A huge thank you to everyone that commented on this story. It really meant a lot. I hope you guys like where it goes from here. I've decided to continue writing, but if things get too crazy and I screw it all up, I'll simply delete the chapters and leave it in its original One-Shot form.
That said,
Enjoy.
--P.
Eric doesn't know how long he was asleep, but when he wakes up and lifts his face from the uncomfortable position of resting on the open pages of his novel, he remembers where he is. He's in his own room.
Eric remembers Pearl; he'd left her napping in the den.
And then he's suddenly filled with a wave of self-disgust. It's unlike Eric to be so neglectful of the daily routines. Even if something like that horrid press conference put him in such a horrible mood, it's rare for him to be so despondent that he'd forget his aunt.
Eric looks to the clock ; it's past midnight. He's dozed the night away. Pearl missed her supper, she missed her bath, she missed her usual before-bed reading of People.
"Pearl?" The boy calls as he exits his room and makes his way hastily down the hallway, past the open bathroom door, past the old paintings on the wall, and eventually into the den. It's dark, but a plug-in nightlight on a nearby wall socket adds enough light for Eric to discern shapes. Pearl is still in her chair.
"I'm so sorry," Eric begins arriving beside the chair. He places a hand on his aunt's shoulder, "I fell asleep in my book and lost track of time. Let's get you in your bed. If you're hungry I can bring you some soup."
Pearl doesn't answer.
Eric continues. "Come on, you can't sleep in the chair it's not good for your back."
Pearl doesn't answer.
"Wake up."
It will be several hours before Eric accepts his aunt is gone.
Once he feels the stiffness in her shoulder and the coldness of her skin, he sits down at the foot of her chair and stares up at her body. She's nestled comfortably in the cushions as if she were about to tell him something; just like she was before he left her.
She'll wake up. Eric thinks
She'll wake up.
In the dim glow of the nightlight, she very well could still be resting. When Eric looks hard, he swears to himself that his aunt's chest rises and falls softly in the dark. She's just stubborn, that's all. She's comfortable. She wants to stay in her chair. Pearl always was, even in sickness, fond of jokes and games. She's faking sleep. She's playing.
Eric wants to shake her again; rouse her. He wants to shake her back to life but doesn't move an inch from his position on the floor. Eric doesn't move except to breathe.
She'll wake up.
Wake up.
Several hours pass.
The boy remains at the foot of his aunt's chair, stiff as a stone. He doesn't cry; he doesn't speak. Eric sits in simple silence, deep in thought. When the sun begins to rise and offer bits of light through the windows, when the birds start to stir and sing, Eric's thought processes shift.
Why didn't I wake up?
Why didn't I stay with her?
Why didn't I move her to her bed?
Why didn't I keep her from exerting herself?
Why didn't I wake up?
"I'm sorry." He says finally, "I'm sorry I wasn't here."
Eric wants to cry now. The sun is coming up and the room is getting brighter. The nightlight, designed to work only in the dark, flickers once and then shuts off all together. In the stronger light of morning Pearl appears small, maybe sunken, it's clear that her chest is not rising and falling and that in fact she is dead. Her face is peaceful, her eyes closed, but she is clearly gone.
The last bit of vain hope the boy had falls away. Eric wants to cry, but holds his breath until the feeling goes away. He hasn't cried since that day at school four years ago, and he's not going to do it now. Eric cannot do that now. The last thing that needs to happen is a loss of control at such a crucial and terrifying moment in his life.
"What am I supposed to do?"
The birds outside grow louder; the sunlight through the windows, stronger. The sounds of the neighborhood coming to life buzz in the morning ambience. Eric stands.
"I'm sorry." He says again, leaning closer to his aunt's body in the chair. "I love you, Pearl."
Eric kisses his aunt on herhead and walks out of the room.
Before he leaves he'll pack one bag full of clothes and a few trinkets that mean something; a picture, an old note, a necklace, some bauble from somewhere. Everything else in his room is superfluous and means nothing in the long run. He doesn't take anything of Pearl's, save for her theatrically long blue scarf. She never wore it after the pills ran out. There was no reason; she never went outside.
Even though the weather is warm and in no demand for a scarf, Eric wraps it around his neck and pulls it close. It long ago lost the scent of Pearl. It's been hanging in her closet for ages. Despite this, Eric pulls it close and breathes deep. Before he leaves he'll make sure the house is clean.
Before he leaves he'll call 911 because they're the only people he can think to call. There are no other family members. There are no friends. It will be ten minutes before the van arrives to take Pearl away. Eric will be gone.
Before he leaves he'll start to cry. The faucets in the hallway bathroom with creak and the toilet will start to run. The pipes will groan. For a moment he'll lose control and the sinks in the house will start to drip, almost trickle. Eric will dry his eyes and shut the door behind him. Down the street the sprinklers in the neighbors' yard will come on, but that happens normally.
People will think it happens normally.