Cracks reveal Truths and Secrets: Part Two

Day 2 (continued)

It was evening and Roxas still wasn't back yet. I had stayed in bed all day cause I felt too lazy to do anything else (or rather, I didn't have enough energy to do anything else). When the smell of turkey, green beans, and rice hit my nose I knew Mom was preparing dinner. I gritted my teeth as my stomach churned with hunger. I forced myself to sit up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The dizziness was instant, I felt my vision shift violently back and forth as I stared at the ground.

Come on. You need to get down there and eat. I sucked in a deep breath, using the doorknob for balance. Thank god my bed was only a few feet away from the door.

I fought through the door, walking down the stairs slowly so that I could save my energy. I was lucky I didn't collapse the moment I reached the bottom of the stairs. The food was rich and intoxicating. The fumes curled inside my nose, teasing me, pushing me, and I shuddered, breathing in the smells and leaning against the wall. I looked away from the table full of food to my mom who was currently setting the plates. She caught my stare and gave me a small smile. "Oh, there you are. I was just about to call for you. Feeling any better?"

I shrugged. "Guess so, except I'm starving."

She shook her head. "Always stubborn." Her voice shook on the last word, a subtle slip. She was worried. "Well, go ahead and sit. We have a lot to talk about."

I turned and saw my father sitting across from my seat. He gave me a short nod and I swallowed. "Yeah, we do," I said before taking my spot, gingerly picking up my fork. I barely took a few bites when she placed a picture at the center of the table, facing towards me. My three-year-old self hugged to death by an enthusiastic Roxas while my parents stood in the background, proud smiles transforming their faces. I briefly saw the image crack in my head, remembering the glass shards that had spread when I had dropped the picture in front of Roxas a few days ago. They fixed the frame. I picked it up, holding it in my lap, food forgotten.

Mom sighed, staring fondly at me. "He always said that was his favorite day. When we adopted you he said it had filled . . . filled up a void in his heart."

"What?" I had that much impact on four-year-old Roxas? "His favorite day? Seriously?"

My dad joined in, setting his fork down. "He was always a perceptive boy. We should have known better than to hold the truth from him, but even when we tried to live our lives normally he still knew someone was missing."

"Someone?"

Mom slowly pulled out something from her shirt pocket, sliding it towards me. I picked it up, tilting my head. Another picture with two identical boys. "This . . . this is Roxas. Roxas and . . . " I frowned.

"That is Ventus, Roxas' twin brother," my mom replied calmly, though there was a film of tears covering her eyes.

I felt mine widen and I pushed the image away. Two brothers? "He had another brother?"

Dad gave me a sad smile. "They did everything together, those two. It was really something to see." His smile returned to its habitual, bitter frown.

I looked back at Mom's face, unnerved to see the tears sliding down her cheeks. She wiped them furtively, sniffing once. "Ventus . . . was a cheerful boy. He could make everyone laugh, anybody smile. He was just . . . good."

"But . . ?" Tell me what happened to him already. I looked down, glaring at my food.

"Freak accident," my dad replied. He sounded strained. "It was a normal day. Roxas and Ventus were playing in the living room. Someone knocked on our door, I stood up and answered it just as Ventus started running . . . running unnaturally fast. I told him to slow down and he looked at me. For a split second, his face went from me to Roxas before he . . . he ran into the table. He hit it hard, knocked himself out." He gritted his teeth, looking away.

"That's it?" I could barely lift my voice above a whisper. "Are you saying he got stuck in a coma or something?"

"That's exactly what happened. He just . . . wouldn't wake up." I looked away before I could see any tears fall. Seeing Mom cry was one thing. Dad doing it was just too surreal for me.

I picked at my food, staring through my glass at the table. "So . . . Roxas didn't forget him, right?"

Mom shook her head. "I think he still knows, still understands that something was . . . missing. However, they had just turned three when that happened. A year without talking about it and he eventually stopped asking for him. But he had been lonely. It wasn't till he started preschool that he began asking for a brother. He wanted . . . he wanted someone to take care of."

Dad grunted. "Your mother and I talked about it a lot. We had our doubts . . . but eventually we decided to adopt."

"We did some research. Your previous shelter had a high reputation. We knew you kids were well cared for and ready to move into new homes. When we first went inside, seeing all the children . . . it was overwhelming."

I watched my dad shake his head. "So many little rascals all running around. We were speechless. But Roxas jumped in, playing with all the kids, getting to know them. We watched him for a while, watched him approach you . . . you were the only kid who didn't talk back to him."

Mom smiled at me, grief still present but the joy in her face far outshined it. "Do you remember?"

I shook my head quickly, frowning. Besides the picture the rest of the day had been a blurr for me.

Dad chuckled. "Well, you sure were a cold one. Roxas didn't quit though. He continued to follow you around, speaking to you, content to just be there. Eventually he got you to smile a little and when you told him your name . . . well, we hadn't seen Roxas that happy for a long time."

Something inside of me snapped at that. I felt chills run through my entire body, hitting me directly at my core. I stared at them both for a long time, uncomprehending, in denial. "He . . . was that happy?"

"Happy? He was ecstatic. When we went home he wouldn't stop talking about you. Of course, we waited for a while. Overall we visited the shelter at least twice a week for about a month before coming to a decision. The moment we brought you home he got so hyped up he made himself sick." Instead of bringing me warmth, my dad's chuckles only served to make me even colder. "Had to calm him down, give him one of those talks."

Mom joined in, voice a little lighter, as if she were just aching to get out all of her own positive memories. "He really took his role as your older brother seriously. Why, he was more adamant about keeping you safe than we ever were."

My hands started shaking and I took in a deep breath. "You said you had to hold him back," I recalled, looking back at my dad.

My parents glanced at each other, sheepish expressions that quickly transformed into uncharacteristic signs of mortification. Dad cleared his throat before standing. "Might as well show you now."

Both curious and dreading what I would find, I followed him to Roxas' room, suppressing a shiver the moment we went inside. I felt like I was treading on forbidden territory, and the orderly structure of his room only reminded me of the fact that Roxas had been absent for so long that day. To find his presence in all of his discarded clothing and stuff . . . I resisted the urge to run out right. I watched Dad move away some of the things in Roxas' drawers before handing me a stack of papers.

I skimmed through them, narrowing my eyes. "These are my school papers." Old tests, essays, meaningless worksheets. I flipped through the pile. "What's he doing with this stuff?"

"Keeping you from failing." Dad continued pulling stuff out. I saw more scrapbooks. He opened up one, showing me the pictures. "Recognize these people?"

I squinted and instantly my mouth turned into a scowl. "Wish I didn't." Literally, it was like looking at a catalogue of all my worst enemies in my short but hellish middle school history. I blinked. As I stared at them I began to notice a pattern. They were labeled and placed in chronological order, the direct order in which I had met them. Vague images of those encounters washed over me and I winced. But no matter how painful or moronic the meetings were, it was never ongoing. There was always a new bully to replace the other freeloaders, but eventually that person would back away after a few weeks. I used to think it was because of how much I brood and how I didn't necessarily encourage their antics, but as I stared at the pictures . . . "Are you saying he tracked them?"

"What do you think?"

"That's impossible." I shook my head. "Roxas hates getting into fights."

At that my father smirked, his eyes knowing. "No, he hates it when the family sees him fight. Even the little arguments. I walked in on him having a heated debate with a fellow classmate and his tone instantly changed when I walked by." He shrugged. "He didn't want us to see that side of him. I had respect for that. Of course, I did step in when things got . . . out of hand."

I was still flipping through the book when I froze at his words. "What did he do?"

"Keep looking through it. You'll see."

Somewhat shaken, I quickly flipped through more pages. As I got towards the latter half of the scrapbook I gasped out loud and dropped the book, staring at it in horror. I covered my own mouth, feeling utterly nauseated. I didn't expect the images to hit me that way, I was freaking out over a couple of pictures for crying out loud!

But that's the thing about Roxas' photos. There's always an artistic slant, an obscure angle he takes them from that makes the presentation look unique. But those pictures . . . there was nothing artistic about them. Just brutal reminders of violence and mayhem. I could barely recognize some of my tormenters, their faces disfigured, swollen, blue, black, red skin. In all of their eyes was either shock, resentment, terror, with a few having a combination of all three. I hesitantly flipped through the pages, getting past the faces to mainly see exposed stomachs, legs, arms . . . "What the hell?" I threw the book across the room. "Is that even legal?!"

"He cut it pretty close. Most of the boys didn't press charges, apparently he persuaded them otherwise." He pulled out more stuff, handing me a slim DVD case. "He filmed some of the beatings."

This is freaking unreal. "Is this some sick sort of joke? Roxas wouldn't . . . he doesn't like hurting people." I felt like I was grasping at straws. The kind, heavenly angel I held in my mind for my brother shattered, mental glass shards striking me in the heart. Granted, it was already cracking from the beginning of the entire messed up situation, but now my previous perception was broken beyond repair. This is not my brother, he is not a violent person. "This can't . . . he couldn't have done all that just because a few jerks were messing with me."

"Do you want to see the tape?" His expression was completely serious.

Out of desperation and sheer disbelief I gave him a taut, "Yes." I regretted it the moment the video came on. Seeing younger Roxas (think middle school, like 8th grade) alive and well on screen was a shock in and of itself, but that barely caught my attention. He looked livid, eyes full of malice and something else. Brief, short flashes of agony morphed his face into a bitter shape before the anger returned full force. He set the camera, looking straight into it.

"This is Roxas," he bit into his bottom lip, eyes still burning with rage. He spoke harshly. "I'm waiting for Seifer. I . . . feel strange. After all, he never did anything to me, personally. Actually, I take that back." He was grinning now, a sadistic, feral grin. "No. He hurt Vanitas. He messed with my brother." He took few steps back from the camera, frowning now. "I hate bastards like him. I hate people who think that their actions don't have a price. When you mess with one person you're affecting everyone around you." He started cracking his knuckles. "Well, I have a message for Seifer. I have a message for every damn asshole who even thinks about touching my brother."

He walked closer to the camera, eyes a little wider. They were bloodshot. "Whenever Vanitas feels pain, I feel pain. Whenever I see him frowning, I frown. When he looks angry as all hell, then you better believe I'm just as pissed off. But when you hurt him? When you actually get the nerve to treat him like crap, to step all over him when I'm only a few feet away watching you mess with him?" Roxas started laughing, a bitter, guttural sound. "Don't you understand that when that happens I can't sleep, can't think, can't . . . function without knowing where you are now? What you're doing at this very moment?"

He pointed directly into the camera, eyes hard, almost inhuman. "The moment that insult leaves your lips, the moment your hand pulls away from hitting my brother in the face, the moment you laugh and walk away thinking you get some freaking free pass . . . " he was breathing heavily now, and he rubbed the area above his heart gingerly, as if just saying the stuff out loud was an ordeal. "Just know that the moment you take two steps away I'm halfway through tracking you. I'll know your name, I'll have a face to go by. Whether or not Vanitas does anything to you . . . just know you can always expect a punishment from me." He blinked once then smirked. "Speak of the devil . . . " He looked away from the camera, walking back a few feet so that we could see the whole area. It looked like a park. He crossed his arms just as I saw a blonde, oblivious male approach, scowling.

I tuned out when they started talking to each other. I was still hung over Roxas' speech. I didn't know whether I should feel scared out of my wits or . . . grateful. I swallowed when the fighting interrupted my thoughts. Roxas barely made a sound, punching out, in complete control. Seifer on the other hand was grunting through everything. It was still a surprise for me to see Seifer fall down in the span of three seconds. The look of cold satisfaction on Roxas' face made me want to cover my own face, to block my entire body. He gripped Seifer by the hair, repeatedly slamming his face into the ground. Once the dude's face was completely covered in dirt, Roxas walked in front of the camera, blocking our view of what was going on. I watched him lift his foot back and kick out with such force I started rubbing my own stomach, wincing every time Seifer got hit.

Roxas continued, systematically walking around Seifer before finding a pale, uninjured part of his body to wreck. Seifer was moaning now, almost close to begging, but there was no sympathy in Roxas' eyes, just a cool, resigned hardness. It was as if Seifer wasn't even human, wasn't even worth his time. He could do whatever he wanted to Seifer, Seifer had lost the right to protest in his eyes. This is wrong. I shook, waiting for him to stop, pleading in my head for Roxas to just end it already (the guy was blue from head to toe, seriously).

"Stop. Stop now . . . " I hadn't even realized I was speaking, I just stared at the screen.

Eventually, Roxas did stop. By some sheer miracle Seifer was still able to move. When he finally stood up I felt my mouth open up in shock. "How can that guy even stand?"

"Just watch," Dad said, face somewhat pale.

Seifer slowly looked around, blinking then froze, eyes wide with fright, staring at the camera. Roxas' smile grew, also looking directly into the camera. "Now the whole school will get to see what a pathetic waste you are."

Seifer quickly shook his eyes, obviously panicking. There was blood on his lips and he winced briefly every time he lifted his arms. He tried to protest, but Roxas kept denying him until, "Apologize then."

"What?"

"Apologize to the camera."

Seifer looked like he was being asked to swallow a lemon. "For what?" That earned him another kick in the stomach.

"Think really hard, Seifer. Think back a week. Wednesday afternoon, you make the football tryouts, you see a kid with black hair and yellow eyes eating a sandwich by himself on the bench."

Seifer's incredulous expression morphed into understanding and then into disbelief. "That freak is your brother?"

This, obviously, was the wrong thing to say. Roxas' voice was quiet when he responded, "Say that again."

Seifer raised his hands. "Dude, I seriously did not know! I've only been at this school for a few weeks and-"

"Do you think I'm a freak, Seifer?! Huh?!" I flinched back slightly when Roxas flat out punched Seifer in the nose. "You fucking think this is a joke?!"

Seifer didn't even get another word in before Roxas had him pinned to the ground, eyes wild, and he instantly reached for the guy's throat. I felt my breath catch and I gaped at the sight before me. My brother was going to kill him. But no, after a few seconds Roxas released Seifer, eyes now dead. "Apologize to the damn camera before I injure something important," he said, fighting for control.

Once he got the response he wanted out of Seifer he walked toward the camera, the anger lingering in his face disappearing. He looked calm, and when he spoke his voice was normal. "Man, I so needed that." He flexed his fingers. "Hopefully, for him, we won't have to meet again. I don't think I could stand seeing his face anymore." He hummed to himself before turning off the camera. That was the first chapter out of fifteen on the DVD.

"When . . . when did you first see this?" I asked, afraid to hear the answer, afraid to acknowledge how long Roxas might have been doing this.

"His freshman year of high school. I've only seen this one, didn't bother to watch through the others. I saw it on accident, he fell asleep with the TV and he had the door open. I came in to get him for dinner." He sighed. "A couple therapy sessions later Roxas' avoided violence like the plague. Be grateful that you never saw that part of him in person. Walking into the middle of a fight is never a pleasant experience."

"I don't get it. Why wouldn't he show this to me if he was doing it for me?"

"Roxas . . . was never really open about it. Of course, he told his counselor everything, but he wouldn't tell us. I believe it was a catharsis of sorts for him. Getting him to stop taking pictures of you every second of the day was hard enough. We could only get him to limit his watch of you to two days per week." He shook his head. "Protective to a fault."

"Or obsessive."

"Well, that's the negative way of putting it."

I turned off Roxas' TV and trudged out of the room, mind and body weighed down. "I'm going to lay down."

"Did you finish your dinner?"

I almost laughed. Finish my dinner . . . finish my freaking dinner. "Dad, after showing me that do you honestly think I'm going to take a bite out of anything tonight?" I didn't give him a chance to answer, just slammed Roxas' door behind me and slowly made my way to my room. I slipped into bed and watched the ceiling until my eyes grew too heavy for me to keep them open. For the first time in two nights I was able to sleep for three hours dream free.

Day 3

Waking up . . . that was my new nightmare. I heard a low, soft growl twist my stomach into knots. I sat up, licked my dry, cracked lips. I felt my tongue brush against a miniscule cut and winced. Lifting my hands to my mouth to rub at the pain, I turned my head to my analogue clock. "3am . . . just great." I pushed myself up, running my hands against my sides, trying to work away the numbness of sleep.

I tried not to think, tried keep my mind from wandering to any of the conversations I had the night before. No. I needed a few minutes to pretend like nothing had happened, like I was a rational, normal person who happened to be an insomniac with eating issues. I closed my eyes, trying to push away any lingering aspects of him still locked in my mind.

But . . . the more I fought against it, the more I tried to erase Roxas from my head, the more he kept coming back. It was subtle really, but it's amazing how a little background info can open your eyes to the past, can break away at your skewed perceptions as you see the whole picture from all angles. I remembered how Roxas used to tease me about math, used to rile me up so much that I felt like the moment an equation escaped from his mouth I wanted to hit him. He challenged me that year, making up all these useless contests. Out of pride and anger I would join every one, even though every time I was guaranteed to lose, guaranteed to get second place (he was always one year ahead after all). It wasn't like I was doing poorly in math, I was fine with a C. Gradually though, with all those contests he forced me to do I naturally got better. He always had a smile for me after every contest, face glowing with pride. I used to think that was his form of gloating, it used to irritate me so much. But that smile had been for me. It had always been for me.

I thought of middle school. There were only a few social functions I didn't adamantly despise and whenever I would go to them it was mainly to people watch and critique them in my head. Roxas was far more social, so it didn't strike me as weird that he would be there too. Out of the corner of my eye I could always see him, and sometimes I would scowl at him from afar as he laughed and did goofy things with his friends. He would usually catch my glares and wave at me, but I always ignored it. If he never left that area of the room, if he never strayed away from an area where he couldn't see me, how horrible does it make my own actions, my own previous judgments as I placed him with the lowest, moronic people in my head?

We were together whether I liked it or not. Roxas had maintained a constant presence in my life while I simultaneously tried to avoid his sappy influences, his social infested tales of wonder and espionage. I had a hard time separating pre-counseled Roxas and post counseled Roxas because no matter what messed up issues he was facing he sure as hell never told me about it. I found out from Dad when he was sick, Mom would warn me when he was depressed about losing a scrapbook or a photo contest. And what did I do after those warnings? He'd come to me, warm smile and laughs galore and I'd instantly feel rage, feel trapped within his happiness. I'd forget the warnings of my parents. I'd treat him the same way I always had. How would that affect him? Would he see it as a blessing since I wouldn't pity him? Or would he be aching for acknowledgement, for someone to admit that he wasn't perfect either?

The questions only made more memories surface, and I'd see every little detail. See him standing close by whenever I ate lunch, see him happen to walk past me whenever a different bully tried to block me from my locker. Why walk away? Why not sit with me at lunch? Why not actually SAY something for once?

But . . . I frowned and gasped as the clearest, sharpest memory rose up out of the sea of my disgruntled youth.

"Stop it. Just stop. You're such an embarrassment, you know that? I don't need you breathing down my neck every few seconds. Look, we're forced to share space at home, but at school I don't give a rat's ass what you do. So quit acting like you care so badly and do your own thing!"

I winced at my twelve-year-old self. Roxas still smiled at me, still hugged me as if I had given him the largest compliment he could receive. "I just feel so bad leaving you by yourself. You can't tell me you're not lonely."

"Oh, quit it with the teen drama. I don't need friends like you. You learn more from watching from afar than you do wasting oxygen on petty conversations about celebrities."

"You know, everyone inside them has a dream. Someday you'll find your own gift, and then if you aren't afraid to go beyond your limits you'll change the world."

"Seriously? You really think you've found your calling already? Cause I don't see how a camera is going to get you far."

"Well, I have more than one calling." His grin grew even wider. "You'll always be my little brother. So I'll always be here to protect you."

My eyes widened and I shoved him away. "I don't need your protection! I can take care of myself!" I turned away. "Do whatever you want at home, I can't change that. But here, where I can actually just rest . . . just disappear for a while . . . go find some other way to waste your time. Let me have one place where I can choose how I want to be seen. Let me go."

"Vanitas . . . "

I dismissed the sadness. I mistook it for pity. "Go hang out with your artist wannabes. I don't care. I want you to leave me alone here."

He didn't say anything back to me. I felt his footsteps, heard him walk away. I didn't notice the single tear that fell from my face as I walked in the opposite direction. I blinked away at the memory. What did it mean? Why did I cry when I was the one pushing Roxas away? What was freaking wrong with me?

I found myself leaving the bed and walking to the mirage of pictures Roxas had of me on the floor. Different angles, different expressions, different perspectives . . . you never saw the same thing twice. I picked up one, trying to figure out why he connected them this way, try to understand his mind. He seemed to be searching for something. What did he want? Love? Acceptance?

I set the photo down, turning my attention to the floor. I breathed in through my nose slowly, trying to see it through his eyes. Every set of hair, every twitch in my lips, every set to my eyes, the gradations of yellow in between. The longer I stared the more things just . . . came to me. You can't describe feelings like this in words, you can only feel it, only sense it within yourself when you really focus. If you have a sibling you may understand what I'm getting at here.

I sighed. "You're still lost. But not physically. You know what happened, you know what led to your death yet . . . you're more confused than you ever were before." I let my tears flow, still staring at the pictures. "You want to understand, you have to understand . . . you love this person so much. Without that person you . . . you don't know what would have happened to you. You don't know where you would be now."

My voice was shaking so bad. I paused, focused on my breathing for a few minutes, then continued. "You've been given the truth but you can't accept it. And . . . maybe you never will." I sniffed, then brought a hand to my nose, blocking it. I smelled blood. My eyes shot to the corner of the room and there he was. His eyes were hiding under his bangs as he leaned against the wall, hands placed as if he were pushing an opposite force on the other side. I saw the blood tears fall from his blue cheeks.

I didn't know what to say. The thought of his name leaving my mouth filled me up with so much self-resentment a part of me relished in the fact that I would have to suffer more. Everything else was too numb to deal with it all. Roxas stepped away from the wall, now standing straight in front of me. I thought I had seen every possible combination for my brother's expression those past few days, but he surprised me yet again. I could barely see his eyes, the blue almost faded into the whites while his pupils had changed from black to grey. His clothing was ragged and torn, as if he had been trampled over repeatedly by a bear. His full lips were bluer than his skin and pressed firmly together.

Standing that close to him, I could see through the angry mask he normally put on. Stare at him long enough and you would realize the anger was an escape, a way to lie. The anxious energy he gave off was almost palpable. I couldn't take it anymore. "What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to speak. "It's not enough."

"What?" I cried out when he struck me in the chest with his palm. I slammed into the bottom of the bedframe, gasping from rough contact with the wood. My legs shook from the impact and my back caved in, turning my body into a pitiful ball. I pressed my knees against my chest, still slightly in shock, as he walked closer to me.

He leaned down in front of me, staring at me but at the same time not. His pupils weren't moving. "She says I'm being too soft." He brought a hand up to my face, shielding my eyes. "I only have one day left."

I didn't get a chance to respond back. I twitched when he pulled his hand back. Everything looked purple for a split second before my sight returned back to normal. Except, it wasn't normal. My wooden floor had transformed into a sea of swarming pythons. What the hell? I crawled backwards only to push my hand right into the mouth of one of the snakes. I felt the fangs pierce my wrist and I screamed. My legs were forced to remain put as another large snake curled simultaneously in between my legs. I felt the same thing happening to my left arm while venom seeped in from the snake bite on my right wrist. The poison burned through my arm, up to my neck and my chest. What in the hell is this? I'm not afraid of snakes, I've never been attacked by a snake! What memory is he pulling this from?!

"They're not your memories." Roxas was standing on one of the snakes heads in the entangled, moving mass that had replaced my floor. He slowly brought out something from his pants, a thin looking black belt. He closed his eyes as he pulled it out in front of me, making it snap. "These images are from my own nightmares."

"I didn't say anything," I said weakly, feeling the poison slowly rip at the veins in my legs. I could still feel the snakes moving underneath me, oily scales brushing against my back. My chest was bare, my shirt had disappeared. "I'm . . . still awake, right? This isn't real."

Roxas snapped the belt at me in one fluid, tight motion. A narrow, red line formed on my chest where he hit me. Pain flared along the red skin and I tried to control my breathing as one of the snakes slid along my stomach, licking at my wound. "R-Roxas, please . . . tell me this isn't real." I knew it wasn't real, but the scales rubbing against my back were rough and coarse. The fangs still digging into my wrist hurt. My legs felt like overcooked noodles waiting to burst from how tightly the snake's body was wrapped along my thighs and ankles. "Roxas . . . "

The brunt of the belt was his response. He struck me in the same spot over and over. The blood was flowing freely now, and every time he would stop for a few seconds allowing the snakes to feast on my bruised flesh. I couldn't move, couldn't lift a single muscle because of the venom coursing through my veins. It didn't numb the pain. Every cut, every little scratch from a snake's fang, ever line of stripped flesh and splurting blood . . .

All I could do was watch. I barely had enough energy to speak. Finally, the whipping came to an end but the snakes kept licking at my blood, draining me of everything. I blinked very slowly, almost ready to surrender to the poison, when his hand covered my eyes. The floor came rushing back and I gripped at the wood, curling my nails against it. I stared at my shirt, sniffing it for any traces of my blood. It was damp with sweat, but otherwise nothing red soiled it.

Roxas rested his hand over my heart and frowned. "Huh . . . it's back to its normal rate." He shook his head. "I'll need to try something else."

He brought his hands to my eyes again, immediately cutting off all attempts of me talking back. And it continued, the visions continued well into the crack of dawn and beyond. I can't tell you the exact number, I would never be able to remember such a concrete detail within all the chaos. But . . . if you really want to guess for yourself, I'll just say that I lost count after 50 . . . and that was in the first hour.

"Roxas . . . Roxas?" My voice was hoarse from all the screaming. "Roxas?"

"What?"

"Roxas . . . do you hate me now?" I was staring at the ceiling, laying on the floor. "I would hate me."

" . . . you asked me that five minutes ago."

"Five minutes ago you were cutting me in half with a chainsaw," I said this, chuckling darkly. "I want to hear you say it."

"I'm not going to change my answer no matter how many times you keep asking."

"Hmmmm . . . I'm still dreaming then . . . or having another vision. If you were really here you would have told me."

"Vanitas . . . this isn't a dream."

"Why does everything look blue then, huh?"

"Blue?"

"Yes, like your eyes. Blue, pale blue. Everything . . . the ceiling, the wall, my bed . . . you."

"Just close your eyes."

"No. I deserve to see everything. I need to see everything."

"Right . . . "

"Roxas . . . you hate me don't you?"

"No."

"I hate me. It's all me, you know? Maybe you should kill me." I laughed.

"You know I can't do that."

I reached for his arm, gripping it. He gasped, looking at me in shock, as if he didn't expect my hand to connect with his skin. I smirked playfully at him. "You've broken the rules before. You can do it again."

He frowned at me before sighing. His eyes looked wary. "You don't know what you're saying."

I gripped his wrist even harder. He winced and I laughed. "You're still holding back, Roxas. Why are you holding back?"

Roxas' expression had morphed from confusion to frightened in a millisecond. I gripped him harder than took his other wrist, pinning him to the ground. "You're such an idiot." I slipped my hand into my pocket and all of a sudden a hot, steaming piece of metal was melting into my hand, forming into a pistol. I didn't even feel any pain as my skin burned with it's weight. I lifted it towards his chest. "Say that you hate me, Roxas."

"I don't." He shook, staring at my gun before closing his eyes. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you."

I shot him once in the arm. He screamed. "Wrong. Try again." My smile widened. "Roxas, you hate me don't you?"

He groaned through his pain, coughing out a response. "Vanitas . . . please . . . "

"Say it!" I shot his other arm. "Say the truth!"

"I'm not lying!" A slow puddle of blood formed under his arms.

"Just giving me more reasons to shoot you, huh?" I shot him two times in each arm. Each pop of a bullet blasted his blood in my face. "You get two more chances."

"Vanitas . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . I failed you . . . "

I sighed then aimed the gun directly at his forehead. "One more chance."

"Please . . . forgive me. I should have tried harder, I should have been a better brother." He closed his eyes. "My love for you . . . it wasn't enough."

My hands shook with the gun but my voice was firm and clear. "No. It wasn't." I pulled the trigger.

"NO!"

"Vanitas!"

"He needs a doctor!"

"Stop! It was enough! I wasn't enough! Kill me, kill me already!"

"He's scratching up his hand like crazy! Hold him down, I'm getting the medicine."

"Honey, are you sure? Just look at his skin. My baby boy is so pale, so thin . . . he needs help."

"God, the blood! Stop bleeding! Stop bleeding, stop bleeding!"

"What on Earth is he going on about?"

"We . . . we shouldn't have told him. We should have kept it a secret."

"He wanted to know . . . needed to know. Roxas' spirit is probably restless. We've done a horrible job coping. Just look at him. This is the result."

"Please . . . please don't die. So sorry, I'm so sorry. Please . . . God, please . . . "

"Wake him up."

"I'm doing all I can, he keeps shoving me away. He won't stop scratching his arm!"

"Let go of him. I'm getting a bucket."

"Roxas, come back! Come back, I didn't mean it! Take me! Somebody take me and bring him back!"

"You ready for this?"

"We can't . . . we can't wake him up that way."

"A little cold water isn't going to hurt him."

"I hope you're right. Honey, look at his face . . . I've never seen him this distressed."

"First thing tomorrow I'm calling the counselor. You can bet on that. Hell, we all need counseling."

"Oh dear . . . he's waking up. Vanitas, oh Vanitas . . . "

"Stop crying, boy. We're here."

"Mom, Mom I killed him."

"Shhh, it's okay. You were having a nightmare."

"I killed him. Mom . . . I killed him."

"Son, you've done nothing wrong. You look like you could use something warm. It's freezing in here. From now on close the windows."

"No, Dad, you're not listening! I. Killed. Him!"

"Oh my . . . he's delusional. How much did you show him?"

"It was only one tape! He was not freaking out this badly before."

"You guys aren't listening! Stop hugging me, I'm telling the truth!"

"When can the counselor get here?"

"Going to be another four hours. Takes forever on such short notice."

"Mom . . . Dad . . . "

"I guess I'll take that. We need to talk about this more."

" . . . killed him. I'm sorry . . . so sorry . . . "

"It's okay, son. Just rest. Cover him up. I'm going to close the windows."

"I'll get the medicine. He really is burning up. I haven't seen a fever like this in years."

"Huh, the windows are closed. Is the heater on?"

"Sorry, so sorry. Roxas . . . I'm so sorry."

"Shhhh, sleep."

"It's all over. Hear that, boy? The dream is over."

His voice woke me up. After being doped on medicine and force fed soup I could barely muster enough energy to sit up. All I could do was lay there and turn my head towards the window. Roxas, back facing me, was staring at the wall. Talking, gesturing. I stared, trying to focus on his words.

" . . . can't do this. I can't keep doing this, Axel." His voice cracked at the end. Vulnerable. Unstable. "I just can't. His eyes, his face . . . it's killing me."

I blinked slowly and something flickered in the corner of my vision. I could barely make it out, another translucent form sitting against the wall. It was a man, that's all I could tell. His voice was quiet, almost incoherent. "Roxas . . . it's just ten more hours. You'll be done, you can leave."

Roxas stiffened. "He can't . . . he can barely differentiate between what's real and what's fake. Axel, even with the temporary blindness I can still hear his screams, here the changes in his voice. Feel him shake and twitch in pain. I'm hurting him."

"It's phantom pain, right? He'll be fine."

"Physically. Mentally? Axel, I'm no better than him." He was shaking now. "I can't keep doing this. If I hear him scream again . . . I don't know what I'm going to do. That scream . . . I'd rather shoot myself over and over and over. Axel . . . I can't."

"You can't disobey the reaper. Come on, Roxas, you've already extended the punishment. She wouldn't just kill him. His soul would be in eternal darkness for years. No essence can survive in that pit."

"Axel . . . he's changing, I can feel it. Sometimes it's like I'm not even in control of the vision anymore. Sometimes it changes, sometimes he injects things in himself. My parents heard him scream, now they're bringing over a specialist. You know that always makes the process worse!"

"He set himself up for this." I could vaguely make out the apparition shrugging. "He just has to deal."

"He's seeing things, Axel. He saw what I did to Namine. He shouldn't be able to do that. If he keeps gaining abilities like this . . . then the pit won't be his final destination."

The apparition was coming in clearer. Every time I blinked I saw something new. Red spiky hair flowing back, ending at the base of his spine. His eyes were a pale green, filled with resolution and sadness. His clothing and attire looked normal . . . except for the sword sticking out of his chest. "Well, you'll just need to keep a better eye on him. Also, you need to get the parents out of this. They'll only mess it up."

I slowly sat up while Roxas continued to speak his doubts. I met eyes with Axel. His eyes widened and I jumped out of bed, running for the door. I barely registered my name before slamming the door shut, skipping steps as I made a beeline for the front door. Roxas appeared in front of me and I shifted my footing, feet angled to the right. His hand barely caught my shirt collar before I tripped in the living room, banging my head against the table.

"Fuck! His freaking eyes, man! He saw me!" Axel's shouting was muffled in my ears. I was too fascinated by the blood sliding down my face. "Why didn't you tell me his eyes were that color?! Do you know who he is?! Do you freaking know who has eyes like that?!"

I grunted, pushing against the ground. When I stared at the table it shimmered for a second, flashing yellow. I felt a small breeze send my hair in a disarray. I frowned, narrowing my eyes. The image was unclear but . . . it looked like . . . a child. A small child sitting on the table . . .

"Roxas?! Roxas, are you listening to me?"

I turned around fully, right eye twitching as the blood dripped beside it. Roxas's eyes were opened wide in terror and he just stared at me, completely frozen in shock. He mouthed a word, his lips forming the shape I recognized to make a 'V' sound. But it wasn't my name.

Axel rolled his eyes before walking toward me, hoisting me up. I didn't flinch at the coldness of his skin, nor at the fact that he was solid now and able to carry me. He snapped his fingers in Roxas' face, waking him up from his trance. "Get ready. We're going to see the reaper. Now."

More blood fell into my eye, so I kept my right eye shut. I blinked slowly with the other one, feeling my brain slowly shut down. I was going to pass out. "The . . . reaper?"

"Yeah. Pray to the stars, kid, cause she's not going to be happy to see you." He shifted my weight forward, carrying me bridal style. "Your family really loves making a mess of things."

"The reaper . . . " I frowned. "Why? My . . . punishment . . . isn't over."

"Oh, that won't matter anymore." He tilted his head towards the table. "There's a spirit stuck in that table. Seems like you woke it up."

I opened my mouth, about to say the name when Axel covered it. "Don't say his name. It would be a bad omen."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

Axel sighed, waiting for Roxas to walk closer to him before glaring at the wall. A ring of fire appeared in thin air in front of the door, bright enough that I had to close my eye. "All will be explained later, kid. First, we need to get you through the underworld."

"Then . . . then we'll see the reaper?"

"We'll see the reaper . . . and your biological father." Without hesitating, Axel ran into the circle of flames, taking me away from the house and everything I knew to be real, to be true. Too many cracks had formed for me that day and I welcomed the sleep that came with the crash of my brain, my senses. The only thing I could sense before blacking out was the soft breeze, a soft comfort before I fell completely.

Long. Chapter.

The next one should be less lengthy (and you'll finally see the reaper, sheesh). This one was strange for me. The scene I had originally planned to have (and the one I had been actually getting excited for since chapter 5 or so) ended up getting cut out while two other scenes, scratch that, THREE other scenes were added in instead. 40% is Roxas' fault, everything else was planned but came out longer than expected.

Yep. Aren't you all glad I split this from the last chapter?

Anyway, thank you everyone for your reviews and critiques. Hearing your feedback really means a lot to me. Hope you're all having a great weekend!

Get psyched for the ending, there's only a few chapters left.

Justice T.