*PROLOUGE*
He was only driving home from work. The road wasn't even that icy, but there was too much on his mind, too many thoughts, and his whole brain was immersed in them. With one wrong move, Zackary Martin drove off the road and died silently in the cold, unforgiving snow.
Cody Martin poured his regular morning coffee, and sat at his lonely old kitchen table in his lonely old apartment.
He took a few sips and unfolded the Sunday morning newspaper, like always. He read the headline, another murder, but he felt more sympathy for the family of the woman that was murdered, she was killed exactly how his mother was.
Carey Martin swept around her apartment, humming to the song playing on the radio. It was a normal day, she missed her boys more than anything, like always. Lunchtime crept up, and she left her little empty apartment to go get something to eat, her cooking never improved, and one day she just gave up trying.
When she came back, she found that her old mind played tricks on her, she forgot to lock the door. She didn't think much of it until she got inside.
A middle aged man in a black ski cap and sweater stood in the middle of her living room, gun pointed at her.
Only one shot was fired, and Ms. Carey Martin fell to the floor, dead.
He shuddered out of the horrible memory of a year ago. That was the last time he had seen Zack, they already avoided each other but since their mother's death not even the semi-annual e-mail showed up in each other's inboxes.
He skipped the sports, still not the athletic type. His eyes next fell on the obituary page.
Most of them were old people, died of heart attacks, cancer and strokes.
Then his eyes fell on a much younger person, who to his dissapointment was a carbon copy of himself.
The newspaper fluttered to the ground, unknowing of the sadness it had caused to a young man.
His eyes filled and spilled over with tears. His trembling hands lowered the coffee cup onto the table, and his now free hands wrapped around his face, covering his eyes.
London Tipton slammed the door of her hotel room, heavy shopping bags making her teeter in her two-inches-too-high heels.
She laid the shopping bags down on her bed, and picked up the phone.
"Hello, room service?" Her stomach tightened at herself saying these words. It sickened her-it wasn't a choice, it was a requirement, and she had to keep this job, or her father will think she'll never amount to anything, she'll be an airhead all her life.
She hung the phone up and took off her shoes. She despised them, but again-a requirement, not a choice.
She sighed as she sat on the bed and felt the lump next to heart swell. She was about to do it again. About to mess herself up even more.
She thought back to what Moseby said last month, "Your deeper than you think." If only he knew, if only he knew.
The whole airhead appeal was a shell, because no proper pretty girl is smart. Inside, London Tipton had so much potential, so many paths she could've gone down.
Two years ago was the day she stood in front of those cameras. It was her first modeling job, and her chance to prove to Daddy that she's not an airhead, that she can hold a job.
A week later the magazine came out on stands. She went online to check the reviews, something she hated, but forced herself to do.
Her heart sank at one review, on of the most highest rated ones.
"London Tipton. Why does she think it's okay to pose for a magazine shot when she's that fat?" She read the review aloud through her tears.
That was the day she started.
She was shook out of the memory by a knock at the door.
She pulled the cart of food into room and waved the man goodbye.
London sat shakily on the bed and began to eat a slice of pie.
It was almost the top of the next hour before she finished it all.
She then sickily walked to the bathroom and shut the door.
Bailey Pickett yawned and stretched as she climbed out of bed on a beautiful Sunday morning.
She poured herself coffee, and glanced around her parents' empty house she had inherited when they died in the twister*, nearly six years ago.
Her heart literally hurt at the very thought of it.
She decided to check her e-mails, there might be something, anything from Cody. She didn't want to admit it, but she still loved him.
And there it was.
Her eyes glinted against the shiny computer screen as a smile no one had seen since she graduated college stretched across her face.
She clicked on it, wishing it wasn't just an e-mail, that he was here, and she didn't have to wait for six years to get and e-mail from him.
Bailey,
Zack has passed. He died in a car crash. Please come to his funeral, I'll give you the time and date later. Forward this to London, I doubt she's heard anything.
Cody
My heart dropped to the floor.
Zack died.
None them got to say goodbye. Now he's gone. Gone forever.
Bailey doesn't reply. He did it so coldly, she thought, like he was bothered with the fact that he had to send me this.
She hits forward and types in London's e-mail in. She lays on the musty old couch and starts to cry.
"I love you Cody." Bailey says as she stood on the deck with Cody.
"I love you too, Bailey." Cody replies.
They kiss.
Bailey revels out of that long gone memory, she knows she'll get lost in it.
She buried her head in the pillow and cried.
"Bye, Woodchuck. Your a great friend. Try to keep in touch."
Those were the last words Zack said to Woody Fink. The whole "keep in touch thing" never worked out.
Woody sat down and turned on the T.V.
"-the man, Zackary Martin, died on the scene. His twin brother is alive, but has not been interviewed."
He immediately dropped his sandwich.
"Zack died?" Woody yells into silence.
He starts crying, something Woody hadn't done in a long time.
Zack was his best friend. He couldn't be gone, could he?
No goodbyes, nothing.
Why didn't they stay in touch?
When's his funeral?
So many questions buzzed inside Woody's head.
His computer made a noise that meant "new e-mail".
He shakily walked over to check it.
It was from Cody.
Woody,
Zack has passed. He died in a car crash. Please come to his funeral, I'll give you the time and date later.
Cody
Yes, it was definetely from Cody.
He just wished it wasn't.
*From The Twister Suite Life finale*