked them for disease; the possibility that something slipped by was very low."
"Well, we certainly defied the odds didn't we," I spat. "George, please, just let me be." But he was persistent. He placed his arm on my shoulder, resurrecting the old pains. "Please!" He sighed.
"If you need me, just ring me up." There was the sound of his shoes, and the door opening and closing behind me, but all my focus was on my father's face, and the beeping from the machine which never ceased.
Beep, beep, beep.
How could George say this wasn't my entire fault? The evidence was everywhere, with people dying left and right, the sweeping epidemic that no one knew how to cure, and the disease no one had ever seen before. In my blind kindness, I didn't think that any of this could ever happen. All I wanted was to bring those humans out of the darkness, but they received no light in return. Perhaps at first they did, but after a few months, that's when people began to be sick. Only one infected human had to start it all, spreading the virus that waits so patiently for the right moment to strike.
And now everyone I knew was falling. First Neil, then grandma, then Jared, now father…and the list went on an on. It was Neil that still haunted my nightmares. His hope for all of us, his mission, his work, had been in utter vain, extinguished by his awful fate by my doing. The re-enactments of that night plagued my mind every night, and every night since. If I didn't have pictures to remind me, I would have completely forgotten his face, and only remembered the monster in my dreams. Every night, I awoke screaming, every night, it intensified, and every night it haunted me.
Initially, when I returned home empty-handed and broken-hearted, I hated the Cullens. I despised how they kept the secret of Neil from me, how they blinded me with stupid faith that he could be saved. I loathed how they wanted me to find out myself rather than tell me directly. I could have been saved watching his broken face in the message, saved from running into the wilderness, saved from firing the gun. I could have gone home, and not regret, only mourn. Now I was cursed to do both.
Beep, beep, beep.
But after a while, I began to see past my fury. The Cullens were not evil, they weren't cruel, and they just didn't know how to kill my hope. They didn't know how to help me with my goodbyes. Father, grandmother, and all my friends didn't know how to comfort me because they didn't know truth.
He never even received a proper burial. All that was left was ashes dusting the earth forever, fuel for the soil of the plants upon the forest floor.
And I could never forgive myself for that.
"Father?" I called. He didn't respond; I didn't expect him to. "Father, I know you can't hear me, but I'll tell you anyway. My mind is filled with guilt, and I have no one to save me. Many blame me for the disease, for the deaths, and now you've fallen. Neil is always on my mind, and I can't leave him because," and I leaned close to him and whispered, "because I killed him." Father made no movement. My heart lightened slightly; I had never told anyone that. "Father, if you are to leave me soon, then take this to my grave. Not another soul shall know what happened but you. I hope you forgive me, perhaps you will before I forgive myself." There was still no response from him.
Beep, beep, beep.
"I could never atone for my sins, for my mistakes. Maybe you could put in a good word with God for me, will you?"
Beep, beep, beep.
"I hope you see Neil there."
Beep, beep, beep.
"I hope there's a lot of green. You'd like the green, Father. It's absolutely glorious. And I hope there a warming breeze in heaven, and the smell of nature. I know you'd like that."
Beep, beep, beep.
"I hope there's no more metal, no more gray."
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
What happens when others lose because of your failures? What happens when the one thing that you did to help others, hurt everyone?
Death happens.
The squished rubber shoes sounded against the floor as one of the nurses entered. She eyed the monitor, and then switched it off.
"Madame, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she said blankly. I'm sure she had said it many times before. She glared at me, for she knew my face. The whole Station did. I leaned back in my chair, watching blankly as the nurse fold the sheets over Father's head and rolled him out the room and down the hall. That would be the last time I ever saw him.
I didn't know how long I sat in that chair, hours or even days perhaps. My mind remained blank, drifting into the endless night of space…
There was the funeral, where many came. I wished I could muster myself to speak, but my feet were frozen. That day was a blur…
I did my studies, got decent grades. Spent most of my time in my room, looking at pictures…
The captain has died of the plague. The replacement job is up for grabs. I'm sure that much unnecessary political struggle will occur…
Cory has fallen ill. It is doubted whether he will last until the end of the month…
I wasn't sure when I made my decision. Perhaps it had always been in the back of my mind. Without much thought, I packed a bag. I filled it with all my necessities: clothes, toiletries, shoes, two communicators, and our family photo album. Nothing promoted me, but I filled the bag with other things as well. I put in a pack of new piano strings, traveling sewing machine, brand new glass vials and test tubes, extra clothes and shoes, a scanning and printing machine, lots of paper, and several pens and pencils. Perhaps I had known for a while that I would go back, that I would send myself into exile. All I knew was that I couldn't stay here any longer; I couldn't look into the faces of those I'd hurt. There was peace and isolation upon Earth, there was regret and punishment. It was my purgatory, and maybe if I made myself a castaway on Home, I could atone for my mistakes.
"Christelle, where are you going?" said a familiar voice behind me, half scaring me to death.
"Oh, George. What are you doing here?" I said nonchalantly. I turned around to continue hastily packing so that he wouldn't see what I had with me.
"I came to see if you wanted to do something…but I can see you're busy."
"I'm leaving, George," I said, my mouth working before my mind could stop myself. There was silence. I looked at his confused eyes.
"Leaving…leaving where, Christelle?" He asked quietly, not completely comprehending my words. Poor George. I'm sorry.
"Home," I stated monotonously. His eyes widened, and his mouth drooped open. I'm so sorry George. That line repeated in my mind again and again, but it couldn't find my lips to release it.
"N-no, you can't Christelle. You can't leave," he said, unbelieving my words.
"George, I can and I will. There's nothing left here for me," I said, trying not to let any emotion shine though my façade of unfeeling exposition.
"B-but, you have me, and you have Alex and Marissa and Mark and everyone else. Please, don't do this to us-"
"Enough, George," I said sternly as I snapped my suitcase closed. He silenced himself, still at shock, the poor kid. "I'm not doing this to you or to anybody; this is something I need to do for myself."
"What you are doing is suicide. You know what you said; you could die out there," he said, his voice starting to choke.
"I know!" I shouted, unable to take his carping any longer. "I know." I sighed. "But it's a risk that I'm not afraid of. All of this, everything, is at my doing. If I can't fix it, which I can't, then there's nothing left for me here, and nothing you or anyone can say will change my mind."
He said no more. His face was disbelieving, but slowly beginning to accept that I wasn't going to change my mind. Even if kept trying, he could never change what I had already planned; no one ever could. He breathed a deep and pensive breath, running his hand through his messy brown hair.
"Well, then. I can see you don't want me here." He began to turn to leave.
"Wait, you could at least say goodbye to me." He stopped, considering my proposal. Sometimes George was so damn slow. "Oh, just hurry up and give me a hug already." He smiled.
"There's the Christelle I know," he said, sounding just like his old self. He embraced me, giving me a long, deep hug, knowing that this may be the last time I'll ever do so. And I hugged him back, trying to remember everything I could right now; the feeling of his wiry hair which itched my face when he hugged me, his weird smell that I could never figure out, his thin yet strong arms. "Just remember, if you ever want to come back, I'll always accept you." I couldn't help but smile. I was so lucky to have a friend like George. Not many of my friends had been as accepting or empathetic as he. Many had abandoned me after the plague struck or had fallen to it.
"I'll have my communicator with me," I said, hoping to comfort him. I knew if I added on, he would be crushed. I decided to leave out the fact that I didn't plan on answering any calls from anyone on the Station; my exile was meant to be isolated from my old world, and to live facing my past on an alien world. As good of a friend as George was, more brother than friend, I didn't want him to see me in my bitter existence which I was going to commit myself to.
"I'll lead you to a ship," he said. So, the melancholy pair, saying their last goodbyes, walked through the hall of endless beeps, their rhythm never ceasing. It wasn't long until we realized our steps became in synch with them.
Beep, beep, beep.