"Sad but True"
He's there, watching me, door open as we lock eyes. So close. Who moves first? The Colt dragging down my belt. Cold steel pressing against me. Do I go for it? Can I hit him from here? Too many variables. Low sights, low light, have to get through the windshield, can't plan for deflection. No. Wait for him to move.
Phone ringing. Not now, can't pick up, call me back if I'm still alive. Sirens closing in. Someone heard the shotgun. Not surprising.
Slightest twitch and we both set off. Engine sputters and kicks to life.
His tires squeal and he flies backward on to the street.
First gear, floor it. Can't hear a thing, forced back. Not getting away this time. Too angry, too much adrenaline flooding the system.
Just miss him, brake and gas as the ass of the Judge slips around on the pavement. Engine roaring as I bear down on him, no time for him to turn around. Next gear, the Endura bumper smashing against the grill of his car. He swerves, tires squealing as he spins out of control before darting through the opening.
Handbrake, momentum forcing me into the door, can't hear a thing besides horns and the angry roar. Not getting away, he's mine.
His car is modern, better tires, better suspension, better cornering. That's his hope as he dips down one street to the other, that I can't keep up. He's wrong. Flipping through gears as we weave through traffic, ramming into his rear end over and over. Bad weather, late-night, light traffic. Open streets, perfect for the big-block V8 to stretch its old legs once again. Car is ever more eager, surging forward faster and faster. Bumping, grinding, trading paint. I can see him, head whipping around over and over, terror on his face. Scared. Good.
He weaves through a small gap, cars on both sides, have to slow to follow. Doesn't matter. He darts through an intersection, cars both ways. Have to follow. Bad idea. Sudden blackness.
Warm air and the smell of smoke. Where am I? Same clothes, same scars, same me, but something is off. I can't place it. A sense of vertigo in every direction like I'm floating. Yet I'm standing in a dark hallway. Can't see more than a few feet, one light flickering dimly overhead. Another in the distance. Could be miles from here. Could be ten feet. It changes, shifting closer and further. A bright beckoning light. What is it? Maybe a way out?
I start walking, but I'm not moving. Light shifts again and again, walls form, nasty yellow color, dirty grey floor, blinking lights, a door at the end. Paint chipped away and dented. Scuff marks and scratches all around the lock. Familiar. Dirty footprints on the door, the faint whiff of alcohol. I know this door. It's my door, it's where I grew up. It's the door I snuck through so many times. So many nights of listening to Mom scratch away as her drunken hands tried to get the key in the lock.
Low light and heavy smoke floating throughout the air, the hallway falling away as the door opens, cold winds blowing at my back as I step inside. The same room as it always was. The same dingy walls and dim light, the nasty air and the ratty furniture. It's all intact, nothing like the last time I saw it. Like when I had my fit of anger and tried to tear down everything in sight. Carly included.
"You finally made it!" a voice calls cheerfully. Young, full of energy, but something sinister hiding in it. "I really wasn't sure what would happen first," it continues from the armchair facing away from the door, "You coming here or painting the walls with gray matter. Sit down, sit down, we need to talk." A girl looks around the high back of the chair. A round face, blonde curls, big blue eyes. It… it's me.
"What…"
"Don't act like you don't know who I am, we've been fighting long enough." She hops out of the chair, all youthful energy as she swings her arms and snaps her fingers.
"The voice? What is this?"
She sighs and tilts her head back. "I'll give you three guesses"
"Are we in my head?" No, or yes, but this isn't right. Flashes of memory, old thoughts springing up out of the dirt and slamming to the front of my head. This isn't the first time this has happened. But…
"Got it in one. And you're right, this time is different." She hurries behind me and ushers me to the old couch, a lit cigarette sitting on the coffee table, burning off the varnish and charring a small circle on the wood.
So, she can still hear what I'm thinking. I guess that makes sense.
"Way more than you know. I'm being rude, let's try and keep this verbal. I'm not sure you could take the mental sparring I was expecting."
"Why am I here?" The window is dark: no streetlights, no passing cars, just inky blackness.
"This time or just in general? Because those are different answers."
"Both. What do you want from me?"
"Well, you flipped the fucking car—great job on that one—as for in general: you are batshit insane and this was the only way to get you to really talk to me. No more whispering, no more heavy meds, none of that—just you and, well, you."
"Car? Percy… I need to get out of here, I need to keep moving!" I bolt to the door, throwing it open and rushing through, just to face the same room.
"Okay, you seem to be missing a basic premise here. This isn't real, we are in your head, and this doesn't end until we have a good, long, talk."
"I don't have time for this."
"Actually, at the moment, we are bound and gagged in the trunk of a car. We have plenty of time. So, sit down, I insist." She gestures to the empty seat.
The world flips on its side, all sense of gravity spinning around and around and I fall straight into the old couch.
"You want to hear a story?" she asks as she leans forward and grabs the burning cigarette and takes a long drag. "My story?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"It is your head." She leans back in a puff of smoke, stretching arms and legs.
"That I can't leave…"
"Look who's catching up." She tosses the cigarette away and blows the smoke out her nose.
"What are you?"
"I'm getting there, but first, we need to take this back a ways."
That sense of rushing gravity, spinning reality and the sudden rush of cold air and the sound of helicopter blades. Right in front of me is the bay of a Venom, the crew huddled over a stretcher and Tanner off to the side. Last time I checked, helicopters didn't have couches in the crew bays.
"This is about where I started to come about. Not when I came to be, so to speak, I've always been a part of you, being a chunk of your brain and all, but when I was kicked out. You see, you weren't unconscious after the grenade. You didn't blackout and wake up in that hospital bed." The crew shifts and lying meekly on the floor, clothes cutaway and leaking blood from a dozen holes, one hand swatting around, is me. "You, or rather, I, was awake. I felt every single second. I remember all of it. I remember the chatter as they worked, I remember calling out for John, and Tanner just staring at me. Every second was excruciating. Halfway there, I did blackout. The pain was overwhelming. I know you can remember that part, at least part of it, because, around the time I was fighting to keep us alive, you were having some sort of psychotic break. That's where I really come in." The helicopter melts away to an operating room, doctors and nurses all moving about as they try to keep me stable as I kick and scream. They jump back as I manage to roll off the table, blood gushing as I tear open bandages and stitches.
"I don't remember any of this."
"I know. It's my job to keep you from remembering. The human brain is very resilient. One of the ways it deals with extreme stress is to break chunks off, hide them away so that you don't go insane. The brain can take a lot, but it has a limit. It's my job to make sure you stay sane."
The world drips back, colors melting from one to another as the small, smoky room forms back around me. Us.
"Like some personality disorder? Like you are just some chemical imbalance that could be wiped away with a few naps on a quacks couch?"
"Look everybody, she's getting it! I couldn't tell you what the hell it's called, seeing as how you don't know, but yeah, something like that." She's all smiles and finger guns. Sarcasm and snark made form.
"It really doesn't feel that way, what with you whispering for me to kill myself and all that."
"Kill yourself? No, I don't think so. I don't want you dead."
"For my sake or yours?"
"One and the same." She leans her head back in the chair, eyes closed and breathing deeply. "Do you really feel any guilt over anything you've done?"
"What?"
"Answer me."
"Of course I do. I've done terrible things."
"You don't sound so sure. Do you know why? Let's try this." Room spins, the smoky air clearing and the scenery changing again. "How well do you remember this? I mean, clearly you do, but what do you feel?"
That dusty room with the covered windows. The shouts and screams of a broken mother. A man in gear writhing around on the floor, groaning and trying to stop the blood, and me, standing there, covered in blood with a great big kitchen knife in my hand, huffing and puffing and staring blankly at the boy on the floor. The day I felt I died.
"I don't want to see this," I let out without much force.
"Oh? But this is a big moment for you. This was the moment you decided what you were going to be."
"No."
"This was when you realized that killing wasn't so hard. That you could stomach it."
"I remember crying myself to sleep and puking at the thought of it," I say with a vile tone. I can't let this be real. I do regret my life, the things I've done.
"Was that because you felt guilty for doing it, or guilty for how easy it was?"
"Easy?" I stand and shove a finger in her face. "You think this was easy for me?"
She isn't intimidated in the least. Doesn't care. "Do I really need to bring up the ones you enjoyed? Those times where you took pleasure in what you did?"
I know what she means. I know what she's talking about. But I don't…
Dirty room, dim light, knife in my hand and the wails of the man in front of me as he clenches fists with missing fingers. Pain surges in the back of my skull and I almost collapse.
"What about the rush? The most alive you have ever felt. That sensation you've been itching for ever since. That rush of adrenaline. That sense of action, of knowing you're in your element. Your purpose."
Flickering orange light dancing behind me. The smell of burning wood and paint.
"What do you want from me? What are you?"
"I'm you, Sam. I'm that driving force you had, I'm your ability to swallow your fear and get the job done. I'm your instincts, I'm your desires, your basic sense of reality. I'm what kept you going through all those hard times and what kept you sane. I'm the reason you've been wandering aimlessly since you woke up in that hospital. I'm your sense of purpose. I'm you. And what I want? I want you to let me back in."
Heat on my back, flames dancing on the edge of my vision.
"How?"
"You have to accept what you are. What we are."
A wave of heat, a flash of light, pain searing in every inch, and an all filling cold.
A small clearing, trees all around, the ground wet, illuminated by headlights in the distance. Voices chatting back and forth, feet not far away. Smell of freshly moved earth and mud.
"Seriously, how bad can she be?" a man asks. Boston accent. Far from home.
"Both of my brothers are in the hospital. Just found out Arnie lost his damn foot. Danny still hasn't woke up." A woman's voice, husky, deep. Seething anger.
My hands are bound. Zip-tie. Can move my fingers. Good. Shivering, cold seeping in my side. Not good.
"Shit. Didn't know, sorry."
Hard to breathe, jaw clenched. Tape over my mouth. Don't want me screaming. Bound and gagged in the woods. Sounds of a shovel. Going to bury me out here.
The woman mutters to herself between shovelfuls of dirt landing nearby.
"Heard she was some tough shit Marine or something. Didn't think it was anything to worry about. Not the first vet to stick their nose where it doesn't belong. Guess I was wrong," Boston adds.
"Will you shut up?"
"I mean, Percy must really hate this bitch to have us out here in the fucking cold to dig a grave. Why couldn't this wait until tomorrow? Why didn't he wait for us to get there before starting shit?"
"Us? You ain't done shit the whole time but stand there and run your fucking mouth. Besides, he says dig, we dig. Well, I dig."
"He told me to watch her, I'm watching her."
"Oh, you're watching her. Yeah. Hey, tell me, were you watching the body in Salt Lake when his buddy jumped us? Or that time in El Paso? Oh, I know, were you watching that incredibly suspicious and not at all sluty coat check girl in Kansas City while I had to drag that guys corpse out a second-floor window and out of a dumpster to the car?"
"It's not my fault your whole family is built like fucking gorillas." The shovel stops, grunts of effort as she climbs out of the hole. How deep is it? "What do you think he's talking about?"
Footsteps from another direction. "How about you leave my business alone and do what I asked you to do. How long has she been awake?" Percy. Son of a bitch. Plastic digging in my wrists as I try to get free.
"What? She's… shit. Look at that. Wow, that's a look."
"Pick her up." Rough hands digging into my arms, dragging me to my knees. "Thank you." He stands in front of me. Right there. Arms reach if my hands were free. So close. A shining aura from the headlights as he rips off the tape from my mouth. "I have to say, Sammy, I really didn't have high hopes for you. Really. You see, I've been around the block a few times. Enough to figure what people are made of with just a little time watching. And you?" He kneels down, fingers digging into my scalp he holds my head up. "I could have sworn you were all washed up. The way you've been floating around has been painful to watch. I couldn't stop thinking to myself: this is her; this is the girl that Carmine tossed me aside for. That can't be. There isn't any way. Look at her, crying over gravestones and moping around like she's already dead." He stands and steps back, arms wide. "I mean, it was heartbreaking. He really tossed me aside for you just because his whore of a sister pumped you out?" The back of his hand connecting with my cheek in a loud smack. "But look at you now. Look at your drive and determination. Look how hard you fought your helpless fight. And there it is, that fire in your eyes. I see it now; I see what Carmine saw in you. All the rage and potential bursting forth. And I have to say, I'm a little proud myself. Too bad I'm the one that's going to walk away from this. I'm sure my dad would've held up his end of the deal. He'll tell me to back off, let this go. Come morning it's all over. What's done is done. No more fighting or killing or revenge. It really is inspired." His shoe landing in my gut, arms letting me free to drop my head, coughing. "But I don't think I will. Too many things to do still. And I really have been meaning to have a drink with that little girlfriend of yours. Now that she's single that is. Oh, I almost forgot, she left you a message." He pulls my phone from his pocket. "Really should lock this thing."
A moment passes and Carly's voice fills the clearing.
"Hey. I know things are a little weird right now, and I'm sorry for calling you so many times. And I get that you want some space while you figure things out and that you can't stay. I get that, I want to do the same. But we don't have to avoid each other. I… I love you, Sam. I know I do. I just don't know if it's in a healthy way yet. I want us to be sure that we want this to happen. That we actually want to be together before we commit to anything. And I think I do. I really do. The last week has been amazing. I almost forgot what it was like to just… be, you know? No bigger worries. No deadlines or projects. Just doing what makes me happy. And being with you was that thing. God, I'm rambling. Sorry. So… so when you are ready to talk, when you want to sit down and figure us out the right way, I'll be ready. If you want to see me before you go, Mel and I are taking some of my stuff to Spencer's. I think we'd all love a real goodbye this time."
"Isn't that just the sweetest thing you guys have heard? It sounds like you really could have had a run at things. Not now, mind you. Now it'll just be another disappearing act. You up and left town, no farewells to her or your sister. Cut and dry, broken hearts. And there I'll be, the concerned friend of yours that heard what happened and wants to see if the family needs anything. Shoulder to cry on. And we all know where that goes. Then I'll do the same thing to your sister. Although, it would be a little weird to be seeing your face. Hell, maybe that'll make it more exciting.
"You want to hear the truth? I almost imagined what it would be like to work with you. Almost. The two of us, Carmine's protégées, out there, tearing it up together. We'd be unstoppable. We'd go through Carmine's little blue book and take out every single one of them and watch as the Family took over everything. What a dream. Sadly, you just didn't have the guts for this life. You don't have it in you to do what needs to be done. If you did, Damien and Paul wouldn't be heading off with the cops. You wouldn't be down there, weak and pathetic. All the people that have come at you, and not one is dead. Breaks the heart," he says as he reaches into his waistband. Blue steel following his hand out. The Colt. "But that's how it is. Always someone bigger, someone stronger, faster, smarter. Someone with more resolve. Someone that can do what needs to be done. Always someone better. And not to toot my own horn here…" he cocks the hammer and presses the barrel into my forehead. "But you sure ain't me. Last words?"
"Well? Is this it? Is this where you finally give up and embrace your failure to the utmost? After all your blustering, all the posturing and fighting, all the reasons and instincts you've had all these years? Are you going to let him go after Carly and Mel? I don't think he'll stop at a nice date. No, he's worse than that. He'll take and take and take. Because that's what he is, a parasite. Not strong enough to stand on his own, hiding behind daddy. So, is this where we end? Or are you going to fight? Thrash back, rail against the cage. Show them what you are, what you really are. You are the shark, the bear, the spider. You are the predator that feeds on little shits like him. You are the thing they make stories about, a nightmare given shape."
"You win." Feeble voice from my lips, broken acceptance and defeated resignation twisting around.
"No, we win. Now, show that filthy bottom feeder what he wishes he was. Show him the monster you were born to be."
"What was that?" He pulls the barrel back. "I really do want to hear what you have to say, for posterities sake. This really is something I have waited a long fucking time for."
Sudden rush of air in my lungs, heart thumping more and more rapidly, blood flowing heavily to tense muscles, a strength I had long forgotten rising up like an old one from his slumber. Is this me? This heavy rush, this lust for violence? The need to fight. Body aching from the crash and the cold, my addled mind lapping up the sensation like it was water in the desert.
Yes, this is me. This is what I always loved, what I always buried. A singular unified vision of what to do.
"You think Carmine turned his back on you, left you in the cold because of me?"
He lets the gun fall, scoffing and grinning.
"No, he left because you were a failure. He left because you were a disappointment. I don't have what it takes? No, you never understood what he wanted to teach you. There's more than just blood and violence to taking someone down. Something more important than ability or motive. Something you never had in all your years of trying to be tough." I can't feel the cold. No pain, no fear. No hesitation. Just a long forgotten sense of self. Shifting my weight back to look up at him and get my feet under me. Straight line from the crown of my skull to my tailbone.
He leans in, looking down with eyes narrow and nostrils flared. "And what would that be?"
I shoot up like a rocket, hard impact of bone on bone, skull smashing nose and teeth. Burst of warmth in my hair. I slam my arms against my sides, the zip-tie breaking away. Spin around, Boston digging into his coat, eyes wide over a long beard. I dart forward, collar and beard in my hands as I yank him towards the hole. Air knocked out of me as a massive force throws me to the ground. Big girl, foot taller and much thicker, hesitates when Boston yelps and falls into the grave. She looks back, huffing and glaring. Can't win that grapple, don't need too. Shovel close enough. Heavy footfalls before the spade cracks against her skull and she topples over.
Groan and grunts as Percy stumbles to his feet, one hand trying to stop the furious tide from his broken nose, other hand trying to raise the Colt. Quick steps and metal against metal as the gun soars through the air, spade clanging in my hands.
Shouts and the crack of a pistol from Boston, half out the hole. As much force as I can to send the spade twirling out of my hands at him, head dropping as it cracks against his skull. Big girl rumbles to life, blood pouring from the cut at her temple. Roar bellowing from her as she charges. Nope. I dive away, scrambling on hands and knees to the spade. Another roar, a furious animal full of rage and adrenaline charging in for the kill. I spin around, spade held like a pike and thrust into the rolling force. Almost miss, half the spade lands, sliding in where the neck meets the collar. Impact rattles my hands, metal bouncing off bone in a gory flash of crimson. All the force and speed melts away as she takes two slogging steps past me, hands gripping furiously at the wound. Too slippery, too much blood. Just a gurgle as she goes limp.
A shout and a crack, stinging in my inner thigh. Pure instinct as I twirl and swing the spade like an axe straight down on the top of Boston's skull, splitting it to the teeth, wide eyes unblinking in either side, primal roar from my lungs.
Heavy breathing. Chest heaving. Heart thumping in my ears. Not done yet. Percy.
I turn and stop, his face inches away, a sudden pressure in my gut. Once, twice, a third time before he shoves me back. I look down and sticking out of my gut is a knife, my knife. First streams of blood coming from under the leather jacket. His knuckles slam against my jaw and I tumble. My knife. He got me with my knife.
"Jesus Christ. Look at what you did. Look at that. What the hell is wrong with you? I can't fit all three of you in that one fucking hole. And my fucking nose." His foot landing hard in my ribs as I try to get up. "I wasn't sure if I was going to kill your sister and your girlfriend. Now I have to, just on the principle of it." His foot landing again. An explosion of pain even adrenaline can't hide. Ribs shattering. "Well, at least that makes this next part all the sweeter. Guess it'll be karmic justice, killing you with his gun and all." He turns around, head tracking side to side as he searches.
I want to faint when my hand touches the hilt of the blade. I forgot how bad it can hurt. Didn't miss this part. I know taking the knife out just about guarantees my death. But I've never cared much for the odds. And I definitely don't care now that I can end this.
"There i—" he stops to scream when the tip of the blade smashes through the back of his knee. He falls away, blade sticking out both sides as he wails like a dying animal. Not far off.
It's a struggle to get to my feet. Hard to breathe, hard to think, let alone move. Climb on his chest. Fists landing one after the other. Teeth cutting knuckles. Wet cracks.
"Come on!" More fists. "You were supposed to be better! You talk big, and now you just give up from one little stab?" he can't answer. Can't see, probably can't hear. Boring. I stand and move for the Colt. "You spent your whole life thinking you were the big bad monster hiding under people's beds. I know you did. Just look at you. Had your own little crew, had that swagger, had that ego. But it wasn't yours." Blood running down my leg with each step. Heavy limp. Muscles shredded where that bullet grazed me. "You never were. No one cared about you. Cared about you with all your talk and sick fantasies." The Colt is heavy when I pick it up. Whole body slow and radiating pain as I check the cylinder. "Everyone ran from you because of your daddy. Everything you have was his. All your men, all your money and reputation. If you were anyone else, you would have been put down like the dog you are years ago."
His eyes wide as he looks up at me. Hands gripping his knee. He screams when I step on the blade.
"You want to know why I'm standing and you're not? What I have that you don't have? Why I'll always be the better killer? Well, you did all this because you think it's fun to play gangster. Because it lets you run from the reality of how much of a failure you are. I do it…" hammer cocked; barrel aimed straight at him. "Because it's who I am. What Carmine couldn't get through to you is that this isn't something you get, it's something you are born with. This curse. Well, I'm done running from it."
"You w—" His voice cuts out with the heavy bang from the magnum round. He looks down, gasping, wide-eyed, and gurgling, blood pouring from the ragged hole in this throat.
"You talk too much. By the way, the book was empty. All this was for nothing." I toss the Colt to his chest. It bounces off and hits the ground. I'm done here.
The journey a blur. Blood pulling in the seat below me as I weaved through traffic. Can hardly tell where I'm at, but I know where I'm going. Traffic, standstill a few blocks away. I'll walk.
I keep my eyes glued to the sidewalk. I need to see the ground, everything spinning. Every step a struggle. I need to see the old crack and lines. All the old stores and all the frightened feet moving away. It's not like I'm in danger. This is a nice part of town, upscale. This is where people live to pretend people like me don't exist. The worst that'll happen is someone will try to help, shout and yell for an ambulance, try and be a hero for a day. And I'll just shrug them off and keep shuffling. I don't care about their misguided sense of good. I don't want their help. Even if I wasn't here, if I was in a different part of town, I still wouldn't be in danger. I don't think anything could be a threat anymore. Can't scare the dying with death.
The sun is coming up, natural light mixing with the streetlamps and windows. Sometime around dawn. Don't know, don't care. Feels like I've been walking for hours. No watch, don't have the phone. Didn't grab it. Stupid move. Don't care at this point. Only want one person.
Life could have been good. The two of us together. Nice little place, cute rings and pretty dresses for the wedding. All the people we care about there, smiling and happy. All for the two of us. Everyone happy, like it used to be. Before I chose to fuck everything up.
Dirty boots next to mine as I stumble with a hand on the wall.
"You ready to come back?" His voice sends a shiver down my spine. Or maybe the last of the blood draining. It's John. He's right there in his utilities. All clean cut and so… real. "Been some time." He has his hands behind his back and his lips curled into a frown. "All that talk of what it could have been like and you get out and do this?"
"You were supposed to be better than this." New voice, joking tone. Bruce. No ragged clothes or hole in chest. No dirt or grime. Just him, the way he should be. "Can't believe you are fucking things up this bad."
"She can't help it, man. None of us could. One bad move is all it takes. Hell, we all make them." Kirk. No burning flesh, no smell of cooked meat. No screaming. Just him. Just all of them.
My feet slow, must be close. Either to the building or death, I can't tell until I look up. But they are there. All of them standing in front of me.
"I think you've done enough," John says.
"Yeah, you've been through a lot," Kirk adds.
"I think you could use some rest. You've earned it." Bruce's voice is so warm and kind.
"I failed you. I let you die." My voice is a harsh rasp. Not a lot of life left in me, I guess.
"Failed us?" Bruce snorts.
"You didn't fail anyone," Kirk says with such a reassuring tone.
"I seem to remember you fighting as hard as you could to get us out of there. I remember that speech you made in the convenience store. How you got us all to remember what we were. You were saving us, not failing us." John's hand on my shoulder. Can't look at him.
"It should be you all still alive."
"And deal with this shit? All this grief and guilt? Nah, that's your thing. It's all of us or none of us. Always was." That slight smile on his lips. The fire escape behind them. So close. So far.
Bruce's arm wraps around my shoulders. "So come on. You did your job. You got your sister to realize she still loves what's-his-face. Carly got out of that relationship she was trapped in. You helped people. You did it."
"And now," chimes Kirk, "I think it's time for a little get together where its all beer and babes for you idiots. Time for some quality peace and quiet."
That sounds great. It sounds like heaven. Just quiet. No more fighting or rage or pain. No more horrid sights. Just my friends, my brothers, and happiness.
"You really going to give up when you are so close? I thought I taught you better than that." New voice. So old and strange. Almost can't recognize it. "I didn't teach you to give up on the goddamn goal line."
The others back away and I stand. Carmine is there. He's right there. So many years away and there he is. All his aged determination and pride.
"No. No, you didn't."
"Damn straight. I taught you to do what you needed to do. I taught you to control yourself."
"Lot of good that did." Snark even in death. God, it really is a part of my genes.
"I know I failed you. And I'm sorry. I know this is my fault. But you handled it. You did what I could never do. You were always going to be better, and I'm sorry I didn't teach you to direct it better. But know you have one last chance to make things right. One last choice to make."
The others all step back and away. Carmine is there at the fire escape, waiting. I'll probably die halfway up.
"So? What is it you want?"
But there is no choice. The others all look at each other and smile.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" Bruce laughs as he says it.
"Yeah, we found our peace," Kirk says with a warm tone.
"I think it's time you found yours." John nods and they all step back and start to fade. They did their part. They aren't my guilt haunting me. They wouldn't want me to sit and sulk over them. Go and live a life worth living. Live one for them. That was the deal. And that's what I have to do.
"Oh, hey, if you see my wife could you…" but Kirk fades with the rest and my feet start to move.
It doesn't matter if I make the climb. It matters that I try.
"Puckett's are many things. We may be liars and cheats and stealers. We are gamblers and killers and idiots. But one thing we will never be is a goddamn quitter. So, are you done?" His voice fades too. Some fucking hallucination that was.
The sun starts to shine through the buildings. Warmth on my cold skin. And I'm not nervous. I might die real soon, and that's okay if I just see her one more time. That drive pushing me up the stairs. Wind lifting me higher as I get to their window. Unlocked. I told them a million times, and I'm glad they didn't listen.
The window gives a small sound and I'm in. it's not how I remember it. It's better. So warm and inviting. A struggle to drag my legs forward. I make it through the kitchen when they give out. A thud as I hit the floor. Tired. So tired, but I'm so close.
"Jesus Christ!" Mel shouts as she rolls me over. Must have been sleeping on the couch. "Oh god," she mutters with shock and horror on her face and blood on her hands. "Help!" she screams as loud as she can and shoves her hands at my wounds trying to save me.
"It's okay," I whisper.
"Get down here! Call someone!"
"Just let me see Carly."
"What?" She doesn't take time to figure out what I said, she just starts shouting things to someone else.
"Carly…" my voice is just a croak. No wonder she can't hear me. "Where's…"
"I'm here, Sam. I'm here. What happened? What's happening?"
I just smile. It's all I have to reach my finger up to her cheek, little red streaks left behind. "I love you. Always have, always will."
Tears are streaming down her cheeks and she grabs my hand as it starts to fall. Nothing left.
"I love you too. Dammit, you can't do this to me!" There is fear in her eyes. Anger too. Life. That's what it is.
"It's okay." I can't keep my damn eyes open. Dark, but warm all around. Open, dammit. There, she's there again, confusion and tears. I'm not done yet, dammit! I'm not done living. I'm not done being happy or done with Carly. Death is reaching his hand out and I swat it away. I'm not fucking done yet! "It's okay, Cupcake, I'm home."
