Chapter Three of Shattered
Ty squeezed his eyes shut, thinking his eyes were playing a cruel joke on him. He opened them again, half-hoping that she would have disappeared.
She had.
"Ty, what are you staring at?" Deuce asked, concerned for his friend. Ty continued to stare at the place she had stood.
He was finally able to get himself to wake up from his trance, turning to face Deuce. "What just happened?"
"I don't know, man. After Mom told us dinner was ready you just kind of zoned out. You were starting to scare me," The younger boy's eyes softened at the look of absolute confusion in Ty's eyes, like he was a scared little boy lost in an amusement park. It was a frightening sight.
"I- I saw her, Deuce. I saw her!" Ty muttered, staring into the Cuban's eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Deuce asked, his fear rising with each passing second.
"I saw Rocky. She spoke to me, telling me she was alive. She asked me for a hug, like nothing was wrong. I saw her, Deuce, I really saw her!" Ty was visibly shook, as if something horrifying was playing out in his head. His eyes widened, and he began to sweat. "I gotta go. Tell Tinka that I have to cancel that trip, or something. Don't wait up too late," Ty said, grabbing his jacket, stumbling over his words as he scrambled out of the room.
Deuce remained in his seat, not sure what to make of what just happened. He had never seen Ty so scared, not even when Rocky and Tinka had been taken.
He tried to think of something that could possibly, reasonably explain his best friend's odd behavior, but nothing plausible came to mind. Deuce pushed the thought of another Blue family secret, not wanting to go down that road again. Fearing that if they did, they'd find out something that should've remained a secret.
Shaking his head, he looked for his phone. He found it under his dirty laundry that he had promised his mom he would wash. After sending Tinka a quick message about Ty, he scrolled through his contacts.
"Benny B., Benny G., Benny H., Benny L- Found ya!" He pressed the call button, putting it on speakerphone while he searched his desk drawers.
"Hola?"
"Aye, Uncle Benny, do you still work as a private detective?" Deuce yelled, still digging through his cluttered drawers.
"Si,"
"Can you do me a favor?" He waited for an answer, glad to hear his uncle say yes. "I need you to do a background run on the Blue family. Specifically, Raquel and Tyson Blue, ages sixteen and seventeen. Live right here in Chicago."
His uncle told he would do his best, before asking if everything was alright.
"Yeah, I'm doing fine. Just a lot of messed up things happening, ya know?" Hearing a tired sounding reply, Deuce thanked his uncle and hung up, having found what he had been looking for.
He took the crumpled envelope out of the drawer, laying it on his desk and attempting to smooth it out. He opened it, turning it upside down and letting the contents fall out. The accusing picture was the first his eyes fell to, but he pushed it away to pay attention to the other papers.
He unfolded them, smoothing out the creases the best he could. He recognized the handwriting immediately, his breathing increasing.
"'Her heart was pure, his intentions clean. Both forbidden and free, feeling genuine. Make no mistake, they were in bliss. They had given each other true love's first kiss.'" Deuce read, his eyes squinting. "What the hell are you on about? Who are you talking about, Rocky?"
His eyes glanced over to the picture again, his heart breaking at the sight of her. He frowned, seeing something odd about the picture. Picking it up, he brought it closer to his eyes.
"What the?" In the corner was a the date, written in an unfamiliar style. "1946?"
Deuce flipped the picture over, wondering if there were any clues as to the odd date. Written neatly in the same handwriting as the date, near the bottom was a name.
"Who's Jennette Kyleson?"
Cece sat in her bed, picking at the stitching of her pillow. Without a phone or laptop she was bored. She attempted to read one of the books she had received over the years, but it made her head hurt.
Having already organized her drawers and closet, finished all the homework she had let pile up, and listening to her iPod until the battery died, she was left with nothing.
"This is all Frankie's damn fault," She said to herself. She flung the pillow to the other side of the room, hitting the framed picture of Rocky and knocking it to the floor.
"Dammit," Getting up from her comfortable position, she went over to the picture. The glass had cracked, but hadn't broken completely. She frowned at the placement of the crack, right between her and Rocky's bodies.
Cece continued to stare at the picture, at the cracked glass, not noticing a tear fall and land on it. When she took notice, she was confused. She hadn't truly cried in a long time, and it confused her to a degree.
"Man up, Cecelia, you're better than this," She muttered to herself, straightening her back. However, tears continued to fall onto the picture, blurring her view.
She fell to her knees, finally succumbing to her emotions. She hugged the picture, squeezing it like it was trying to leave her.
"Why did you leave me, Rocky? You shouldn't have left me. You should be here, one floor up, getting ready to climb through my window. You're supposed to say 'hey, hey, hey' and jump into my living room. You're supposed to be lecturing me on doing my own homework, guilt tripping me into finishing it without cheating. You're supposed to be comforting me when Deuce and I have a fight. You're supposed to be dancing with me on Shake It Up! Chicago, smiling and pulling off difficult moves that took you a day to learn while I practiced all week. You're supposed to inflate my ego whenever I brag about having been chosen as the best dancer.
"You're supposed to tell me how much you admire me when I won't back down. You're supposed to be making witty remarks about my intelligence that take me a few minutes to get. You're supposed to be here. You're supposed to be alive. You're supposed to be my best friend,"
Her sobbing made it hard for her to continue speaking, but she had said what needed to say. Cece knew she had been difficult for the past few months, but she didn't want to believe it. To her, demonizing and rejecting her once best friend was the only way she could cope.
She couldn't cry for a week straight like Tinka. She couldn't throw herself into her work like Deuce. She couldn't visit places Rocky had secretly wanted to go to like Ty. She couldn't design a website to remembering her like the mathletes. She couldn't disappear like Gunther.
Of course, she knew how wrong it was of her. But it made her feel better, knowing that memories couldn't plague her like they did to everyone else. Now, it just seemed petty and cruel.
Now that she had cried, and finally let out how she felt. But it wasn't going to bring Rocky back, it wasn't going to bring Mr. and Mrs. Blue back, it wasn't going to erase the scar on Tinka's leg, it wasn't going to make Gunther show up at school in a bedazzled jacket.
All it did was make her nose bleed, and make her lightheaded.
"What?" Her vision became blurry, but not because of the tears. Everything in front of her became blurred and out of focused, like someone had dirtied the camera lens.
Her body felt numb, like she had been laying a tub of ice for hours. Her nose continued to bleed, the blood falling down her face and onto her lap. Her eyelids felt heavy, and it became harder to keep them open the more she tried.
Briefly, her tired eyes fell onto her glass of water, as if it knew why she was falling unconscious. It was half-empty, but she distinctly remembered only drinking a few sips. Didn't she?
Her question went unanswered as her mind shut off, and her body fell to the floor. The framed photo fell from her grip, the crack in the middle spreading until it was near impossible to see Rocky's face anymore.
Tinka settled into bed, a glass of warm milk on her bedside table. She had spent the whole day packing, her excitement building about her coming trip.
At one point she had heard her phone vibrate, but was too invested in separating her clothes by colour to answer it. Once she had finished, she immediately jumped into the shower to rinse away the sweat she worked up. Her hair was still wet, up in a messy bun she usually tried to avoid. Her phone forgotten.
She had settled into her oversized bed, bringing her lavender comforter up to her lap as she rested against the headboard.
Nothing was on TV, even her favorite DIY clothing show wasn't on yet. She sighed, unable to wait for the newest episode. Her mind drifted to the one time she had convinced Cece to watch it with her, only for the redhead to claim it was the most idiotic thing on TV. Not that it stopped her from showing up the next day in the shirt they had been shown how to make.
Tinka half-smiled at the memory, glad she didn't only have bad memories with the redhead. But it seemed that Cece was intent on erasing all of the good memories with bad, and mostly succeeding for most of the past three months.
"That girl is all kinds of trouble," The blonde said to herself. Turning off the TV, she attempted to lay down and get some sleep for tomorrow.
Her soon slumber was interrupted at the sudden banging at her front door. She tried to ignore it, telling herself that her mom or dad would get it. Then she remembered they had gone to a wedding, and wouldn't be back until the weekend.
Sighing, she sat up and threw the covers off of her. Her feet felt around on the floor for her slippers, the fuzzy feeling tickling slightly. Her feet slipped into them, and she stood up, stretching her back. She really needed to lay down.
She trudged to the living room, her hands at her hair trying to make herself somewhat presentable. Eventually, her hair had been taken out of the bun and pulled back into a loose ponytail.
Tinka made it to her door, surprised that she hadn't bumped into anything without any of the lights on. The banging had continued throughout, the person on the other side of the door relentless.
"Just a second!" The blonde called, rolling her eyes when the person only hit her door harder. "If you break it, I'm suing you!" She half-joked, throwing the door open.
"Good luck suing a dead man," The voice seemed familiar, but Tinka couldn't make out who it was. She cursed the broken hall lights, along with her own dark apartment.
The man walked inside, without warning. Tinka glared at the form, slamming her door shut. "Do I know you? And is there a reason you're banging on my door at this hour?"
Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her foot was tapping against the floor.
"Tinka, don't you recognize me?" The voice, it was so familiar. Too familiar.
"No, it can't be," The blonde ran her hand along the wall, searching for the light switch. She heard the man's breathing, and the familiar scent of his cologne. But it was impossible. It just couldn't be. Her mind raced for possible explanations; a cruel joke, her mind playing tricks on her, a bad dream.
Her hand fell on the light switch, and she hesitated. Could this really be happening? She shook her head, her damp hair stinging her cheeks.
"Better safe than sorry," She muttered to herself. She flipped the light on, and nearly crumpled to the floor at the sight.
"Hello, Tinka,"
Her mouth fell open, and her heart nearly leaped out of her throat. She scrambled her mind to remember how to speak, but nothing came out of her open mouth.
"Gary?"
