Once again, I'm glad you've enjoyed the previous chapter, like the story, etc. Your feedback is extremely productive for me, I thank you. Now, the ending of this one might uh...freak you out, but don't worry, I promise, just hang in there. And -- enjoy!
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Part 7:
*
He wonders now if he can really save her. You can't save those who are lost if you don't even know where you are. He prays for her, though his lapsed religion escapes him and his prayers are awkward, clumsy. He supposes he says what matters most.
Maybe, he thinks, no one hears my prayers anymore.
He thinks maybe prayers are only answered to those worth saving, and his own life has run its course. She's gotta be worth it, he thinks; if anyone, it's gotta be her. The little hope he still has in this fractured world relies on her very existence.
Without the very air she breathes whispering to him in the night, he forgets the beat of his heart.
*
"How you doing, Bosco?"
He sighs as he steps aside, letting his friends in. His hand gestures to the couch, inviting them to sit.
"You want anything to drink?" He asks.
"Water all around, " Alex replies, forestalling a needless five minutes wasted on what drinks they all want; drinks they'll forget after the first sip.
He hands them their water in cheap styrofoam cups, leans against the counter, running a hand back and forth through his disheveled hair.
"Sorry, I uh-haven't gotten around to doin' the dishes."
Last thing on my mind, he thinks. They all notice the pallor of his skin, the way it's so pale he's almost translucent. His red-rimmed eyes stand out against the whiteness and they see his nightmares in the deepness of his hollow irises, seeking a resolution.
Alex sets down her cup, picks up a tiny frame on the table as her friends make idle chitchat in the background. It's a recent photo, she thinks; one taken within the last few months. Both Faith and Bosco are dressed casually, Faith with her hair down, and Bosco's face seems so much younger than it does now -- still weighted down by the past, but free of the burden he suddenly has. They're leaning into each other as though they were whispering secrets and were caught, camera on them, turned, and smiled.
"So how are you, Bosco?" She asks again, as she leans against his couch.
He hits the tip of his foot against the hardwood floor, contemplating what he wants to say and how to say it. The only thing he can think, really, is the raw, unfiltered truth.
"It hurts like hell."
You know when you get a pain in a muscle sometimes, he thinks, and it starts out sorta mild, but it builds and builds and it takes over your entire body, and the pain is so intense you can't breathe? That's how it feels.
It feels like dying.
*
"You find anything, Sul?"
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, evidence that his search is less than optimistic.
"I've narrowed it down pretty good. There's these ten right here, along with the addresses."
Davis leans over, holding his coffee tightly in his free hand.
"Well, we can check this out on our shift today when we're free, give Bosco the other five, even it out. We gotta find her, Sully, the longer she's missing --"
He waves his hand.
"I know, Davis. It's not gonna come to that."
*
Four down, one to go.
He walks a steady path to the entrance of what can't be more than an abandoned shack. He wonders if Sullivan and Davis have had any luck and perhaps this is the very place she's been the entire time, just waiting for him to come.
He looks at the van and shudders. It gives off an ominous aura, as though the very thing itself is evil, allowing for evil things to be done inside it.
The need to see inside, to look for blood is almost overwhelming, but it wouldn't do much other than inflate his anger.
So he moves forward, weighing his various responses, though most of them lead to violence of some sort. The possibilities, the what-ifs, the nagging doubts in the back of his mind propel him and hold him back all at once as he steels himself against the unknown.
Before he gets any further, the shrill ring of his cellphone halts his steps and he moves away, whispering into the mouthpiece.
"What?" It's harsh, but still a whisper.
"Bosco, you need to come down here."
"Davis, I swear to God this better be important --"
"It is, Bosco. Shit, I don't know how to say this."
"Just say it."
"We found Faith, Bosco."
A feeling, one of hope, rises in him quickly and he clutches the phone in eager anticipation. What's said next makes the ground tremble beneath his feet.
"She's dead."
*
TBC...
----------------
Part 7:
*
He wonders now if he can really save her. You can't save those who are lost if you don't even know where you are. He prays for her, though his lapsed religion escapes him and his prayers are awkward, clumsy. He supposes he says what matters most.
Maybe, he thinks, no one hears my prayers anymore.
He thinks maybe prayers are only answered to those worth saving, and his own life has run its course. She's gotta be worth it, he thinks; if anyone, it's gotta be her. The little hope he still has in this fractured world relies on her very existence.
Without the very air she breathes whispering to him in the night, he forgets the beat of his heart.
*
"How you doing, Bosco?"
He sighs as he steps aside, letting his friends in. His hand gestures to the couch, inviting them to sit.
"You want anything to drink?" He asks.
"Water all around, " Alex replies, forestalling a needless five minutes wasted on what drinks they all want; drinks they'll forget after the first sip.
He hands them their water in cheap styrofoam cups, leans against the counter, running a hand back and forth through his disheveled hair.
"Sorry, I uh-haven't gotten around to doin' the dishes."
Last thing on my mind, he thinks. They all notice the pallor of his skin, the way it's so pale he's almost translucent. His red-rimmed eyes stand out against the whiteness and they see his nightmares in the deepness of his hollow irises, seeking a resolution.
Alex sets down her cup, picks up a tiny frame on the table as her friends make idle chitchat in the background. It's a recent photo, she thinks; one taken within the last few months. Both Faith and Bosco are dressed casually, Faith with her hair down, and Bosco's face seems so much younger than it does now -- still weighted down by the past, but free of the burden he suddenly has. They're leaning into each other as though they were whispering secrets and were caught, camera on them, turned, and smiled.
"So how are you, Bosco?" She asks again, as she leans against his couch.
He hits the tip of his foot against the hardwood floor, contemplating what he wants to say and how to say it. The only thing he can think, really, is the raw, unfiltered truth.
"It hurts like hell."
You know when you get a pain in a muscle sometimes, he thinks, and it starts out sorta mild, but it builds and builds and it takes over your entire body, and the pain is so intense you can't breathe? That's how it feels.
It feels like dying.
*
"You find anything, Sul?"
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, evidence that his search is less than optimistic.
"I've narrowed it down pretty good. There's these ten right here, along with the addresses."
Davis leans over, holding his coffee tightly in his free hand.
"Well, we can check this out on our shift today when we're free, give Bosco the other five, even it out. We gotta find her, Sully, the longer she's missing --"
He waves his hand.
"I know, Davis. It's not gonna come to that."
*
Four down, one to go.
He walks a steady path to the entrance of what can't be more than an abandoned shack. He wonders if Sullivan and Davis have had any luck and perhaps this is the very place she's been the entire time, just waiting for him to come.
He looks at the van and shudders. It gives off an ominous aura, as though the very thing itself is evil, allowing for evil things to be done inside it.
The need to see inside, to look for blood is almost overwhelming, but it wouldn't do much other than inflate his anger.
So he moves forward, weighing his various responses, though most of them lead to violence of some sort. The possibilities, the what-ifs, the nagging doubts in the back of his mind propel him and hold him back all at once as he steels himself against the unknown.
Before he gets any further, the shrill ring of his cellphone halts his steps and he moves away, whispering into the mouthpiece.
"What?" It's harsh, but still a whisper.
"Bosco, you need to come down here."
"Davis, I swear to God this better be important --"
"It is, Bosco. Shit, I don't know how to say this."
"Just say it."
"We found Faith, Bosco."
A feeling, one of hope, rises in him quickly and he clutches the phone in eager anticipation. What's said next makes the ground tremble beneath his feet.
"She's dead."
*
TBC...