Chapter 14 – Crayons and Death
"Its been a month since he left," Roger rightly felt no need to identify who "He" was. Collins would understand because that's all they had really talked about. They were both still avoiding a discussion on what exactly was going on between them. They were comfortable with what and where they were, and too much discussion would cause trouble, or so they believed subconsciously.
"Mark'll come back or at least call. He's a big boy, remember?" Collins spoke as much to reassure himself as to reassure Roger. Neither the philosopher or the song writer had informed Maureen or Joanne of Mark's disappearance, because as Collins so delicately put it "The only thing worse than two dykes in a murderous rage for loosing their mutual best friend is… there is nothing worse."
Roger whom was currently in the process of trying to make some eggs in a hot pot, the sole cooking element they had left since the hot plate broke six months ago, managed to spill water all over the power cord, releasing a shower of sparks. "Damn!" Roger carefully unplugged the hot pot and threw the whole thing in the trash, while Collins laughed at him, still sitting on the table.
Laughingly Collins told Roger, "Take heart Roger, if everyone was the brightest crayon in the box, we'd all go fuckin' blind." Roger pulled out a box of Captain Crunch and didn't even bother getting milk or a bowl, just started munching. He hopped up on the table next to Collins and offered him some.
They munched.
There was a knock on the door.
Not knowing who it could be Roger walked to the door and opened it. He found himself staring at one man he never expected to meet again. Mark's Father.
"Uh… Mr. Cohen? Hi… uh. Yeah." As if the 'hi' was invitation enough, Mark's father walked into the room, and prompty grabbed Roger by the shirt and slammed him into the wall. Holding Roger up, for Mr. Cohen was a bigger man than Roger, he grabbed Roger around the throat and murmured "listen you little fag, you killed my son."
Roger could barely breathe, but being Roger he just had to make a smart as comment. "I'm only half fag… ugh! Uh, a complete fag is on the table!"
Collins just stared at Roger, not wanting to piss of Mr. Cohen anymore then he already was, for he had no idea what was going on, he pulled out a cigarette and held it out. With his best British accent, and it was quite laughable, said "Want a fag, Mate?"
Mr. Cohen didn't want the situation lightened up any, and he dropped Roger. Roger fell to his knees against the wall gasping for air. Mr. Cohen just looked at him, before kicking him in the stomach and walking to the center of the room. He barely paid attention to Collins, but just started addressing Roger. Collins carefully listened trying to figure out what was going on before taking any action.
"Your a little fucking fag. I knew you were trouble! And I told him, I told him to stay away from you, and I was right. Because of you he's dead! I hold you completely responsible… and I will have retribution." Roger gradually composed himself through out Mr. Cohen's speech, and all was silent for a moment as both Collins and Roger absorbed the words. Slowly, as realization dawned for Collins tears fell silently down his face. Collins sat upon the couch, unsure as to what to say. He just could not face it, Mark died.
Taking only slightly longer for the facts to hit home, Roger began to shake, not noticing Mr. Cohen anymore, just muffled in his grief like a blanket too heavy to move. Mr. Cohen watched them, witnessing their grief, but his heart was already frozen. Him and his son may never have gotten along, but family was family, and in his eyes Roger was nothing but the man who murdered his son.
Walking up to Roger again, Mr. Cohen kicked him in the ribs, and kneed him in the chin. Roger fell into a fetal position, acting on instinct, for consciously he could not bring himself to care what happened. Mark was gone, what else was there for Roger to care about? Not wanting to let things end Mr. Cohen grabbed Roger by the shirt and hauled him into a sitting position. Looking Roger straight in the eye, and coldly speaking in a low voice Mr. Cohen began to speak. "He died two days ago from a cold. A fuckin' cold! Do you know what his last words were? He wasn't even sane at that point, he was delirious, and coughing every five seconds. His last words were 'I love you.'" Pausing to catch his breath and making sure Roger was at least semi-paying attention, he continued. "'Roger.' His last words to anyone on this planet were 'I love you, Roger.'" He spit out the name like it was dirt. "He didn't even say goodbye to his mother for God's sake. Just you and some bastard named Collins, and you weren't even there."
Mr. Cohen finished with that last and stood up. With one last kick at Roger, he walked out the door. There might have been a tear coming out of Mr. Cohen's eye, but Collins was weeping in his own grief, and Roger was in too much shock for either to be able to recollect it clearly later on.
A/n: this story is almost done. One more chapter at most. I got more in the works, and this one is just getting a bit stale for me. Hope you've enjoyed it so far, and if not, well, opps. Keep an eye out for some of my new stuff that I'm working on, some will be done with a friend. Its all non-traditional and going to rock your socks... or at least mine.