DISCLAIMER: not mine, k?
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I honestly thought this series was over, but I'm just in a sadistic mood. This is a sort of epilogue. It takes place about 14 years after .
Last Shot: Surviving
by kaydee falls
-----------------------
I don't know why I'm still in the church. It's late, and I'm completely worn out from the funeral. I should be home, I should be getting ready for bed, but I'm rooted to my spot here. I'm just so tired.
The moon glints through one crystal stained glass window, creating cold patterns on the hard wooden floor. I reach out a hand to touch the moonlight, and watch it play along my fingers. But I don't feel anything. I laugh to myself, softly, at my own silliness. It's only light, I remind myself. It has no substance.
Sometimes I feel like I have no substance, either, any more. I'm still relatively young, but some switch has turned off in me. I've lost the enthusiasm, the passion, that I once had. And I know why I've become such a living statue. I think the knowing is far worse than the lack of feeling.
I'm alone in the church tonight, for now at least. I glance at my watch.
December 24th, ten PM
Eastern Standard Time...
Mark's voice sings in my ear. Biting my lip, I try to block out the memories. But the contrasts are stark and impossible to ignore. Fifteen years ago today, we all met. Well, it was the first time all seven of us had been together. There were no shadows that criss-crossed our faces, like the shadows that dance around me now. We were all young, strong, and heart-wrenchingly alive. Fifteen years....
And now I'm alone. I'm the only one left. And that hurts.
* * * * *
We all drifted apart, not long after Mark's unexpected death. He really was the bond that kept us together, and once he was gone, there was nothing holding us. We floated away from each other like dry leaves, drifting mindlessly. Collins tried. He would always call us, try to arrange a get-together. On the year anniversary of Mark's death, we did come together for one last time. But by then, even Collins had realized that there was no point to it anymore, and stopped calling.
The pairs of lovers stayed together for a little longer, but then even they went their own ways. I remember the day I walked away from my relationship. Part of me hated myself for leaving, but another part felt nothing but relief that it was all over. Long periods of time would go by in which I had no word from any of the other four, and I know it was the same way for them. Contact resumed only for funerals, which could be years apart. At each funeral, there were fewer and fewer of us. And there was no way to go back.
Oh God, if I could only go back to that first Christmas Eve, fifteen long years ago. I would have done so many things differently. Angel's death was horrible yet natural, but Mark's could and should have been prevented. If he hadn't died, then maybe the rest of us would have remained close for all these years.
If he hadn't died then, I might not have been alone now.
But he did die. And so did everyone else.
* * * * *
Collins resumed contact with me a few months ago. We were the only ones left, then, and hadn't spoken once in the two years since the last death. When we met again, I just embraced him and cried. Then I asked him why he wanted to see me, after so long.
Because I think we should never have spent so much time apart, he said simply. I've been thinking, and I realized that I would have given anything to have been with the others while they were still alive. I would have died willingly ten years ago, if all that time had been spent together, through thick and thin. We shouldn't have let ourselves drift apart.
I know, I whispered. If I could have sat by their sides while they died, held their hands....
He smiled gently. It would have made us feel so much more...complete. Fulfilled. But it's too late for that, and I don't want to make the same mistake with you, now that we're alone.
But why the sudden urgency to make amends? I asked.
I'm dying, he replied quietly. Don't look so shocked; according to all laws of practicality, I should have been the first to go. I was the first one diagnosed with this disease, wasn't I? And people like Mark were never expected to die at all, not until reaching a ripe old age. But as it stands, it finally caught up to me, and I don't want to die alone.
I suddenly realized, if you had died....I never would have known. I never would have found out.
I know, he replied. And I couldn't do that to you.
How long do you have? I asked, afraid to hear the answer. Collins shrugged.
A week, a year, who knows? No more than a year. But I'm ready. I'm tired, he added, scarcely whispering. God, I'm just so tired.
For a while, his gradual loss of energy was almost unnoticeable. I saw him as often as I could, although we both held reasonably respectable jobs, at last. At least three times a week, we would meet for lunch, or dinner, or for a movie. I was not in love with him; I never had been. But he was a comfort to me, a constant reminder of the old days, and I think I comforted him as well, just by being there.
Two weeks ago, he took a turn for the worse. It didn't come as a surprise, but it still shook me. It angered me. I had lost him for so many years, but he had found me -- and now I was just going to lose him again. It wasn't fair, it was cruel. But there was nothing I could do except sit by his side and hold his hand.
Three nights ago, he spoke to me for the last time. He seemed distracted. I'm a little nervous, he said quietly. I don't know what kind of welcome I'm going to get.
I whispered, uncomprehending. Then realization dawned on me. Oh, Collins, they'll open their arms to you.
How can you be sure? he asked, frowning slightly. They might not have approved of me. I've done some selfish things, you know.
Nothing you did was ever selfish, I replied. And of course I'm sure. Digging back into the recesses of my memory, I quoted, I was in a tunnel, headed for this bright, white light. And I swear, Angel was there. And she looked good!'
He smiled. The near-death confessions of Mimi Marquez, he joked lightly. I'd forgotten.
This scared me. Collins always had an excellent memory. He could never have forgotten any mention of his beloved Angel. But I swallowed the cold panic threatening to rise in me, and forced a smile. Angel will be waiting for you, I told him. I'm positive about it.
That's good, he said sleepily. I miss her...
He closed his eyes. After a few long minutes, he opened them again. His eyes were strange. I don't know if he even saw me, or knew who he was addressing any more. You're the last one, he whispered. Don't you dare give up.
I tried to laugh. Are you kidding me? I lasted this long without any of y'all, I can keep going forever.
I'm serious, he said. For a while, I couldn't even be sure if any of you were still alive. I thought maybe I'd never find out. Maybe you were all dead. Sometimes I wanted to die, too. But then I remembered, I'm the survivor. For as long as I am able, I must only survive. That's all that matters, surviving.
I just nodded. I didn't know what to say.
You don't have to say anything, he murmured. Just go on living. Please....
And he was gone.
* * * * *
I open my eyes and realize that I'm kneeling in front of the altar, silent tears running down my face. Slowly I stand up. A startled voice behind me says, Who's there?
I turn to see the priest, Father Georges, standing there. When he recognizes me, he smiles. Oh, I'm sorry, he says. I didn't see you there. Normally I'm alone here at this hour.
I'm sorry to have scared you, I say, a little embarrassed. I just-- I was--
His smile is kind. I understand, he tells me. You were at the funeral earlier, weren't you? My condolences. Were you close to the deceased?
We were old friends, I reply, tiredly. Suddenly, I'm aware that I'm completely exhausted, and I stifle a yawn.
I don't suppose you're staying for Midnight Mass...? he questions. I shake my head. Ah, well, I didn't expect it. We don't see you here very often, but do realize that you are always welcome.
Thank you, I tell him. But I think I'm going to go home now.
Goodnight, then, he tells me. I turn and walk to the large double doors. Merry Christmas, Joanne! he calls after me.
Almost against my will, I smile. Merry Christmas, Father Georges, I reply, and step out into the bitter weather. Merry Christmas, Collins, I think to myself.
It's been fifteen years, and now I'm the only one left. But I'm surviving.
--------------------------
It's the series that wouldn't die! But I swear I'm done torturing them now. Feedback is what I live for. Be in the giving spirit, please?