The tears spilled out of her eyes like the sparkling water of Niagara Falls. She was thankful that her children were not home. Bree, in the very rare moments when she cried, was however, extremely loud. The sobs that came from her had been suppressed for whatever amount of time had passed since she had received the call that had told her about her husband's death.
She cradled herself in her own arms, once again grateful that no one could see or hear her. It would be embarrassing for Bree Van de Kamp to be caught in a moment of weakness. After all, Bree appeared to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother; in fact, Bree appeared to be perfect all around, and that's how she preferred it. Life was easier when people thought you were perfect and never needed help.
Maybe, Bree thought, it is better to have someone to care about you in your time of need. She wasn't sure if she should call her friends. It was, after all, two o'clock in the morning. Would they even want to hear about Bree's problems? Would the care if she had emotions? Bree paused at that last question. It had been so long since she had aloud even herself to see her own emotions that she had forgotten she had them. She was going to call her friends. She had to call them.
She picked up her phone and dialed Lynette's number. She listened to the phone ring three times before Lynette picked up. "Hello?" she said in a tired voice. Bree was reconsidering the call and hanging up, but Bree Van de Kamp never left anything unfinished.
"Hi," she said. She realized that her voice was very weak. Lynette must have known that something was wrong. It would have been obvious to anybody who heard Bree sound like this. After all, Bree was the perfect woman with no emotions.
"Are you all right?" Lynette's voice was no longer tired, but instead filled with worry. "Are you crying?" Lynette desperately needed to know what was going on with her friend. It may have been late, she may have been tired, and she may have been woken up from a glorious dream, but Bree was in trouble and that was all that mattered at the moment.
Trying to straighten her voice out she replied, "Would you come over? It's…urgent." Bree's voice had sounded much better, but if Lynette had decided to come there was no way that she could hide the tear stained face and the puffy red eyes. But Bree had never gone any where by giving up. She could try.
"Sure," Lynette responded. She found Bree's request unusual, but it would have been worse if Bree lived across town instead of right in the neighborhood. "But you didn't answer my questions."
"Please," Bree said. Her voice was starting to crack. She had to get Lynette over soon if she didn't want to continue crying.
What Lynette realized most in Bree's voice was that Bree hadn't asked nor told her please; she had practically begged her. That was what made Lynette Scavo go to her friend. "I'll be right there, give me a minute."
"Thank you," Bree said from her bed room.
"It's no trouble, really," Lynette finished before she hung up the phone. The second she hung up with Bree she called Gabrielle and Susan. She used the two way on her phone and somehow managed to get both of her friends to help Bree.
Bree, in the mean while, was sitting in her bed crying. She had the palms of her hands pressed to her eyes and the tears came out even stronger then before. She had to let it out now, before her mother-in-law, Phyllis, arrived.
The three girls showed up at Bree's door and rang the bell. Bree, on the other hand, pulled out one of her guns. Being in the NRA she knew exactly where to shoot a person to kill them. Bree just never expected that the person she would kill would be herself.