Chapter 7: The Granddaughter
Rey restlessly paced back and forth along the white washed hallways. She had always been wary of hospitals, but those were just part of her grandeur imagination of being in a zombie apocalypse. Ridiculous, yes. She had watched too much of those pop culture films that sometimes she had envisioned several what if scenarios. Most of the time she would laugh it off, flesh eating deranged human beings are far from becoming a reality.
But this, her blood stained hands, was her reality now.
She clasped her trembling hands, trying to her best to keep it together. She was anxious; restless; and terrified, that no matter how many times she tried to rely on her usual positive outlook in life and her general hopeful demeanor, it did not help to make her calm. Lest, it made her fears worse.
Her heart thumped violently on her chest, the physical pain of its mere pounding made her beating organ feel like it was being constricted by some invisible hand, while at the same time the force of her palpitations were raw and hard that she felt her ribs were going to crack.
She let herself crash on one of the empty seats on the hallway, staring absentmindedly at nothing. She had no time to process things; her soul and all of her being, empty and drained. She was nothing more than just a shell now, filled only with shock and the utter fear of the unknown.
Rey should have been used to this. She had her fair share of injuries and death — She had seen people get stabbed, gunned down. She had been in fresh crime scenes; victims heaving their last breath and not once it traumatized her. Because after all, it was part of the job.
She's a self-proclaimed spartan: Life made her endure; her job made her tough. But all seemed to disappear when she saw Kylo, lying on the ground face down, swimming in his own blood.
It was a whole new brand of terror and fright when someone you love is on the brink of death.
—
She actually froze, fear swallowing up her whole existence. Sheer panic shooting straight to her brain that she did not know what to do. Her mind in disarray as she couldn't comprehend the event before her eyes.
She just bought themselves some food. She hasn't been away for more than thirty minutes... How could any of this happen?
It took all of her effort to snap out of it; to remember what to do in these kinds of situations; to have the presence of mind in such urgency. Still, she was shaking violently; her legs, not as cooperative as she wanted too. She nearly slipped on the now red wet pavement as she ran, her knees crashing onto the ground, the collision tearing down her denim pants and injuring her skin, exposing flesh underneath. But she felt no pain, the rest of her body and mind becoming numb because of terror.
Rey could only worriedly utter Kylo's name. Her own voice seemingly disappearing at the sight of the pool of blood surrounding his body. She shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up. It earned no reaction from the lawyer which made her fear for the worst.
Her horror earned a sense of urgency. Immediately, Rey rolled Kylo to have him lay on his back.
It was more severe than she thought — there was blood all over him. His white long sleeves was drenched up to his collar, and his trouser pants seeping all the red liquid that couldn't be absorbed by the rest of his clothing.
She checked for a pulse but couldn't find a beat, not when her own vicious palpitations were trying to escape her own veins. She tried again, this time placing her ear on Kylo's chest. She could feel his blood smear her ear, wetting her hair, but she didn't care.
Then she heard him groan weakly, his eyes opening slightly upon the recognition of a familiar presence.
A breath of relief finally escaped Rey's lips.
Thank God, he was still alive.
As fast as she could Rey took her phone, her trembling fingers clumsily dialing 911 on the screen before pinning the rectangular device in between her ear and shoulder. As she talked, Rey searched for the wound, frantically frisking his body before forcefully ripping off his long sleeves for a better search.
The sight was gruesome as it is, Kylo was drenched in his own blood; the red liquid flowing non stop from the left side of his torso, seeping through the crevices of his abdominal muscles. Immediately, Rey removed Kylo's cowl, using it to press on the wound, applying the strongest pressure she could muster to stop the bleeding. It wasn't enough. Soon, the cloth had been fully drenched in blood too. Rey had to remove her sweater just to replace the now soaked cowl. Still, no matter how heavily she pressed, crimson still flowed from Kylo's side rapidly.
This is bad. At this rate, he will clearly lose blood. She has to keep him conscious, or else... Fuck. She doesn't want to think about it.
There was no time to spare, Rey could no longer wait for the paramedics to arrive. Soon, she was struggling drag him up. Grabbing the lawyer from the underarms just so she could at least lengthen the distance between life and death.
A futile effort. No matter how she pulled, adrenaline rushing through her veins, Kylo didn't move an inch. She could not carry him, his dead weight just came crashing down her own body.
She grunted in frustration, sweat filling up her palms. She tried again, this time dragging him more forcefully. But she fell to the ground, her cheeks landing on the blood soaked concrete floor when her crimson filled hands accidentally snapped away from Kylo's body. She yelped at the excruciating pain, all while she whimpered miserably at her uselessness.
No. There's no way she'll give up. She'll save him no matter what it takes.
"Hold on, Ben." Rey pleaded, finally letting go of her futile effort to drag him. She crawled back to his side and focused on his wound instead, placing additional pressure to have it clot. "Just a little longer." She whispered, trying to sound somewhat hopeful, convincing Ben (or herself) that paramedics will soon come.
But he didn't hold on.
"Ben!" Rey shouted in panic, shaking his shoulders vigorously. "No, no, no. Don't sleep, Ben!" He was beginning to give in. Slowly, Kylo's eyes began to bat slowly to a close. His breathing becoming a little bit slower, his chest heaving a little bit weaker.
Rey gasped, her heart stopping midway because of fright. "Ben?" She asked frantically, before her heart restrated beating, this time, wildly, on her chest. Kylo's pupils started to dilate, iris becoming empty and grey; a last gruesome heave of air escaped his lips, then there was nothing.
She tapped his cheeks vigorously, shaking him but he was not waking up. Rey placed her ear back to Kylo's chest.
His heart was no longer beating.
Overcome with terror and panic, Rey wanted scream and cry. But there was no time to spare. If there's anything she learned, crying doesn't solve anything. And it definitely won't save Ben.
She knew what she needed to do. With a toughed resolve, Rey knelt before him, placing the heel of her hand on his breastbone at the center of Kylo's chest before interlocking her hand on top of the other. Steadying her shoulders and using her body weight, she started to do chest compressions. Rey began to count, the number of pumps reaching to thirty before she removed herself from him to tilt his head, pinching his nose before she opened his mouth, sealing her lips onto his, breathing steadily and firmly.
She watched as Kylo's chest began to rise. She repeated another rescue breath before she proceeded to do another cycle of chest compressions.
Rey had done at least one hundred to a hundred twenty chest compressions per minute but Kylo wasn't recovering, his body beginning to feel cold on her touch. She bit her lip so hard to the point she tasted her own blood.
Still, she wasn't giving up.
She started again, repeating the process all over, sealing her lips onto his, her own blood smearing into Kylo's mouth. Rey could already hear the sirens getting nearer and nearer, "C'mon, breathe." She uttered. Breathe until help arrives.
Please.
She sniffed hard, relentlessly doing another set of rescue breathes; her tears flowing down to Kylo's face, clear liquid now mixing with crimson.
Nothing. Not one heave of oxygen came from Kylo's chest. This time, whatever thin thread of self control she had snapped. Rey lost it. There was nothing left in her but terror and despair. She was losing him and whatever she was doing is not saving him.
In pure desperation, she screamed at the top of her lungs. "For once in your god damn life, stop being so fucking stubborn and breathe!" She cried, eyes flowing a river of tears that her vision started to blur.
Screw chest compressions. She'll make that heart beat one way or the other.
She lifted her arm shakily, pounding Kylo's chest with her fist. The sheer force made his lifeless chest bounce. Nothing happened. Then, there was thundering footsteps. Help had arrived, but Kylo wasn't still breathing.
"Don't you dare abandon me!" She shouted desperately as she lifted her fists, pouncing on his chest again.
"Ben, please." She wailed, miserably clutching Kylo's collar with her blood stained hands.
"I love you. Please."
"Don't leave me."
—
A sing-song, or a melodious hum, that's what she did as she stared magically at the crimson filled bottle in her hand. She gasped in awe, attempting to hide the ridiculous grin plastered on her face.
She stared at the bottle once again, giggling at her sense of accomplishment. Ben Organa-Solo, or more famously known as Kylo Ren, will always be the epitome of perfection.
It was everything she expected and more. The exhilarating pleasure of stabbing him in the stomach sent shivers down her spine; like an orgasm upon reaching the peak of sexual pleasure as she saw the the blood flowing from his side.
She would have gotten it all, harvested all of him, but that would be a waste. She should know because her grandfather taught her well. 'Our craft takes time and patience', her grandfather used to say. 'And when you find your piece, you do not waste it.' And she has found it. The lawyer was her ultimate piece — a rare, valuable, irreplaceable art that cannot be wasted.
But despite her grandfather's lessons, she could not wait any longer. She had seen her grandfather's craft, and when she finally tried to follow his teachings: lure a man that resembled perfection somewhere in Bronx, cut him up, get his brain and tongue and sew him back together — it was straight up boring.
Thinking about how her grandfather managed to wait for decades on to attempt to complete his masterpiece irritated her. It was annoying enough that it made her scalp itch. She rolled her eyes, brushing her fake long blond wig with her blood stained fingers. She dropped the fake mane on the floor, exposing her vibrant purple hair.
She walked to her grandfather's workshop at the basement of their half-century old abode, somewhere in the desolated and abandoned parts of New York. She should have remodeled the work station a long time ago but she didn't have the heart to do so. At the end of it all, it was her grandfather who taught her everything. He was, her only family.
She sat on an empty chair, placing the blood bottle on the table in front of her. She sighed, staring at her grandfather's incomplete artwork. There was just one person missing for him to complete it. But after all these years, he never could acquire him.
—
Everything started when she was seven. She had bounced from one orphanage to orphanage, from one state custodian to another. It seemed like they wanted to get rid of her early on; she was just another messed up child, trauma seeping inside her mind and body an an early age that adults figured that she needed help. But they didn't help her, not really. They did not care. Instead, they just decided that they could not deal with her. And the sooner they find another family member to handle her problems, the better.
She was a bit weird and different for others, especially the other kids. Most of the time, she would spend her time alone, hunting mice, cats and other small animals. Once she catches them, she would place a string around their neck and hang them into different places and watch them die. There's always this satisfying feeling whenever she watches the creatures wriggle in agony; heaving their last breath. An unknown excitement filling her whole body, an addicting euphoria that made her want to do it over and over again.
But she was eventually caught, social service workers telling her that what she was doing was wrong. Wrong? She would ask herself. But that's what her mother did to herself. How could that be wrong? She saw her tie a rope around her neck before she hung herself by their bedroom door. Her mother wriggled the same way as those vermin; struggling to pull the rope surrounding her neck away. But as a child of seven, she could only watch in awe. Her heart, for the first time feeling a sense of irreplaceable elation as she watched her mother heave her last breath, followed by the melodious sound of her neck cracking.
Of course, when she told the adults why she does what she does, they didn't understand. Instead, they hurriedly searched for a living family member to dispose her — her grandfather.
It was a whole new world. The old man was responsible, unlike her mother. He would feed her, take her to school and take care of her. Still, he never really acknowledged her existence, as if living with a child was a burden. Once his grandfather was done with his responsibilities to her, he would go down to his workshop and spend the day there. She never knew what he does, most of the time he would just come up for a glass of water or food. But when he does, he always had persistent red stains on his apron and gloved hands.
Their relationship changed when she caught their neighbor's pet cat and hanged it on their porch.
The frantic screams of their neighbor alerted her grandfather. The old fat woman had been scolding her, hurting her, dragging her by her black locks forcefully. It was put into a stop, finally, when her grandfather showed up.
Their neighbor was still screaming, branding her as cruel, crazy and deranged.
But her old man never minded the old woman's words, he just stared at the poor constricted animal in awe and astonishment. He then looked at her, and for the first time, she saw her grandfather smile. He then calmly replied to the woman, telling her that she was just a child; that she did not know what she was doing.
But his words did not help, lest it made the old woman angrier, and when she threatened to call the police, something in her grandfather changed.
Her grandfather's expression, how he managed to look so terrifying yet calm, until now, she couldn't figure out. But as a child of seven, it sent shivers down her spine. Their neighbor had it worse. One glance from him and she looked like she was going to have a heart attack. When the old woman finally calmed down, she talked about settling things; monetary compensation for the life of her cat.
The old man answered with a wide smile, telling their neighbor that he was more than happy to compensate; that he will just deliver the amount to her house over a cup of tea.
That cup of tea was the last drink that the old woman ever had, before her grandfather tied a rope around her neck, asking his granddaughter to pull it tightly and help him hang the same on one of the exposed pipes in her old dilapidated house.
The police never found out it was them, tagging the case as suicide. Their old neighbor's death changed the relationship between grandfather and granddaughter — and it changed her life forever.
The old woman was her first, the first of many more to come.
—
She sighed silently, staring at her grandfather's art. Reminiscing those old memories would do her no good. After all, the old man is dead and his legacy as an 'artist' was a complete and utter failure.
It took him decades to make this art, one which is currently preserved at a glass refrigerator in front of her, its dead brown eyes staring as if judging her. Years and years on, her old man cut people, drained their blood, harvested their organs, sewed them back into one piece, before combining each body part to resemble his model.
But it wasn't enough for him. Her grandfather dreamt of something more grandeur. No matter how each person he cut resembled his main inspiration, he was never satisfied. He wanted his own model's body to be preserved and replaced with all the organs of the rest of his victims — he wanted that scruffy NYPD Commissioner — that Han Solo.
Again, he never got to him. Not when he was being hunted down by the police. They branded him as the Tailor, a menacing serial killer on the loose.
And that's that. Her grandfather died as a failure, not completing his art work. True, her grandfather told her that she should continue their art — she refused.
Han Solo would have been perfect still if it had been ten years ago. Now, the man is nothing more than a soggy, scruffy, wrinkled old man, far from what perfection looks like.
But hope is not lost. Han Solo may have been old but there is someone who's better. His son, who looks like a Renaissance statue, impeccable in terms of physical attributes and mental faculties; the man whose mere glance sent shivers down her whole fucking existence; the quintessential man that ever lived; the perfect human being — Ben Solo.
He will be the greatest masterpiece this world has ever seen.
—
It was so noisy. All those frantic screaming and crying, someone calling out my name.
It's irritating. I'm tired, so exhausted with life. I had enough, I just wanted to rest.
This struggle between life and death, it is tiring. It's taking all of me, and I want to give in.
Why?
Because there's nothing else to live for.
His parents? They were never there. They think of him as a burden, sending their boy away. His uncle? Not a chance, he too found him too great of a burden to be handled. His job? Oh, he was fired.
But why? Why are you crying? Stop it. Death calls, and it's tempting. So stop pulling me towards the light.
I want to go there, to the darkness.
Stop telling me to hold on. Stop telling me to fight it. Stop screaming my name!
It's unbearable. Why are you doing this to me? I just want to rest.
Stop crying Rey!
Oh. Wh—
How — This person dear to me... How can I forget?
The only person who made me smile again; the one who treated me as a human being; the only person whom I can't live without; the one who made I want to continue this pathetic existence; The one who picked me up when I thought I lost it; the one whom I love so much.
The one whom I promised to never hurt again.
How... how can I forget Rey?
No.
I said I will never make her cry again; not to hurt her again.
The sound of those excruciating wails, your frantic screams, those desperate pleas. I'm hurting her!
What have I done?
No, no, no. My dear Rey of sunshine, please don't cry.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
Don't cry. I won't let death take me. So please don't cry.
I won't let the darkness pull me.
Never would I abandon you.
I won't leave you. I'll stay. I'll live.
I love you.
So breathe, Ben, you pathetic piece of trash. You promised her. You promised!
For once in your god damn life, stop being so fucking stubborn and breathe.
For her.
Live.
For Rey.
A silent gasp, followed by his eyes jolting wide open.
Ben Solo had successfully fought death — he lived.
It took time before his eyes adjusted to light. He bat his eyelids slowly, hoping that the fluorescent halos surrounding his vision would disappear. Still, he could not wait. He was desperate to see someone; the one responsible for his will to live. But he couldn't find the strength to get up, not when his environment started to spin as he slowly lifted his head, not to mention the shooting pain that he felt on his left torso that made the slightest movement unbearable.
He exhaled hard, wanting to try again. But truth be told, his impatience was no match for the sedatives inside his body.
His whole being was asking him to sleep again. And the constant mechanical beeps of the heart rate monitor rang on his ears like a silent lullaby, further urging him to rest.
But he didn't want too. Not when his whole existence is screaming out her name, like an unspeakable longing that could not be explained by science and logic. He silently cussed at his anesthesia induced mind and body, his eyes slowly drifting back to a close. He tried to keep himself awake by fidgeting in place. It was a struggle still, for only his fingers and toes moved through his will but the effort was not entirely futile.
He felt something soft as he curled his fingers. The sensation of interlocking fingers was utterly familiar — someone had been holding his hand. It sent a feeling of relief, followed by an indescribable elation. Just by his mere touch, he instantly knew who it was.
As if he was never injured, Kylo mustered all his strength to get up for a better view. Just one glimpse, he thought. Just one look at Rey and he can go back to sleep.
He managed to sit up, brushing off the shooting vertigo that went straight to his brain at the same time, biting his lips hard not to groan at the pain.
It was worth it. There she was, the hazel-haired woman, his 'rey' of sunshine, was peacefully sleeping by his side (albeit still snoring), her forehead touching the hospital bed while her hand tightly clutched his.
Kylo smiled. He should have been satisfied just to see her, but he had this insatiable thirst to touch her. He wanted to feel her. Even just for a little while. Her warmth, he craves for it.
As carefully and gently as he could, he lifted his free arm to stroke her head. He smiled weakly, gasping in awe like it was the first time he had touch a woman, that even the slightest caress sent shivers down his spine.
His mouth formed a smile as he chuckled to himself. He was too happy for words, finally enjoying the moment of messing the asleep detective's hair. Oh, how he missed this.
Ben got a little bit carried away because the detective groaned irritatedly at his touch. He stopped momentarily, laughing to himself as he watched her shake her head at the disturbance. When Rey went back to sleep, he continued what he was doing seconds ago.
But Rey jolted awake. She gasped in the process, eyes widening as if remembering that she wasn't supposed to be sleeping.
Ben shockingly retracted his hand and placed it on his lap like an obedient child. "Hi." He smiled awkwardly.
Instead of replying to his greeting, the detective's eyebrows crumpled in confusion her eyes examining his face, like it was her first time seeing a person of the opposite sex. Seconds later, her eyes started filling up with tears. Her jaws dropped slightly as if wanting to speak. Nothing came out of it but a silent quiver which made Ben panic.
He raised both his hands, shaking them worriedly. He just greeted her, and that made her cry. His first instinct was to apologize but before he could even speak, the detective threw herself to him, her arms embracing his neck tightly. Rey was shaking violently now, he could feel it; the loud beating of her heart radiated to his own chest. He could hear her wail on his ear, her tears drenching his medical gown. He could smell the scent of rusting iron from her hair.
"You idiot!" She cried. "You... jerkfaced idiot!"
For a moment, he was frozen, dumbfounded at the detective's reaction. He did not know what to do; she was crying but kept calling him names. He didn't know if she was angry or sad. She just kept crying and crying, whimpering and wailing on his shoulder to the point it was becoming contagious. Soon, even his eyes started filling up with tears. He did not why. In all of his adulthood, not once he cried. Why now?
"You were cold..." Rey whimpered, her tone descending to almost a squeak. "...so fucking cold..." She was hiccuping now, her tears choking her every word.
"I thought I lost you!" She cried.
He tried to control it, Kylo gazed up, exhaling loudly, trying to prevent the rush of liquid from flowing towards his face. But there was something in Rey's embrace that triggered something inside of him — he knew deep down that both of them were afraid.
So terrified of losing each other.
He reciprocated immediately, wrapping his arms around her thin bodice. The sensation made him cringe. It terrified him to his wit's end that all he could do was cry.
"I was so scared..." Rey wailed.
For minutes on they locked themselves in each other arms, Kylo embraced her tighter, he wanted to feel her like he never did before — every curve of her body, every crevice, how her brown hair tickles his nose, that persistent smell of grime, sweat, dirt and blood.
"I'm sorry." He began to sob, his face burying onto her neck. His big arms wrapping around the detective's waist. Up until now, Kylo hadn't thought of the consequences of his would be death. But seeing her face, touching her, hearing her cry, feeling her warmth, Kylo knew that even in death he would regret leaving this world. And it was the same with her. He knew it from her embrace. "I'm so, so sorry, sweetheart." He could only cry.
They were both ugly crying, faces crumpling trying to prevent liquid from flowing down from their eyes and noses. Both caught up in the moment. It took all of Kylo's energy to stop crying. His world was spinning wildly, now. His thoughts becoming more and more incoherent. Sleep was pulling him back towards the bed, exhaustion and pain now taking a toll to his body.
The detective pulled away, she rubbed her eyes using the base of her palm as she stared at him with confused eyes. She heard it, what he said. Sweetheart who?
Huh?
"What did you say?" She asked him, sniffing hard.
Kylo rubbed his eyes, when they broke off their hug, it was his cue to lie down. Crying is so exhausting. A good night sleep with Rey beside him would be great. His eyelids began to bat heavily on his eyes, his mind forcing him to rest. "Huh?" He whispered incoherently as soon as his head touched his pillow.
"You called me sweetheart?" Rey inquired. Her heart began to pump on her chest rapidly, her face flustered like an overripe tomato. She heard it clearly, that's for sure. He had called her his sweetheart, and friends don't call each other pet names. It's a term for lovers or what your parents say to their children.
Does Kylo treat her like a child? She wondered. Is that it? Or is it because he treats her like a lover. She wanted to know.
She needs answers stat!
The detective clicked her tongue in both anticipation and impatience. It was so frustrating. He called her sweetheart first, so the best thing he could do was to follow through. She wanted to become his lover; her boyfriend; her forever.
Damn it, but this anesthesia induced jerkface is sleeping on her now. "Just tell me you love me, you fucking idiot." She cussed to herself.
But Kylo was so out of it now, his eyes drawing to a close. His mouth began to open for one last conversation, but he spoke no words, or it was too much of a whisper that Rey could not hear it.
Rey fidgeted in anticipation. She knelt down beside the bed, leaning her face, to the point that their noses were almost touching; making sure that they were just centimeters apart so that she would not miss any of his words. She scanned his face intently, her focus specifically tunneling to his mouth.
"Why did you call me your sweetheart?" She whispered once more.
The lawyer never answered, merely groaning at her words. She cussed to herself, sighing in disappointment. Well, there's nothing to expect here. Not when he's already asleep. On second thought, maybe she'll do the confessing.
Rey sighed once again, finally giving up.
But before she could move, Kylo lifted his head towards her, planting a soft clumsy kiss on her lips before he slid back to his cushions.
"Good night, sweetheart." He mumbled before drifting back to sleep.
