When I said I would finish this story...

XXXX. Resolution: Vivian

(Part 2)

Flashes of red and blue bounce off the front of my house. Red. Blue. Red and Blue. Back and fourth. Randomly. Yet repetitively. Blue. Red. Blue and Red. Blue. Red. Red. Blue. Red and blue. Shines on the white walls of the house. Off the shrubbery and dense moss that is practically burying the house from sight. Sirens blare in the distance until they grow unbearably loud, the high pitched cacophony of horns wailing and screeching directly into my eardrums, stabbing them to deaf.

My home. My new home. Barricaded by ambulance trucks and police cars. Canadian law enforcement and healthcare. Exactly like the time when I was thirteen in Chicago, when I was carried out of the house away from the empty shell of a body that was once my mother's. I'm sitting on the back of an ambulance truck now, with the medic shining a weak light in my eyes, one at a time, as a routine checkup. What I need most, however, is an emotional medic. A doctor that can look inside of me and observe the emotional damage inflicted upon my body. The fast heartbeat from the distress and pulsing adrenaline. The sweat an effect from the same thing. A thermometer stuck in my mouth to quantify the level of trauma I've accumulated since I was thirteen. A scale to step on that tracks the weight of grief on my body. A stethoscope to my heart to hear the despair beating out of me every millisecond. A sphygmomanometer to gauge the level of stress in my blood. What I need is a diagnosis of an emotional disease severe enough for me to receive a doctor's note for school pardoning my cry spells, overwhelming anxiety, and deep depression.

It's 4:30 in the afternoon, the weather has cooled down considerably since earlier today, and a cool breeze slaps my face as a reminder of what autumn in Canada is actually like. Goosebumps spread rapidly across my body like poison oak, gluing me to the spot, and spraying my hair, currently straight and down, in all directions. I wince a bit, crossing my arms across my chest to block the wind. Occasionally I stroke my knuckles, which are wrapped in thick white bandages on each hand. I keep my vision cast down at the front lawn of my house. It's just like before... It was only two years ago when this was the scene of my mom's death, and now, now it's...

"Vivian."

I can never mistake his voice for another. Couldn't forget it if I tried. He's the only person on this planet that can rip me away from my vortex of dark thoughts with just one word. I begin to feel attached to my body again. My heart blasts out of my chest, and my face, as nippy as it is outside, flushes with heat.

Speaking of warmth, his hand is filled with it as he places it on my shoulder. "You're freezing."

Immediately I snap my head in his direction. He looks so clean and healthy. His skin is a saturated, healthy beige color with the pink in his cheeks. His hair is its usual, fluffy thick and loose texture again, not a trace of the heavy crusty yellow paint weighing it down like expired hair gel. His glasses are shiny and clear, and he's wearing new clothes: khaki shirt, denim jacket, gray pants.

"I'm okay don't worry." He sits next to me on the ambulance and instantly wraps his arms around me. "I just need you to get warm, okay?" He presses my body against his, so close I can feel his heartbeat.

"You're...here..." I stare down at our feet as I'm pressed up against him.

"Yes, I'm here." He says gently in my ear. "And you're so cold." He releases me temporarily, removes his denim jacket, and wraps it around me. "Lemme see." He takes one of my hands with both of his. "I don't want you to catch a cold." He blows his warm breath into my palm. "Stay warm, Vivian." He pulls me back into him and holds me tight. "You just stay warm."

I wrap my arms around Rick's waist, but slowly. Hesitantly.

"Vivian, it's okay." He cradles me tightly and rocks me slowly back and forth. "It's me. Rick. Your friend, remember?"

"What did you do at school today?" I say in monotone.

"Nothing that I shouldn't have. And now I'm here with you." He brushes my hair back out of my face and kisses my forehead. "And I'll never let you go."

He immediately begins covering my face in a series of quick, yet deep, kisses. His hands hold both sides of my face. "God you're so beautiful." He wipes away the tears staining my face with a gentle thumb.

A paramedic approaches us with a giant, grey blanket and drapes it around my shoulders. Rick wraps it completely around me so that I'm a cocoon. "Wanna stay at my house tonight? Look at me." He holds his hand under my chin and brings my gaze to his. "I promise you, PROMISE you, that you'll be safe with me. Okay?"

Now I hold his face with one hand. "If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"

Rick stares at me hard for a few seconds. "Yes. What would you like to ask?"

I bite my lip, thinking of how to phrase my question, but there is no way to sugar coat it. "Did you plan on killing people after Whack-Your-Brain?" I begin to shake but not because it's cold out.

Rick hangs his head so low he disappears behind the thick brown curtain of his hair. "Yes. I did." He answers in a low voice.

I hold him by the chin and lift his head up. "Do you realize how horrible and tragic that would have been if you had followed through with it?"

Rick's face resembles that of a toddler who knows he's in trouble. "Y-yes...I do."

"And are you planning on getting all the help you need so you won't even think about doing it again?"

"You have my word, Vivian." He answers with sternness in his voice.

I just stare and nod at him. I don't know what else to say to him. I can't deal with what he almost did right now.

The front door to my house opens, and I flinch. Rick holds me close. "You okay?"

I don't reply, but watch a police officer escort a member from MY FAMILY out in handcuffs.

That man in handcuffs is evil.

One hour earlier...

My dad rushes over to the couch -where I'm sitting- with a plastic container of tums. "These should help your stomach, and...", He pulls out a bottle of Advil, "this is for your concussion. I'm so sorry that happened to you, baby." He leans in and kisses my forehead. "But Imma take care of you now."

I smile at him. "You've always taken care of me ever since mom died."

"I need to do a better job." He puts an arm around my shoulders. "I'm so caught up in scuffling to work and making sure the bills get paid that I neglected your emotional health."

"I didn't get sick because of mom...this time." I sigh. "It was Rick."

"Either way, I should be aware of it by now. Tell me about Rick."

I pause. He's certainly not getting the full scoop, but enough for him to get the basic idea. "They're so mean to him, dad. I know why people don't like him, and they don't have to, but why can't they just leave him alone?"

"I don't know, baby girl." Now dad sighs. "I heard about what happened from the school nurse. Some people will stoop so low and do horrible things just to get their way, even if it means hurting other people."

"It's just not fair to Rick. He worked so hard..."

"Oh lord, my baby has a crush on the boy. From now on I'm not letting you go over to his house unsupervised." Dad pretends to be upset and rolls his eyes.

"Dad, cut it out. I'm a rational human being."

"Yeah yeah I know: I'm just...you're growing up, and I don't want you to. I would rewind you and keep you at five years old."

Now I roll my eyes. "How many times are you going to say that?"

"Okay, okay I won't mention it around you anymore. When you're a mom you'll understand." He laughs.

"When I'm a mom, I plan to be around to watch them grow all the way up." I say.

"I know, baby, I know." He draws me close to him. "I wish your mom was here too."

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"The FBI...came to school yesterday."

"Don't say another word. They came by my work to talk to me as well." He holds me tighter. "I'm not ready to open up that can of worms."

"But don't you understand how confusing this is for me?!" I break away from dad. "Who could have done that to her? What if they're after us next?"

"That won't happen to us. I won't let it." Dad declares in a hard voice. "I would never let anyone take my children away from me."

"But what if- "

"Vivian." Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. "Leave that job to the FBI. Managing the grief of a lost family member is hard enough for us. Okay?" He looks tired in the face. His wide brown eyes are specked with red, and his sockets are dark and baggy. He's been a man running on few hours of sleep since mom was...now I can say "killed".

"Okay." I exhale. "Well...do you think they will find him?"

"Eventually." Dad sighs. "I'm going to make you some toast." He stands up from the couch and retreats into the kitchen.

"Whatever you say." I mumble and slump down further into the couch. Honestly I'm more worried about Rick than the supposed killer of my mom, and I can't tell if that's a good or bad thing. "Please be okay, Rick. Please." I lay my entire body across the couch. Last time I talked to Queenie she had hawk eyes on Rick. I haven't heard anything else from her since. I don't know what that means. I also haven't heard any type of sirens blaring down my street, or nothing on the news. I have the television turned on to Toronto's prime time news station. Nothing about Degrassi is on the air.

Well why don't you call him?

I sigh. What do I say to him? I have nothing that would make him feel better. I want him to feel good. But what do I do? Girl, you know he's crazy about you. Calling would be enough.

Too late. My cell phone begins to ring, and I shoot up on the couch and reach for the coffee table. It only rings once before I open it to answer. "Hello?"

"Hey, Vivian." It's Queenie. "I have someone here to talk to you."

Goosebumps cover my body immediately. "Okay. Put him on."

"Well aren't you psychic? Okay hold please." There are a few seconds of silence, but my heart is pounding so loudly that I fear Queenie can hear it.

"Vivian." A soft, ragged voice comes through the line, and I know who it belongs to. "Hi."

"Are you okay!?" I squeal. "I was worried about you all afternoon. I wish I was at school to be there with you. To help you get cleaned up, to talk to someone, to..."

"I know, Vivian." Rick replies. "I forgot that I could count on you."

"Do you not understand what you put me through? I thought I was going to lose you today. I can't let someone else I care about die- " I look over my shoulder to check on dad. He's still in the kitchen. "I don't wanna bury you too." I whisper.

"You won't. I promise." Rick says firmly.

"Good." I pause before saying this next thing. "Because I love you too much to let that happen." My palms are sweaty. My face is burning. But I meant what I said.

A pause. "I love you too, sweet Vivian." Rick's odd way of speaking has grown on me, and now I get all fluttery and dizzy whenever he talks like this. "I love you so, so much."

My cell feels greasy and slippery due to all the sweat I've accumulated. It's as if I'm holding a bar of soap. I'm choking on tears. "Ditto." I manage to squeeze out. "I wanna see you later. Is that alright?"

"I wouldn't want anything else." He's choking too. "I want you in my arms so nothing can ever happen to you."

"I want to be in your arms." I echo.

"I'm gonna make that happen for you. I'm going to treat you like the princess you are."

"Rick..."

"I love you." He tells me. "Which is why I'm gonna clean myself up and go over to you."

"I love you too. Until then, take care"

"I will, sweetheart." I could faint right now. "See you later."

"See you later, Rick." I hang up the phone and sink further into the couch. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't believe I said that." I cover my mouth with two trembling hands.

"I can't believe you said that either."

In pops none other than my very own brother Vince Graham. "I fucking knew it. He always had those huge doofy eyes whenever I would bring you up in a conversation." He pats my legs on the couch, and I politely lift them up to make room for him to sit.

"What did you mention about me?" I sit up. "It better not have been the time when- "

"- When we were play wrestling in the living room and you were so sore about losing that you farted right in my face? Nah that one is safe- for now." He laughs.

"I farted because you were sitting on top of me and you wouldn't let me up. That was on you." I shrug.

"Oh it was alright." Vince folds his arms and leans back against the couch. "So how did you get that concussion again?"

"Dad didn't tell you? I fell into this well that was ten feet deep and hit my head." I shudder at the memory of the ground falling from beneath my feet.

"Damn, girl. Look where you're going next time."

"Noted." I roll my eyes. "I would have drowned had it not been for Rick. And his dad." Up until now I had forgotten all about him. And now all I can think of is that photograph of him and our mom from...the date was apparently 1979.

"Wait. Rick's dad was with you? I didn't know that." Vince arches an eyebrow.

I squint. "What? Are you shocked or something?"

"No, no. Just...I didn't know. No one tells me anything around here."

"I know it's as if you're never around the house." I roll my eyes again. Having brothers will do that to you.

"Smart ass." Vince play scowls.

"Look who's talkin'." I tease.

Vince puckers his bottom lip. "You cut me deep, Viv. You cut me real deep just now." He always uses that line from Shrek when I deliver a witty remark. We both love that goofy movie and watched it a lot to cheer us up after mom died. "So is there anything else new with you and Rick? Did you finally start dating?"

"No." I say. "Rick has some problems he needs to work on."

"What problems?"

"Do I have to go there?" I sigh. "You know about his whole Terri ordeal. I caught wind of some of that Rick again recently."

This time my brother frowns in concern. "What? What did he do?"

"He didn't...I mean he..." I falter. "I don't wanna talk about it now. But I'm making amends with him."

"You sure about that, Viv?"

"Positive." I reply.

"Okay." He sighs. "What do you think of Rick's dad?"

He's an asshole that needs to be punched in the face and kicked in the ribcage. "He's...a dad. Looks a lot like Rick. Whatever." I lean back against the couch. "Why do you ask?"

'No reason." Vince shakes his head. "Just curious."

"What do you think of him? Since you brought him up."

"Me?" My brother arches an eyebrow. "He's alright I guess."

I turn and face my brother, still leaning against the couch. "What if I told you he beats his son?"

Vince squints. "What?"

"Remember that afternoon when I went to drop off Rick's homework? After you drove off, I went inside the house, sat down with Mrs. Murray in the living room, and heard it all. Rick and his dad were in the bathroom, and the moment Rick shrieked...Vince you should have seen her reaction- "

"Who's reaction?" Vince stares on intensely.

"Rick's mom's." I reply. "I couldn't take it, so I went in with the hopes of interrupting them."

"God, you're so much like mom, it's spooky." There's something about how Vince says this.

"What do you mean?"

"She...look, there's something you need to know about mom that dad has probably never mentioned to you." Vince turns to face me.

"What? You mean that she got arrested for accusing Rick's dad of abuse way back then?"

Vince raises his eyebrows. "So you did go through that trunk in the attic."

I squint in confusion. "And...apparently you did too? Or is there another reason why you're not shocked to hear this news the way I was when I learned about it last week?"

"No I always knew. Dad told me and said to never tell you." He replies.

"Of course he did." I roll my eyes. "Is there anything else?"

"That depends." Vince shrugs. "How much do you know?"

"I know she went to prom with Rick's dad way back then." I shudder at the thought. "I hope they were just friends. Also they look like they could be Rick and me. It's disturbing."

"I know, man. Genetics. Wild." Vince scoffs.

"Dude, I'm serious!" I raise my voice slightly. "Just the whole thing confuses me. Mom and Mr. Murray as friends, then she gets arrested for ganging up on him later for abuse. And now...she's dead?" I look at him. "Dead by murder?"

"What are you talking about?" Now Vince squints. "She died by suicide. She killed herself, Viv."

"I don't think so." I say. "Yesterday the FBI came to see me personally at my school just to tell me that they accumulated the evidence and concluded such. She had been killed by someone else, Vince. Didn't you talk to the FBI recently?"

Vince faces away from me, his elbows on his lap and his fist underneath his chin. "No. They didn't."

"Really?" I squint. "Well...I guess maybe they thought you'd still be at Brown.

"Yeah I guess." Vince stares at the coffee table.

"I saw them yesterday, and dad saw them today." I continue.

"Huh." Vince says.

"But yeah what I was saying was that it's weird that she ended up dead considering what happened between her and Mr. Murray..."

"Bullshit." Vince looks back at me. "I already know where you're about to go with this, and I'm going to stop you right there."

"What?" I cross my arms. "What was I going to say then, genius?"

"It's so damn obvious you wanna frame Rick's dad for the murder because you hate his guts. That's not very rational, lil' sis."

"Okay then, you got anyone else, bro?!" I snap. "Could you stand to take this a little more seriously? We just found out mom was killed, and you're acting like a sarcastic ass. Besides even if he didn't kill her- "

"- Impossible to think he would. He lived in Canada, and we were still back in the States." Vince puts in.

"- He should still be arrested for abusing his family." I finish as if he never interrupted me.

"See that! God it's like mom never died. She lives in you!" Vince exclaims.

"What the fuck are you talking about?!" I yell again.

"She wouldn't mind her own damn business!" He yells too. "She could have done a better job focusing on her family."

"Rick's problems are my business!" I shout. "He is in pain at school and at home. Of all places, his home should be the safest. And it's not! It's cuz of his dad!"

Then I realize what he said. "Why are you talking about mom like...you hated her?"

"There's one word for it." Vince scoffs.

I frown. "Did you and her have an argument before she died?"

"You could say that. Considering I was the last person to see her alive."

I widen my eyes. "What are you talking abou- "

And then an awful thought crosses my mind. A horrible, sickening, disturbing feeling sinks into my stomach.

"No..." I manage to squeeze out. "Vince. No. No, no, NO."

At the funeral. We sat in the front row. Her children. Throughout the whole service my face was buried into Vince's tux. He had his arm locked around me protectively the whole time. I phoned him crying when I had my first nightmare last year.

"Don't be this person, please, Vince. Please don't tell me that." He's funny. Charming. Witty. Smart. Hard working. The best big brother I could ever ask for. "This whole time...". It can't be. I love him too fiercely.

"Sorry, Viv." He just sits there straight-faced. "But she deserved it. You got it easy being born a girl. Meanwhile every fucking conversation I had with her, she compared me to that man. You're gonna end up violent and abusive just like Adam Murray. Don't talk back to me. Who do you think you are? Adam Murray? If you put your hands on Vivian like that, you're no different than Adam Murray. That fucking bitch!"

I can't move or speak.

"Nothing I did ever pleased her. I tried to be the world's perfect son. I washed the dishes. Cooked dinner every other night. Got straight A's and played the cello. I walked you to and from the bus stop every day when school let out, remember? I was student council president and helped our school raise three-thousand dollars and donated it all to women's shelters in Chicago. I took her out to fancy restaurants for mother's day dinner, and on her birthday I played my cello for her. I got into fucking Brown University, an Ivy League School. She threw it all back in my face whenever she smoked, drank, or whenever we fought."

Who is that woman? That's not our mother. She put us to bed every night with stories and gave the tightest hugs and the biggest kisses. She told me constantly that I was smart, special and kind, and that she loved me so much it hurts. As a little girl whenever I got upset about something at school I would cry myself to sleep in her lap, and she would soothe me by caressing my hair. This can't be the same person. It can't be.

"I know. Shocking, right?" Vince's voice is a peripheral to my inner world right now. He barely registers; it's as if his voice is coming from a small intercom far away. "She hid all of it from you because you were her favorite child. Dad treated us the same, but mom couldn't stand me. Despite everything I tried to do for her and our family. She still told me that I was going to go to jail at some point because I'm a young black kid from Chicago, and that I was going to turn out to be a criminal. I fought her back and told her she was wrong. I would prove it to her, but every time I talked back, Viv, every-fucking-time I had something to say, she told me I was being disrespectful towards women. I'm not allowed to talk to women the way I did. She would go on and on about how she didn't trust me around you, even though I never laid a hand on you because I knew she would come after me with more verbal assaults. That afternoon, I finally had enough of her and her mouth."

It's not until tears hit my jogging pants do I realize that I've been crying this whole time. "That can't be true..."

Alas that afternoon. When I'm screaming and crying for my dead mother to wake up, who pulls me out of the house? It's Vince. He was there the whole time. The whole fucking time.

"I didn't want you to see mom like that, Viv. Honest to god- "

"Shuddup. SHUT up!" I say. "Don't say anything else. You are so selfish! You only thought of yourself!"

"She wouldn't mind her own damn business! Bitch got what she deserved!" Vince yells for the first time. "Always meddling in affairs at the expense of neglecting us! I did us a favor, Viv, as unfortunate as it was."

That devil. That psychopath. I lunge at him like a lion attacking its prey, screaming and placing my hands on his throat. "You asshole! You bitch! You psycho! YOU BASTARD! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" I punch him repeatedly in the face, and I can't stop. I bang his head against the coffee table. I scratch his face. I can't stop myself.

"You're just like her!" He flips us over so that now he is on top and I'm on the coffee table. "I can kill you too!" He puts his hands around my throat.

I dig long scratches into his arm, but he only squeezes tighter.

"HEY! Get off her!" My father, who was in the bathroom a second before, storms over and punches Vince in the jaw, who immediately reaches for his face. I kick Vince in the crotch before scrambling away.

Dad tackles Vince to the floor with brute strength I never knew he had. "What the hell is the matter with you? She's a girl!"

"She came at me first." I hover over them and watch as Vince spits blood from out of his mouth.

"HE KILLED MOM!" I gag a heavy one and spit on Vince's face.

"Alright, ENOUGH!" Dad yells at me. "Now what did you say?"

"Ask him! He killed her!" I shout. "He just admitted it! Ask him!"

Dad's eyes widen in utter shock. "What the hell is she talking about?" He's looking at me but directs the question at his son who he is currently straddling.

Suddenly there are three loud, rapid knocks on the door. I whip my head around, startled. "Mr. Vargas Graham? Police." Conveniently.

"She was a bitch!" Vince repeats and pushes dad off. He springs to his feet. "All she did was belittle me my entire life, and neither of you saw it. I took it for far too long. I had to do it."

"Vince." Dad glares at my brother. "Are these cops here for you?"

"Open up. We know you're home!" The police say from outside.

"How were you able to get a gun!? You were a minor at the time! Who gave one to you? Who!?" I cry.

"Vivian, enough." Dad moves towards the front door and opens it. "Afternoon, officers." He greets them. "Is there something wrong?'

"Is your son Vince staying with you?" There are two officers in Canadian uniform, a man and a woman about the same height, give or take five feet eight.

"Yeah temporarily." He answers, with a ring of question in his voice. "Why? What's this about?"

"He's right here!" I shout to the officers, who both look inside to find me standing. "Tell him, Vince! Why are they here?"

"Sir, we're gonna have to ask you to step aside." The woman officer says firmly. "Your son is under arrest." The male officer comes in and makes his way towards Vince.

"That's what you think." Out of nowhere, Vince yanks me by the arm, pulls me towards him while I let out a scream, and throws me right at the male officer. I run straight into the man's torso with a grunt, but he catches me before either of us fall over. Vince tries to make a beeline for the kitchen, but the female officer is too quick. Although shorter than Vince, she manages to put him in a choke hold and bring him down on his stomach. The male officer quickly rushes to her aide and cuffs him. I watch them with both hands on my head. That man officer is built like a tree. So much for not irritating my concussion.

Dad rushes towards me and wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly as he too watches the scenario unfold in front of us. "You okay, baby girl?"

I say nothing as the two police folk pull Vince by the shirt to his feet, as he is now cuffed from behind, and the officers hold him by either arm and escort him out. "Let's go, buddy. You're under arrest for the murder of Veronica Graham. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you." The Canadian officers read Vince his Miranda Rights.

"Who are you?!" I run in front of the officers and grab Vince by the shirt, tears welling in my eyes that I can barely make out my brother and his giant curly fro. "And what happened to the brother I knew? Why did you do this to our family? WHY?!" Tears fall down my face.

"Mom was abusive, little sis." Vince glares down at me. "You give your boyfriend all the sympathy- when he used to BE an abuser- and you have none for me?"

"Where did you get the gun from?" I demand.

"Easy." Vince smirks at me. "It was mom's all along."

The room is spinning around me and my head...there are two jackhammers banging in between my two eyes and another on my forehead. And I can feel my stomach turning on me. Here we go again...

I vomit- right on Vince's shoes. He yells in fury and disbelief, but I can barely make out what he's saying because I'm retching so loudly as this orange-colored vomit pours from my mouth.

"C'mon let's go." The male police officer waits patiently until I finish. He and the woman officer pull him away and out of the house, Vince with pinched facial expression.

I stand in the living room, panting, looking at the puddle of puke that made it to the floor, and try to steady my breathing. .Then I collapse to the floor in a tearful, screaming fit, punching our hard, wooden floors repeatedly until my knuckles bleed.*

AN: I worked HARD on this chapter. I crafted several drafts until I finally decided on this outcome, which I still believe is a little sloppy, but this was long overdue. I hoped you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this chapter. Conclusion soon to come.