Disclaimer: The 7th Heaven characters aren't mine. I'm just borrowing them to tell a story. Please don't sue. All non 7th Heaven characters belong to me.
I like dark fics. This story is going to be very dark. It is a sequel story, set after the events of my first 7th Heaven fic, Witness which is narrated by 18 year old Sam Camden, describing a few rough days of his life, and I really have to say you should read Witness before you attempt to read this story so you will know exactly what Sam did, or didn't do, and how he dealt with events that were out of his control…
Please don't flame me if you don't like this story. (Constructive feedback is totally different, and greatly appreciated) I'm telling you now so you can make the choice to read it and I hope you do. So here it is...It comes with a read at your own risk warning. Some material may not be suitable for all readers.
Please remember this is a work of fiction. All similarities to persons or events is purely coincidental. That said, it's time to begin.
Living
By Dark Inzanity (c) 2002
Chapter One
Glen Oak, California, 2017
I had noticed him around campus many times before because something about him reminded me of Sam. Something vague, something so small I couldn't even say what it was. It didn't matter what, just something about him always made me think of my brother, every time I saw him.
I didn't even know his name, though someone told me his name was Aubrie, and I thought that must be his last name because no one names little boys Aubrie anymore. But that's the name I heard people call him, when I was close enough to hear.
Aubrie, if that was his name, was taller than Sam and bigger all around. My brother was always a little guy, smaller than me, smaller than most kids our age, whatever age we happened to be. Mom used to say he would have a growth spurt one day, and maybe he would even grow taller than me. It never happened.
I followed Aubrie to the library because I happened to be going there, and he happened to be a few feet ahead of me on the sidewalk. Walking behind him really made me think about Sam, and I didn't want to think about Sam because there wasn't much point in thinking about Sam anymore.
Sam and I were twins, and we were so much younger than our five brothers and sisters that it was almost like we were only children in our family. We had that special twin bond, that silent communication thing, even a little bit of telepathy that no one else could even get close to. We looked out for each other, took care of each other, sometimes we even finished each other's thoughts.
And then one day Sam told me he was going away to school, some college in Texas. Halfway across the country. Too far for a weekend visit, and he didn't plan to come home until Christmas break anyway. He had his acceptance letter in his hand, and there was no talking him out of it. He didn't want to stay in Glen Oak, he didn't want to go to Crawford. He wanted to get out on his own and see the world, find out if he could make it on his own. Without me.
He had no idea how badly he hurt me. He couldn't have hurt me more if he had plunged a knife right into my heart. He was my brother, my twin brother, the only person in the world I felt I had any kind of connection to. He was my best friend, and quite literally my other half.
His decision left me feeling lost and alone and completely rejected. He didn't care, though, so why should I? At first, in the first weeks after he left, I refused to take his phone calls. Eventually he stopped calling. He called Mom once a week, every Sunday night, and I didn't even want her to tell me how he was or what he talked about. I tried to pretend I didn't have a twin.
By the time Sam came home, I had pretty well convinced myself I didn't care anymore. I felt like I didn't know him anymore, especially after I found out what he had done. Maybe I was wrong to walk out on him like I did, but I just wanted him to know how it felt, how I felt, when he walked out on me months before.
I should have known he needed me. I should have swallowed my pride and just stayed with him. I should have talked to him, or let him talk to me. He looked awful. He was pale, he had lost weight. He looked almost like a caricature of himself. His eyes were dull and glazed, hollow, like he was already dead.
I had no idea he was so desperate.
I don't think I could ever forget the sound of my mother's screams when she found him. I was in the back yard, talking to my girlfriend on the cell phone. I thought Sam was inside washing the dishes from dinner. I was just telling Jessie how I felt guilty about the way I treated Sam, because even though he hurt me, he was still my brother and I loved him and I hated feeling strained and distant with him. Jessie listened, and told me to go inside and talk to him, give him a chance to explain, and I said I would, after I told her I loved her. That's when the screaming started.
I told Jessie I had to go, and I would call her later. I rushed inside and followed the sound of Mom's screams to the bathroom upstairs. I thought maybe she had seen a snake or a mouse, something relatively harmless. I never expected to find my brother, my twin brother, in the bathtub with his wrists cut open.
I pulled him out of the water and wrapped towels around his wrists to try to stop the bleeding. We rushed him to the hospital, and with all their fancy technology they were able to keep him alive, but he had lost too much blood and there was no activity in his brain.
My brother was dead. Only his body remained, hooked up to machines that forced his heart to beat. One of the nurses told me he could linger on for years lie this, and it wouldn't matter. He would never wake up, because there was nothing in him to wake up.
Mom didn't want me to go back to school, to the store, or anywhere. Even when my other brothers and sisters started coming home for a few days, Mom didn't want me out of her sight. I finally convinced Lucy to help me sneak out, because I wanted to go to the library to research brain injury. I could have asked Matt or Sarah what they knew on the subject since they were both doctors, but I needed the excuse to get out of the house.
The air in the library was stifling, and I felt like everyone was watching me. I felt like the walls and the book shelves were closing in on me. I almost felt like I couldn't breathe.
I wondered how Sam felt, what he thought about, just before he did it. What did h think about after he did it, when he lay there bleeding, knowing he was about to die? I wanted to think he thought of me, even though I knew that was selfish.
Mom and I had the letters he had written for us, but it did little to explain why Sam did it, why he felt he had to leave this world and this life. I didn't really understand the trouble he was in, but surely it wasn't serious enough to die for, or they never would have let Mom bring him back to California. Privately I wondered if it was because I rejected him, though I would never voice that thought. But I knew it was possible, very possible.
Sam needed me, he always had. And I let him down just when he needed me most. I wouldn't talk to him, I couldn't even look him in the eye. He must have felt smaller than a mustard seed when I walked away from him, when I left him standing in the kitchen. I knew he wouldn't come out after me, but I never thought he would go upstairs and…and do what he did.
Suicide. Such an ugly word. Sam and I were raised to believe suicide was a sin. And he did it anyway.
"Hey, man," the guy who reminded me of Sam hovered over the table where I sat. "You mind if I sit here? This place is crowded today."
"Sure," I said softly. I wasn't in the mood for company, especially someone who reminded me of Sam, but I couldn't justify monopolizing an entire table.
"I won't boher you. I just wanted to say I heard about your brother, and I'm really sorry."
I just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, so it seemed best to say nothing. He had beautiful eyes. Dark, mysterious eyes. Eyes that seemed to be hiding a lot of anger and pain. I wondered what his story was, where he came from, how he ended up at Crawford, what he dreamed about.
I lowered my eyes. I didn't want to be obvious about staring.
We worked in silence, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming.
Eventually some guys approached the table and patted him on the back. They talked in polite whispers and I didn't even try to listen. I couldn't help but look up when he closed his book. "Some of us are heading over to Pete's to get some pizza. You want to come?"
"I shouldn't…"
"Sure you should. You need to get out. You need to remember to keep living. Come with us. Meet the guys."
"I don't even know you." It sounded so lame.
"I'm Aubrie. That's Mike and Joey and Carlos," he pointed to each of his friends.
I didn't really want to go. But I knew I would go crazy if I sat in the library leafing through medical journals much longer. "Okay. I'll go."
Feedback is always appreciated. Please use the Review option below and tell me your thoughts. Thanks a bunch.
I like dark fics. This story is going to be very dark. It is a sequel story, set after the events of my first 7th Heaven fic, Witness which is narrated by 18 year old Sam Camden, describing a few rough days of his life, and I really have to say you should read Witness before you attempt to read this story so you will know exactly what Sam did, or didn't do, and how he dealt with events that were out of his control…
Please don't flame me if you don't like this story. (Constructive feedback is totally different, and greatly appreciated) I'm telling you now so you can make the choice to read it and I hope you do. So here it is...It comes with a read at your own risk warning. Some material may not be suitable for all readers.
Please remember this is a work of fiction. All similarities to persons or events is purely coincidental. That said, it's time to begin.
Living
By Dark Inzanity (c) 2002
Chapter One
Glen Oak, California, 2017
I had noticed him around campus many times before because something about him reminded me of Sam. Something vague, something so small I couldn't even say what it was. It didn't matter what, just something about him always made me think of my brother, every time I saw him.
I didn't even know his name, though someone told me his name was Aubrie, and I thought that must be his last name because no one names little boys Aubrie anymore. But that's the name I heard people call him, when I was close enough to hear.
Aubrie, if that was his name, was taller than Sam and bigger all around. My brother was always a little guy, smaller than me, smaller than most kids our age, whatever age we happened to be. Mom used to say he would have a growth spurt one day, and maybe he would even grow taller than me. It never happened.
I followed Aubrie to the library because I happened to be going there, and he happened to be a few feet ahead of me on the sidewalk. Walking behind him really made me think about Sam, and I didn't want to think about Sam because there wasn't much point in thinking about Sam anymore.
Sam and I were twins, and we were so much younger than our five brothers and sisters that it was almost like we were only children in our family. We had that special twin bond, that silent communication thing, even a little bit of telepathy that no one else could even get close to. We looked out for each other, took care of each other, sometimes we even finished each other's thoughts.
And then one day Sam told me he was going away to school, some college in Texas. Halfway across the country. Too far for a weekend visit, and he didn't plan to come home until Christmas break anyway. He had his acceptance letter in his hand, and there was no talking him out of it. He didn't want to stay in Glen Oak, he didn't want to go to Crawford. He wanted to get out on his own and see the world, find out if he could make it on his own. Without me.
He had no idea how badly he hurt me. He couldn't have hurt me more if he had plunged a knife right into my heart. He was my brother, my twin brother, the only person in the world I felt I had any kind of connection to. He was my best friend, and quite literally my other half.
His decision left me feeling lost and alone and completely rejected. He didn't care, though, so why should I? At first, in the first weeks after he left, I refused to take his phone calls. Eventually he stopped calling. He called Mom once a week, every Sunday night, and I didn't even want her to tell me how he was or what he talked about. I tried to pretend I didn't have a twin.
By the time Sam came home, I had pretty well convinced myself I didn't care anymore. I felt like I didn't know him anymore, especially after I found out what he had done. Maybe I was wrong to walk out on him like I did, but I just wanted him to know how it felt, how I felt, when he walked out on me months before.
I should have known he needed me. I should have swallowed my pride and just stayed with him. I should have talked to him, or let him talk to me. He looked awful. He was pale, he had lost weight. He looked almost like a caricature of himself. His eyes were dull and glazed, hollow, like he was already dead.
I had no idea he was so desperate.
I don't think I could ever forget the sound of my mother's screams when she found him. I was in the back yard, talking to my girlfriend on the cell phone. I thought Sam was inside washing the dishes from dinner. I was just telling Jessie how I felt guilty about the way I treated Sam, because even though he hurt me, he was still my brother and I loved him and I hated feeling strained and distant with him. Jessie listened, and told me to go inside and talk to him, give him a chance to explain, and I said I would, after I told her I loved her. That's when the screaming started.
I told Jessie I had to go, and I would call her later. I rushed inside and followed the sound of Mom's screams to the bathroom upstairs. I thought maybe she had seen a snake or a mouse, something relatively harmless. I never expected to find my brother, my twin brother, in the bathtub with his wrists cut open.
I pulled him out of the water and wrapped towels around his wrists to try to stop the bleeding. We rushed him to the hospital, and with all their fancy technology they were able to keep him alive, but he had lost too much blood and there was no activity in his brain.
My brother was dead. Only his body remained, hooked up to machines that forced his heart to beat. One of the nurses told me he could linger on for years lie this, and it wouldn't matter. He would never wake up, because there was nothing in him to wake up.
Mom didn't want me to go back to school, to the store, or anywhere. Even when my other brothers and sisters started coming home for a few days, Mom didn't want me out of her sight. I finally convinced Lucy to help me sneak out, because I wanted to go to the library to research brain injury. I could have asked Matt or Sarah what they knew on the subject since they were both doctors, but I needed the excuse to get out of the house.
The air in the library was stifling, and I felt like everyone was watching me. I felt like the walls and the book shelves were closing in on me. I almost felt like I couldn't breathe.
I wondered how Sam felt, what he thought about, just before he did it. What did h think about after he did it, when he lay there bleeding, knowing he was about to die? I wanted to think he thought of me, even though I knew that was selfish.
Mom and I had the letters he had written for us, but it did little to explain why Sam did it, why he felt he had to leave this world and this life. I didn't really understand the trouble he was in, but surely it wasn't serious enough to die for, or they never would have let Mom bring him back to California. Privately I wondered if it was because I rejected him, though I would never voice that thought. But I knew it was possible, very possible.
Sam needed me, he always had. And I let him down just when he needed me most. I wouldn't talk to him, I couldn't even look him in the eye. He must have felt smaller than a mustard seed when I walked away from him, when I left him standing in the kitchen. I knew he wouldn't come out after me, but I never thought he would go upstairs and…and do what he did.
Suicide. Such an ugly word. Sam and I were raised to believe suicide was a sin. And he did it anyway.
"Hey, man," the guy who reminded me of Sam hovered over the table where I sat. "You mind if I sit here? This place is crowded today."
"Sure," I said softly. I wasn't in the mood for company, especially someone who reminded me of Sam, but I couldn't justify monopolizing an entire table.
"I won't boher you. I just wanted to say I heard about your brother, and I'm really sorry."
I just looked at him. I didn't know what to say, so it seemed best to say nothing. He had beautiful eyes. Dark, mysterious eyes. Eyes that seemed to be hiding a lot of anger and pain. I wondered what his story was, where he came from, how he ended up at Crawford, what he dreamed about.
I lowered my eyes. I didn't want to be obvious about staring.
We worked in silence, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming.
Eventually some guys approached the table and patted him on the back. They talked in polite whispers and I didn't even try to listen. I couldn't help but look up when he closed his book. "Some of us are heading over to Pete's to get some pizza. You want to come?"
"I shouldn't…"
"Sure you should. You need to get out. You need to remember to keep living. Come with us. Meet the guys."
"I don't even know you." It sounded so lame.
"I'm Aubrie. That's Mike and Joey and Carlos," he pointed to each of his friends.
I didn't really want to go. But I knew I would go crazy if I sat in the library leafing through medical journals much longer. "Okay. I'll go."
Feedback is always appreciated. Please use the Review option below and tell me your thoughts. Thanks a bunch.