AN: Hi guys, this is my first story! I am super excited, and a little nervous on how this will be received...
I recently watched Charlie St. Cloud and was moved by the sadness of it, and so, this is how this baby was created. I personally don't know how anyone could survive the death of a relative or close member of family or friends. The most I have experienced was the death of my cat, and that for me was one of the saddest things ever. I had him from a kitten, and adored him, so was devastated when he died... :(
But anyways, enough from me! I really do hope you all enjoy this little fic.
Over and out.
Bonnygirl
Disclaimer: No, I do not own Charlie St. Cloud.
Charlie St. Cloud still couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it.
Sam was gone. Dead. Vanished from this world, to be taken to the next.
Was he there? In whatever heaven existed? Charlie hoped so. His little brother deserved everything that the world and beyond could offer him.
The glove, Sam's glove, was clenched tight in his hand, the baseball a firm and reassuring contact.
It was just so unfair. He should have died. He should have been the one lying lifeless and cold on the bed. He didn't deserve to be here! How could anyone be so cruel, to take his brother away and leave him behind. They had left an empty shell of what used to be.
How could Charlie breathe, how could he live when he didn't have the person he loved most to live for?
"Charlie?"
The voice startled Charlie from his thoughts, and he looked up blankly to see the priest waiting patiently for him.
"Would you like to drop the glove in now?" The priest asked, his face kind, expecting.
Charlie wasn't sure how to answer. Yes, he should drop the glove onto Sam's white coffin, give Sammy something to use up in heaven.
But he couldn't.
Letting go of the glove was like letting go of the last bit of Sam. Sammy had lived and breathed baseball, and Charlie. Just. Couldn't. Let Go.
"No." He said softly. Forced himself to tear his gaze from the white coffin, and begin to walk away from the crowd. He ignored his mother's arm on his, and her pleading, pleading voice.
"Charlie" she begged.
No.
Charlie wouldn't give in. He wouldn't give into his mother's voice, nor his own. He had to get out of here.
And so Charlie began to run. He was out of the cemetery and tearing through the forest that backed Marblehead Cemetery before he could even breathe, the glove and ball clenched in his hand.
He was crying, tears dripping from his eyes, memories flashing before him.
Glass everywhere. The car flipping over and over, crushing him and Sam. Oscar's howl of agony, and then silence.
Sam's voice, weak. "Mom's going to kill us".
Charlie dragging his body out of the ruined car, holding Sam to him. Trying to ignore the warm liquid soaking his shirt.
"Don't worry, I'll take the blame."
A promise. A forgotten promise.
Sam's cry of pain. "God, I hurt so much!"
"No!" Charlie moaned. He couldn't deal with this. Reliving his brother's death was like shredding his already ruined heart.
"They're looking for us".
"Why?"
"They're trying to find us".
Sam's eyes, flashing agony and fear.
"Don't let go of me"
"I won't".
"Don't let me go Charlie! Don't let me go!"
"I won't! I promise!"
"Charlie!"