Windex

A Seth POV Concerning the Season Two Finale

Part Eight

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Seth?"

On my way to find a phone because, yeah, would it fucking kill me to ever put the cordless back where it goes? I run into my dad in the living room.

"I'm making Ryan a sandwich. Do you want anything?" He asks me.

I'm too worn out to list my myriads of demands, of things I want right now, like, say, Trey being alive and such and yada yada yada and by the way, Dad, have you seen Issue #88? I fucked up and lost it. I can't find it anywhere and I need everything to be in perfect sequence so when Mom comes home, she won't have to worry anymore about all the clutter that constantly surrounds me.

"Who are you calling?" he asks, pointing to my hand. I look down, and the phone is in my hand and…what in the hell? Where did that come from?

Huh?

"Did someone call?" my dad asks me, and no, no one called, at least I don't think so. Wait, I'm calling Summer, that's right, and maybe my dad should know about that, seeing as how his newest client is coming over in a few minutes, so I tell him, "Um, I'm calling Summer. She's bringing Marissa over."

"No," my dad says leadingly, and I'm such a smartass and yes I'm trying not to be a smartass anymore but the man walked into this one and so I move my head up in a slow slope and ask, "No, I'm not calling? Or, no, no one called?"

I make that face I make when I'm pretending to be the most ignorant fuck who ever roamed the Earth.

"Marissa's not coming over," he says flatly.

Oh, I see Dad left his coy deck someplace else; clearly he's not the least bit playful. He's shooting straight from the hip today, I guess.

Shooting, shooting, right, back to Marissa.

"Yes she is," I answer. "Ryan wants to see her."

"Well Ryan's not calling the shots right now," Dad tells me, all serious like, and what's up exactly with all the gun puns anyway?

I sigh, 'cause really now, who in the hell has time for this bullshit?

"Please, yeah, Dad, Ryan listens SO WELL to you. I'm sure his ass is going to just subservient right down and forget about seeing his girlfriend, whose well-being he obsesses over even when she hasn't FUCKING SHOT HIS BROTHER!"

Dead!

Jesus.

And this is the same girl who flunked the archery unit freshman year?

And oops….did I just say all that out loud? Maybe even yell some of it…out loud?

I cover my mouth with two fingers and look up at my dad and, yep, evidently I did indeed say it out loud and in front of Sandy Cohen and Trey's fucking ghost chair and I hope I didn't say it loud enough for Ryan to hear.

How'd those words get out?

Bad words, jumping the fence like that.

But what the hell? If the bathing suit is wet, might as well go for a swim, right, Dad? I'm all in and I just keep talking and tell him, "Um, sorry about…," I pause, swirl a finger, "that, but I'm right and we both know it and at least this way we keep Ryan at home, right, Dad? Unless you're up for another game of Where's Ryan? A game which we both know, quite frankly, Dad, that you're just not very good at."

Ok, that last part was mean but um, seriously, Dad, I think the time for 'putting your foot down on Ryan' has slightly lapsed, like, let's say by about… two years.

He stares at me and I know I've hurt his feelings and really, any other time, I would…ok, I might…feel bad, but right now, I really couldn't give a shit.

I step around him and push speed dial and smile.

'Cause that's what I do when Summer answers the phone.

I smile.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I'm waiting at the door, waiting for the girls, arms around my mid-section, rocking back and forth on my heels.

I took a shower, mostly 'cause when you can smell yourself?

Yeah, it's time.

I combed my hair and I look better than I did a little while ago when I momentarily lapsed and pretty much accused my father of not really, actually, being much of a parent to Ryan, which in hindsight is a horribly shitty thing to say to the very man who reached into the criminal justice system and single-handedly ripped Ryan from its bottomless clutches.

I'm gonna' need to hire an accountant to keep count of my fuck-ups.

I haven't seen Hailey in a while, maybe she went back to Japan.

Who fucking cares?

Ryan's in my dad's bedroom, lying down until Marissa arrives. He ended up vomiting the sandwich Dad made him and my dad almost packed his ass up and headed back to the hospital, but Ryan said, "Please, Sandy, I just need to stay home." And see, Dad, SEE, it's not so easy telling Ryan "no" when he actually asks you for something, is it?

My dad's in his office, either…let's just spin the wheel and see where it lands, shall we… plotting how to keep Marissa out of jail, trying to locate Ryan's mom, figuring out where to bury Ryan's brother, maybe doing some clean-up work on Grandpa's funeral, possibly checking in on Mom, making sure the Good Ship Vodka, hasn't left dry dock, or God only knows what else that man can accomplish from his small office space.

He keeps himself busy, my dad.

I think he's given up on me. I thought for sure, after my outburst, that he'd go all parental on my over-caffeinated ass, but then Ryan threw up and then the mortuary called and then my dad just kind of faded away to his office, the invisible hands of responsibility dragging him away from me.

Which is just fine by me.

Go away, Dad.

I am just spectacular and not at all in need of any help of any kind.

Yeah.

So, I'm staying away from the living room. I'm convinced The Evil Chair is gaining momentum. Ok, yes, I realize that I'm not acting normal. Or rational. Whatever. I saw a TV show once where the spirit of a dead cat was inhabiting a kitty litter box and if that kind of freaky shit, literally, can happen, then why the hell is it not possible that Trey's restless soul has decided to take up residence…in our residence?

Oh, hey, doorbell, so I go to answer it and pull down my sleeves, and yeah, I'm wearing long sleeves in summer but that's 'cause I can't get warm, even after my hot shower, and low and behold, there she stands.

Lock up the gun rack and hide the bullets.

Marissa "Dead Eye" Cooper is in the house.

I look at her and she looks at me and, wow, Summer really wasn't kidding when she said that Marissa was not herself. Marissa's skinny, yeah, but today, right now, she looks like she's transparent and she's shaking a bit and, crying of course and oh hey, hi Mr. and Mrs. Cooper, or Mr. Cooper and Mrs. Cooper-Nichol, or Mr. Cooper and Grandma or….seriously, whatfuckingever.

Summer pushes ahead of the crowd and breezes past me and hugs me and whispers into my ear, "They wouldn't let me bring her alone."

And really now, what parents would? 'Now honey, your father and I discussed it and since you just killed someone, we'd feel a lot better if we hung around you, at least until our own problems overshadow yours again.' I am very, very, meticulously, very careful, about not saying any of that out loud.

Summer's here. So I must, must, must be normal.

I lead them into the living room. I'm considering calling it the now Living Dead Room, and I think to myself, normal Seth, be normal Seth, what would a normal person whose brain wasn't running laps, what would a normal person say?

But Summer jumps in and saves me from myself.

"Um, do you think, like, we could all go into the kitchen and maybe let Ryan and Marissa have some privacy?"

She's ballsy, my Summer. Why not just say, 'Hey! Marissa's Mom and Dad, give us all a fucking break on the suddenly-concerned parenting thing and haul your useless asses some place else, why don'tchya'?'

"Jimmy, Julie."

I hear my dad come into the room.

Almost forgot about him.

He shakes Mr. Cooper's hand and goes over to Marissa and her mom and gives them both a long hug/pats on the back combo and I wonder to myself, does my dad ever feel like God jipped him and somewhere, in some other country, there is a kind and socially adept son who accidentally got placed in the wrong family?

How often does my dad wish he would have gotten a son more like himself?

My dad turns to Summer and tells her, "I think you're right, young lady, about giving Ryan and Marissa some privacy. But, with your permission, Julie and Jimmy, could the kids possibly meet in Kirsten and my's bedroom? Ryan really isn't physically well enough to be moving around and I don't think we need a health scare on top of everything else we're dealing with."

I like how he says, "we," as if Julie Cooper really gives a shit about Ryan's health. I'm sure, if she could, she'd find Trey's gun and drill a hole in Ryan herself. Two dead Atwoods for the price of one gun. She probably wishes that Trey would have squeezed a little harder and Marissa would have waited a little longer.

Mr. Cooper answers, "That'd be fine, Sandy. Julie and I are just as concerned about Ryan as we are Marissa." And I watch, for Marissa's mom to pitch a fit, but she doesn't. She just stands there, holding Marissa's hand and I realize, maybe our house isn't the only one spinning off its axis. Maybe other worlds outside of our own have turned upside down.

"Um…" Summer says.

She's got a little make-up on now and her hair is down and she's changed into one of her mini-skirt things. Is it bad, that I think she sounds sexy even when she says, "Um?" And even though I should be thinking solely about Ryan and Marissa and their current reality and their truly fucked up existences, all I can suddenly concentrate on is how badly I want to stick my hand up Summer's skirt and how frustrating it is, that chances are, right now? She's not gonna' let me.

"Um, so..."

"Come on, Marissa, I'll take you to Ryan," I hear my dad say, and reach out for her hand.

And I blink.

And when I open my eyes, I realize that it's my hand that is reaching for Marissa's and I guess it was me who offered to take her to see Ryan, not my dad, and how could I have made that mistake, thinking it was my dad who spoke, when, really, it was me?

Everybody else just stands there and I smile a little, itty-bitty smile at Marissa and take her hand and wonder if she can see anything through the curtain of tears that is draped over her eyes. How long do you have to cry, I wonder, how many consecutive tears do you need to produce, to look as sad and drained as Marissa does right now?

Halfway down the hall she says to me, "I didn't mean to kill him. He was hurting Ryan and I didn't know how to stop him. He was going to kill him, Seth. He was going to kill Ryan and I didn't know what to do."

Tell her, tell her, tell her, and by the way…tell her.

You fucking blew away our childhoods, Marissa. You've ruined everything. Nothing will ever be ok. Nothing will ever be the same. You didn't have one single, other option? You couldn't have maybe, I don't know, taken an extra second and maybe aimed for a leg…or, I don't know, maybe even an arm? What are we supposed to do now? How are we supposed to function? How is Ryan ever, ever going to get over this and how long will it take before you start drinking to make it all go away and how could I have told Ryan about what Trey tried to do to you and why did Summer rush to tell me?

There are no second chances on this one, Marissa.

There's no reasoning it away in a hallway.

I can't help you.

I can't even help myself.

And how could we have done this to ourselves?

Tell her.

Tell her.

Just heave the whole pile of shit on her, Seth, and maybe it won't all hurt so badly.

Do it.

Blame her for the destruction of my world.

But I know better.

I am, after all, when it's all said and done, Sandy Cohen's son.

And in this instant, his morality has won over my selfishness.

So I tell her what Ryan told me.

I tell her, "Thank-you."

And when she looks at me as if I am maybe even a little crazier than her, I clarify my intentions and tell Marissa, "I couldn't have done it. I probably would have let him kill Ryan. I wouldn't have been able to shoot Trey and I wouldn't have let Summer near the gun and so that leaves you, Marissa. So thank-you, for saving Ryan, for saving him for all of us."

Final cost of which, is yet to be determined

I leave out everything else, including my own accountability for her even being in Trey's apartment, because, really, what the fuck's the use at this point?

I open the bedroom door and I figure I'm not the only one lying to Dad about sleeping or not sleeping, or whatever, 'cause Ryan's sitting on the edge of the mattress, back to starting at his wall, and when he sees Marissa and me, he shifts his head and, let's face it, I might as well be invisible, because Ryan's not looking at me.

Ryan's not watching me.

When she walks over to the bed, Ryan's eyes follow her until he's looking straight up at her and Marissa is looking straight down at him, standing over him and they just stare at each other and now I understand, now I get what Summer was trying to tell me.

They need to be together.

Ryan stands up and wobbles a little and Marissa, eighty-eight pound rock that she is, steadies him and then lays her head on his shoulder and says, "I'm sorry."

And Ryan doesn't ask her which thing she's sorry for, not like he asked me, earlier.

I back out of the room, watching them, even though I don't mean to, and they're so quiet, so quiet, even though they must have so much to say and I forget sometimes, how very, very quiet the two of them, together, can be.

I close the door of the bedroom, because this isn't for anyone but Marissa and Ryan and the last thing I see is Ryan hugging her, his head leaning over and on top of hers, and I wonder if he's smelling Marissa's shampoo and remembering yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that and all the other days before those.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

My dad is outside, with Marissa's parents, sitting on the patio, discussing, I'm quite sure, things that I want to be absolutely no part of.

Summer and I are sitting in the living room, even though I don't want to be in this room, threshold to hell that it is, and I'm having trouble sitting still anywhere, but I was afraid if we went up to my bedroom, I'd fucking lose control and pull a Trey, 'cause I swear, Summer's never looked hotter than at this fucked-up moment.

"We did the right thing," she mummers, "bringing Marissa over here to see Ryan." And yeah, I suppose we did.

Do the right thing.

Finally, we get it right, Summer and I.

Sorry, Trey.

I suppose our timing on the whole, 'Getting It All Right' thing kind of sucks, huh? Would have worked out better for you last night, huh, Trey? For Summer and I to 'Get It All Right' then instead of now.

I'm no longer addressing The Chair. I've decided to cut out the middle-man. I'm just staring at The Chair, thinking my thoughts, knowing that Trey can hear me.

He's here. I can feel it. He blood is under my nails, and his soul, as damned as it may be or may not be, is sitting in my parents' upholstered, mostly decorative, chair.

I glance over at Summer, hoping she doesn't know that her boyfriend is…INSANE… but she's too distracted, waiting for Marissa and Ryan to emerge, to realize that she's dating a crumbling fruitcake.

I'm jittery, and exhausted and I start to nod off but my brain won't allow it and I keep an eye on The Chair, just in case it decides to make a move.

My eyes start to slide shut and maybe, for a second, I fall asleep. Maybe, I can't tell. But a bang wakes me up and another bang makes me jump up off the couch and a third bang causes me put my hand over my ears, but a fourth bang makes me wonder if I'm not just holding the sound in and maybe I should just let go, take my hands off my ears and let everything, all the noises, pour out of my brain, like rivets of water from a flowering can.

"Seth?"

I look over at The Chair, and thank God, it's behaving itself.

Nice of my hallucinations, isn't it, to take turns and not all come at me at once?

"Seth?"

Summer. Oops. I'm supposed to be normal and I'm pretty sure, standing up with your hands over your ears is not quite passing the litmus test.

But how can she not hear the shots?

Maybe Aunt Hailey couldn't 'cause she's used to them, being a social deviant and all. But Summer's not. Not my perfect, crime-free Summer. She was scared in the Bait Shop, when the gun fired, I saw her eyes, wide and huge and terrified. Guns are still scary things to her.

Summer can hear my gunshots, if I help her to, I just know it.

Summer will understand, she'll hear the shots, I just have to help her.

"Come here," I grab at her arm and drag her to The Chair and I sit down in it, 'cause maybe the closer you are to Trey's soul or ghost Trey, or whatever, maybe the louder the bang, and I put Summer on my lap and my hand across her eyes and whisper into her ear, "Shhh, just listen. Just listen, Summer. Can you hear them?"

She shakes her head back and forth "no," and shit, I think I might be scaring her a little, because when she says to me, "I can't hear anything, Cohen," she sounds scared and I can't be the reason for that, right?

Because I would never, ever hurt Summer.

Never.

"Listen harder," I tell her, maybe more intensely than I mean to and clamp down on her eyes a little tighter and hitch her up my lap a little further and I whisper even softer, so soft, into her ear, because I don't want to distract her from the sound of the shots, "Summer, please, just try. Just try and hear them. Try and hear them for me. Please?"

"I don't hear anything, Seth."

She's back to shaking her head in denial and I feel my fingers, still cupping her eyes, becoming wet and I take my hand away in surprise, and stare at it, because I think she's crying, and I don't want Summer to cry because of me.

"I want to get up, Cohen," Summer says forcefully, starting to try and pry my hands from around her waist, but she can't leave, not yet, I need her to tell me I'm not crazy and I'm not the only one who's seeing and hearing things and she was there, too, right? At the apartment. And she saw Trey die and she gave me a paper towel, in the back of the police car, and helped me rub some of the blood off my hands, so why can't she do this for me now?

Why can't she hear the gunshots?

"Seth, let me get up. I don't hear anything." And she's clawing at my arms now and what the fuck am I doing?

I'm going to ruin this, I'm going to ruin Summer and me and then it will be official. Nothing of my life, before yesterday, will be left. Ryan's different and Marissa is different and Summer will know I'm different, even though I've been trying, so hard, to hide it.

"JUST TRY FOR ME, OK?" I maybe shout at her, even though I don't mean to, "Will you please just try for me? Please, Summer? Just close your eyes and listen really carefully, ok?"

She stops moving and twists her head around so she can see my face and says, so soft, just like a whisper in a library, "I don't understand what you want me to hear, Seth." And she is crying, that's clear now, and it's making her voice even higher than usual, maybe a little desperate.

A soft, sugar whisper, "Seth, what am I supposed to hear?"

"Gunshots," I answer, and I completely lax my arms and drop my head and she scrambles from my lap.

"Gunshots, Summer. I thought maybe if you listened really closely, you would hear the gunshots."

I don't look up. I don't need to. I know, if I do, I'll see Summer standing there, looking at me, big anime eyes, looking at me as if I'm bonkers, nutso, a major fucking head case, which, let's face it, I probably am.

I start to laugh to myself, wondering if she thinks I'm wacky wacked now, King of Wackydom, with my gunshots that only I can hear, just wait 'til I tell her about The Chair, and Ryan's dead brother's ghost, and my fingernails, and Trey's invisible blood.

"Seth?"

I have to face Summer sometime, might as well be now, right? So I close my eyes and raise my head and wait for a slap or an insult or the inevitable, 'We're so fucking through, Cohen.'

To stall off what's happening, I open my eyes really slowly.

I just want a few more seconds of Summer and me...before it's just me.

"Seth."

But instead of Summer, it's Aunt Hailey standing there, in front of me, saying my name, with Summer behind her, rubbing at her eyes with the palms of her hands, rubbing the tears that I caused off of her perfect face.

"Seth," Hailey crouches down and says my name carefully, just like I did, with Ryan, in the rent-a-car, outside on the driveway. That was what? Just this morning, right? And how can that be fucking possible, that it was just, like, ten hours ago that I brought Ryan home from the hospital and Hales and I handled him as gingerly as if he were a burning stick of dynamite?

She's not wearing my mom's robe anymore.

She's in her own clothes, and suddenly, I can't remember why I hated Hailey so much, earlier. Why I wanted her to go away.

"I'm tired, Aunt Hailey," I tell her.

And I am.

I am so fucking tired.

"I know," she answers. And why was it again, earlier, why was it that I thought she was so stupid? I can't remember now. Hailey's actually pretty smart.

"You need to sleep, Seth," she tells me, and I nod, 'cause now, I understand, I know she's right.

She helps me stand up and I glance over at Summer and I tell her, "I'm sorry."

That's the second friend I've apologized to today.

Three if you count Trey's ghost.

"I think maybe I miss Mom."

And did I just say that? What the fuck? I look around. It had to have been me.

God, I'm such a selfish baby.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I sit on the couch, pulling at my sleeves, listening to Hailey get directions from my dad and I glance up at him, every now and then, and wonder if he still loves me.

The weak one.

The weak son.

The one without the bruises he can see.

The son who leaves him alone in his house.

All alone, with the strong son, who sits in a back bedroom and hides everything away in invisible vaults with reinforced doors, that nobody seems to have the combinations to.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The whole way, in the car, driving to whatever the fuck the rehab center is and yes, I know I should know the fucking name and no, I really don't give a fuck what it is, I think about how it is that Ryan can hug the girl who killed his brother and talk to me, his friend, who could have prevented it all, and how Summer can sit in a rental car, with a broken window, holding the hand of her boyfriend who's such a fucking pansy that he needs his mom the first time something, really, truly, bad happens.

I hate myself.

More than Marissa and more than Trey and more than Hailey and more than my dad and more than Summer and more than my mom.

And more than Ryan.

There, I said it.

I hate them all.

I hate all of us and what I want, more than anything, is to take back my words to Ryan, last night, about how Trey tried to hurt Marissa. I want to take the words back and by default, regain everything I've lost.

I want to have us all back, the way we were.

Even Trey.

Have it all back.

Like it was, yesterday and the day before and the days before that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Seth."

I look around. The rehab center looks like a hotel.

It's so bright out and why shouldn't it be? It's still daytime. It's still the next day…after last night.

"Seth."

My mom is standing there and when the fuck did I get out of the car? I don't remember doing that.

It's amazing to me, sometimes, how much I take things… how much I took things…for granted.

I won't anymore.

She's still sick, and I know, when Trey is buried and when Ryan's better and when I'm not hearing gunshots and seeing blood and talking to chairs, my mom will have to come back to this place whose name I still can't fucking remember, and get better herself.

"Seth."

No gunshots this time.

Just my mom calling my name and Summer and Hailey and her, waiting for me, by the car. My mom walks over to me and smiles, one of those fake smiles that really isn't a smile at all, just an expression of concern, and she says, "Come on, honey, let's go home."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The four us drive back together, listening to the wind whistle through Dad's makeshift window of plastic and duct tape, causing a weird song, like Ryan's anger and frustration and grief from early this morning, have meshed together and are performing in symphony.

But still, despite the broken window, it's quiet, so very quiet, and the car jets along the highway, with Hailey flipping off every speed limit sign she passes, and my mom sitting next to her, looking behind her shoulder, at me, every now and then, and Summer rubbing the back of my hand.

It's so quiet.

And really, what choice do I have, when it's so quiet, finally, actually quiet, what choice do I have, but to close my eyes and fall asleep?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Only the epilogue left...