Hello, readers!
This chapter has been updated as of 11/1/2017.
~ Crayola
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dead and Gone
"When are you going back to school?"
I didn't lift my eyes from my cereal at the sound of my dad's voice. I chewed more deliberately on the bite in my mouth, trying to come up with an answer for him. For the past week, he'd been pestering me about returning to school since it had finally reopened. Dad was trying to whittle me down so I would go back.
Part of me wanted to believe he thought it was good for me, but I knew it was really just that he was worried about my grades. That, maybe, I was milking it so I could avoid going to school and earn more sympathy or something.
Yeah, I hear the conversations you have with Mom at night! You're getting a special mention in therapy next time.
"Whenever my therapist says I'm ready to go," I said at last, before taking another bite of cereal. More often than not, now, I wanted to just stay up in my room and keep hidden away from the family. It was still hard for me to sleep, though.
My sister's stare burned holes in the back of my head. She, of course, had been going since day one. Probably shouting more nonsense about aliens.
If I could come up with a way to keep her from doing that without confessing, I would.
Alan was already in his room, and I was a little jealous of him. He wasn't part of this stupid conversation—again.
"You have to go back eventually," Dad pointed out. The newspaper in his hand rustled as he changed pages. I was certain he was single-handedly keeping the printed news business afloat. Well, it might have been a combined effort between all dads everywhere.
Mom cleared her throat and shot him a glare, but he ignored her.
It wasn't like he wasn't right, but if I could postpone my reintroduction to school, then I wasn't going to force Ava to clear me. None of it seemed important to me anymore, not when my only friends weren't going to be there anymore.
All my fault.
"I know," I said with a sigh, dropping my spoon in the almost empty bowl. My appetite had fled me. "The funeral's today and Ava'll want to hear about it. Maybe afterward she'll tell me I can go. She said I needed more time last session."
Dad sighed, but it was Mom who spoke. "I'm sure another few days won't hurt anything." She cleared away her dishes and moved to the sink.
He said, "Well, try not to shoot for next week. The sooner the better."
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Mm-hmm."
Kristie followed Mom's lead and cleared her bowl from the table. Without looking at me, she said, "I'm going to school tomorrow."
"Good for you," I muttered under my breath, glaring up at her.
If she heard me, there was no outward sign and she certainly didn't have a comeback. I kept my eyes on her for a moment longer while I finished off my cereal, and then swallowed the last few mouthfuls of the sugary milk.
It was my turn to clean up. I left my crutches behind and hobbled to the sink, trying not to draw attention to myself. However, Dad noticed.
"Nichole, should you be doing that?" he said nonchalantly, looking up at me from over the top of his paper. Mom poked her head in and then gasped, hurrying to bring me my crutches over by the sink for me.
My brows knit together and I pursed my lips. "Nothing says I can't do it. Besides, my legs haven't hurt much in days."
"That's because you've been resting them," Mom scolded.
Huffing, I put my dishes away in the washer and begrudgingly gathered my crutches. "I'm going to start physical therapy here pretty soon. I gotta get in some practice," I pointed out, heading toward the stairs.
"Don't overdo it," Dad said. His lack of convincing empathy irked me.
"Did you need help up the stairs so you can get ready?" Mom asked, trailing after me.
I dodged her question and instead asked one of my own, trying to stall before the funeral as much as I could. "When are you guys going back to work?"
"Your father is going in today, but I'm going to take another two days off so I can help clean up after the memorial service today, unless you want me to stay home with you until you go back to school, of course."
That's right, they're not calling it a funeral.
The town had elected to host one massive ceremony for everyone who had died during the incident. Of course, there were no bodies so they had just gathered pictures of all the known victims from the town. The family members of the deceased were going to read short passages during the whole thing. A lot of people had come together to help pull it off, my mom included.
As far as I knew, there was a separate ceremony being held out of state for all the military folks. This was strictly for Estes Park victims.
Having the house alone made me nervous but at the same time, it would be refreshing. I wouldn't have to hide in my room to find the peace and quiet I needed, but I also knew that Dad would probably lecture me about lounging on the couch all day . . . .
Oh, wait. There was the whole broken legs thing. He couldn't really complain about that. Didn't mean he was going to be happy about it, though. Or find a way to bitch anyway.
"No, I'll be fine by myself," I said. "Atlas will be here, right?"
She smiled and stroked my hair. "Yeah, I guess he will be. Well, we're going to head over there in a little bit so you best hurry and get ready."
I nodded and tucked my crutches under my arm. "Yeah, sure. Where is Atlas, anyway?"
Dad came out of the kitchen and motioned toward the back door. "Outside barking at a squirrel or a bird or something."
Sure enough, I could hear the faint sound of our dog howling in the backyard. He stopped and started in fits, and it wasn't out of the ordinary for him to bark at everything he perceived as a threat—usually other people walking by with their dogs.
Every morning he would do the same routine, and it was something we had never really been able to break no matter how much training we did.
We certainly tried to curb it, though.
Kristie walked over to the back door and threw it open. "Get in here!" she shouted. Atlas continued barking for a while, then skittered inside, his claws clicking on the kitchen floor. He greeted everyone in turn and then ran straight back outside through the doggy door to start the same cycle again. Kristie groaned and just stormed up the stairs to prepare.
I watched her with a growing sadness, then started up the stairs, leaning heavily on the rail as I tried to juggle my crutches all the while. "He'll bark himself tired, I'm sure. It won't take me long to get ready, so holler when it's time to go.
"Do you need any help?" my mom offered.
Shaking my head, I finally made it to the landing and went to my room. "Nope, I'm good."
Once I was closed up in solitude, I sat down on my bed. Letting out a slow breath, I tilted my head back and shut my eyes. I had been avoiding seeing anyone but my family, Dr. Kendrick, Ava, and the agents for as long as I could, but now. . .now I was going to have to face everyone all at once. All I could do was hope that they didn't force me to make a stupid speech or something.
*:・゚✧
It seemed like the whole town had arrived to pay their respects; there were even more present than there had been at the press conference. It was a sea of bodies out in the cold, all clad in varying shades of black with a speck of color here or there. Snow covered everything and the gray clouds above swathed the sky in dim lighting, making it seem like the color had been drained from the entire world.
All that was missing was some god damn rain.
The funeral home hadn't been anywhere near big enough for the entire city, so some people had made last-minute calls to the Stanley Hotel, and the staff there were more than happy to oblige. Their various venues were more than large enough to accommodate the sheer number of people who showed up.
It wasn't rare for parties or weddings to be held at the hotel. It was a pretty popular spot and was usually expensive, but management had cut the price due to the circumstances—not that it would have mattered: everyone was more than willing to chip in to pay for it.
Everyone was still piling into the iconic hotel well after the event was supposed to begin. Finally, though visitors were still trickling in, the memorial service began and everyone took their seats in the large MacGregor Ballroom. Against the back wall, a slideshow was playing. I didn't know who had set it up, but it was full of various pictures of the victims.
My family had seats reserved in the front row, but I wished I could stay in the back where I wouldn't have giant versions of my friends' faces staring at me.
I should have wanted to see them, though. Maybe looking at them smiling and having fun would bleach their fear-contorted faces from my mind. Maybe seeing them happy would help me forget their pain, right before they were gunned down in a mercy killing.
But no, I had to sit right up front and try to avoid looking directly at the slideshow while each speaker came up, in turn, to make a short speech before a priest from one of the local churches could do his thing. The constantly sniffling and muffled sobbing coming from the crowd drowned out the soft, somber music playing through a sound system.
The speaking came to a close and people were allowed to mill around and socialize, maybe eat some finger foods.
Up until the speeches had been concluded, I had managed to keep my emotions in check. I couldn't quite keep tears from falling, but I wasn't a mess like some of the others. I had kept up a stony expression and focused on anything I could to keep from losing my composure.
With the reception in full swing and people coming together to chat, I knew it was only a matter of time before my poise crumbled.
"Nichole?"
I'd been too busy trying not to stare at the slideshow to notice someone had approached me. I managed not to have a complete fit of surprise and only twitched a little before turning to see who was talking to me: someone I barely recognized.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," the man said. A woman I assumed was his wife stood at his heels, her hands on his shoulder. Both of them had red, puffy eyes as if they were both close to breaking down. I felt like I'd seen them somewhere, but they weren't the parents of any of my close friends that I could tell.
"It's okay," I said, pursing my lips. "Did you lose someone?"
He nodded his head and said, "Ah, yes. Our . . . our son, Michael. We just wanted to know, if, um, was . . . did he suffer at all?"
"Was he tortured?" the woman blurted out, only bringing herself closer to a meltdown.
Though I wasn't sure who their son was, I could imagine what might have happened to him—plastered to the wall, surrounded by darkness and other victims. Awake and confused, chest pains—I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I figured it didn't matter who their son was, his fate was probably the same as everyone else's who was in that hive.
Fighting against the wave of memories and images—eggs lined up on the ground, facehuggers leaping at the people pinned—I remembered what these people wanted to hear.
They wanted some good news. I could do that.
"Um, no," I managed to say. I couldn't even begin to conceive what all the victims went through before they died, but I was there to bring comfort, not make things worse.
"No one was really . . . tortured," I continued, unable to meet their eyes. I wished I could force a smile, but I couldn't even do that much. I wasn't sure if a smile would be appreciated, either. "Yeah, they didn't torture anyone, just, it was like . . . ."
When I found I couldn't come up with anything, I just shook my head. "I don't . . . I don't know what they did with the victims. They took them away and . . . I don't really want to talk about it."
Michael's dad reached forward and put a hand on my shoulder. "You've already said enough."
His wife lifted a crumpled tissue to her eyes and forced a smile. I found it easier to do the same when I had an example in front of me. She said, "Thank you."
As they left, I realized there was a whole group of people standing around, waiting for their chance to talk to me but hadn't wanted to be the first. After the first set left, they all came in pairs or small groups. I was grateful they didn't swarm me, but they all asked the same questions—what were her final moments like? Was he brave? Did he try to stand up for himself? Very few asked about my particular situation, so it was easy to tell them what they wanted to hear to make them leave.
Eventually, the people I didn't want to see finally made an appearance. My heart dropped and I already felt a swell of emotion in my chest. Jess' and Michelle's parents both came to me at the same time—well, their mothers. I didn't know where their dads were. Had I not been practicing the art of not crying for the past two weeks, I would have burst into tears at the very sight of them.
I had never been particularly close to Michelle's family, and though Francine wasn't quite like my second mom like Jess' mom was, I still considered her comparable to extended family. As the two approached, I briefly considered running away but knew that would just delay the inevitable.
"Nichole, sweetie," Francine cooed, reaching out to me. I found myself reaching back not out of the need for her comfort, but because I knew she needed to comfort me.
Though I had to lift myself a little out of my seat to properly hug Sarah, Jess' mom, I didn't mind too much. I held the embrace until she let go and then settled back down. I couldn't meet her eyes no matter how hard I tried.
Sarah's hand brushed my face, but I spoke first. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry we ever went out there. Jess didn't want to go, but Michelle and I wanted to find what crashed in the woods, so I convinced her to come with us. I should have just—it's all my fault. I'm sorry—I'm sorry I couldn't bring them back with me." The words tumbled from my mouth unfiltered, and it was by some miracle I managed not to give out any specific details.
"No, no," Francine sighed, her voice heavy with tears. She held me again while I tried to stop the sobs and regain control of myself again. "No one's blaming you, least of all me."
Francine let me go and I brushed tears from my face. I forced the tide of emotions down and convinced myself that I was only crying because everyone else was. Sarah stepped up next to Francine and put her hand on my shoulder. Though I tried to look up at her, I was unable: her expression was stony and contrasted with what she said. "She's right. No one blames you for this directly."
Directly. The word hit me like a brick.
Before either of the two could say anything more, I was swarmed by a crowd of familiar faces and a flurry of well-wishes. Sarah and Francine were pushed away and quietly melted into the rest of the crow, leaving me alone with all of my soccer teammates.
"How are you feeling?"
"Will you be able to play again?"
"When you missed practice I had no idea that—"
I lifted my hands and closed my eyes. They flung questions and comforting words at me all at the same time and I could only process some of them. "I'm doing alright, no I won't be able to play anymore, even when I'm healed."
A collective groan of pity rippled through the small gaggle of girls and I found it rather tedious.
"What are you going to do then?" the varsity striker, Caitlyn, asked.
Shrugging, I flippantly said, "Learn how to play chess, I guess."
A few chuckled, but most were too choked up on funeral sadness to find it even kind of funny. To be fair, I wasn't laughing either.
We spoke for a little while and I was glad for their company, if only because they barred anyone else from approaching. They did most of the talking while I sat and nodded when I was supposed to, feigned interest when it was appropriate, and went "aw" when necessary. For the most part, I just wished the whole thing was over.
I had only been to one funeral before when my great-grandma on my mom's side had died. We'd driven all the way to Nebraska for it, and it had been a quarter of the size of this one. Maybe even an eighth. The service had been in a church, and then we'd driven out to the cemetery for the lowering of the casket. The original plan for this service had been something similar, but there weren't any caskets to speak of. Without that, I wasn't really sure what the plan was anymore.
At my great-grandma's funeral, we had small sandwiches, cookies, punch, and other little confectionaries after the service and before the burial. It was much the same here, but there lacked the kind of levity that had been present at my great-grandma's: it had been a funeral for a woman who had lived a full and relatively happy life.
That wasn't even close to the case this time.
These were lives cut down before their prime, snuffed out with so much potential. There was no celebrating of a complete life. Some people weren't eating, and those that were partaking in refreshments were sitting sullenly by themselves or with their families. Any occasional outburst of laughter or mirth caught attention and was quieted.
Soon, people started to file out of the Stanley and head to their cars. I liked to imagine I knew where they were going, but no one told me anything around there.
They were probably too afraid of setting me off or something.
Whatever.
Sighing, I stood up from my seat and started to hobble around to try and find my family, but my mother beat me to it. Even though she startled me when she put her hand on my shoulder, I managed not to try and backhand her. Some of these sessions with Ava were doing me some good.
I still jumped out of my skin, though.
"Oh I'm sorry honey, I didn't mean to scare you," Mom said.
My cheeks burned and I let my breath out in a gust. I shook my head and readjusted my grip on the crutches. I said, "It's fine."
"Did you get something to eat?" she asked.
"Not yet."
"Well, let's go grab you something and then we can head out towards the memorial."
"Where's that?" I asked, following Mom over to the table of snacks.
She shrugged and picked up a paper plate to start piling food on it for me. "I'm not sure. We're going to follow everyone else. I'm sure someone who knows is going to lead us all there. Mustard on your sandwich?"
"Yes, please."
Mom made up my sandwich using the dishes of condiments, set a handful of Doritos on the plate next to it, picked out a sugar cookie for dessert, then lead me toward the car, offering to feed me. I shook my head and picked up a cup of lemonade. It was about all I could carry while trying to walk with crutches at the same time.
I asked, "Where's everyone else? Dad, Kristie, Allen?"
"I told them to get the car warmed up while I grabbed you. Did you talk to a lot of people?"
"I guess so, kinda."
Conversation dwindled when we reached the door and we had to maneuver through the wave of people without dropping any food. The cold air blasted me in the face and I shivered in my coat, wishing I hadn't unzipped it earlier. It had been a little toasty in the MacGregor Ballroom, but at least I hadn't removed my jacket completely.
It had snowed again several times over the week, but it had always warmed up enough during the afternoons that most of it melted away. There was still a few inches, but at least the city didn't have to be closed off like it did some winters.
*:・゚✧
A police escort trailed us toward the sight of the memorial. Police on motorcycles were zipping ahead to block off intersections and keep traffic at bay, but there wasn't any traffic to speak of.
Not when 80% of Estes Park was coming to the memorial.
There had to be more than a dozen cars ahead of us, and even more following from behind. Shortly after we started driving, I had finished all of my food and stowed the empty cup and plate underneath my seat for later. However, the trash was probably going to stay there for a week before it was discovered and disposed of.
We passed building after building and it wasn't long before I noticed what direction we were going. That the buildings were giving way to trees and we were winding our way upward. My blood pressure spiked and I turned around in my seat to see the town fading behind us.
"Why are we going this way?" I demanded in a meek voice.
Dad glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I was sitting closest to the right door with Allen between me and Kristie. "They set up a memorial in the picnic area of the park," he said.
"What?" Blood turning to ice in my veins, I sank further in my seat, trying not to look out the window into the woods on either side of us. I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing so I could keep the coming panic attack at bay.
"Yeah, this'll be the first time they let anyone near the park since you were found," Mom added.
And for good reason! I couldn't help but think. Rawlins and Cooper had said they found a few drones in the forest, but how could they be sure that there weren't more out there?
"We shouldn't go in there," I whimpered aloud, squirming in my seat.
"Don't be such a baby," Kristie muttered. If she had been trying to say it quietly, she didn't do a very good job of it.
"Kristie!" my mom admonished, turning sharply in her seat.
Though I wasn't looking at her, I could hear her roll her eyes. "Sorry, god."
Mom glared at her a moment longer before turning to look at me. "It'll be okay, sweetie. They wouldn't have opened the park if they didn't think it was safe."
When I opened my mouth to say something, I realized I had nothing rational or intelligent to say and shut it instead. It wasn't like I could tell them "there could be giant alien monsters in there that want to eat us."
Of course, the option was there to explain that "there could be terrorists still in there" but that would be dismissed.
Despite the feeling of dread, I forced myself to sit still in my seat and use the breathing exercises Ava taught me to keep my emotions under control. There wasn't much I could do about my heart or the sweaty palms, but at least I was somewhat under control.
Well, in a way that anyone looking at me would think I was under control.
We patrolled past the admission booths without picking up parking permits and I every muscle in my body tensed until it hurt. I stayed that way the entire drive into the main picnic area where we parked. Up ahead, the information booth sat in front of the tables lined up, surrounded by trees.
Dad helped me out of the car and I settled onto my crutches. However, my legs refused to move me forward until my mother started to steer me onward. We melted into the rest of the crowd, but they still parted when I came up to give me enough room. I found a strange sense of comfort in the sea of bodies—safety in numbers, I supposed.
Even then, the slightest rustle of leaves, a shadow cast by a shift in the trees, someone coughing abruptly—it was all enough to send me into a fit. My breathing exercises started to fail and I tried finding my dumb-ass "happy place" but that didn't work.
I told myself that it wasn't going to be much longer. Only enough time to see the memorial and then that'd be it. I'd make my parents take me home and the whole thing would be over.
And I'd never have to come to this park ever again.
Or any forest.
Hiking and camping were things of the past for me. I didn't want to spend any more time in anything remotely close to a wooded area.
Further into the picnic area, I finally caught sight of the large gold plaque posted on a thick tree. I thought maybe it was an oak, but I had no idea. I wasn't a tree-ologist. Everyone was crowded around it and I dug my heels in, refusing to go any closer and forcing Mom to move around me.
"Okaywesawitcanwegonow?"
"What?" Dad asked, pausing to look at me.
"I want to go, we saw it, so can we go?" I asked, remembering to enunciate.
Mom brushed passed us and glanced at me. "I want to go read it real quick. I'll only be a few minutes, then we can go."
Despite the urge to throw a grade-A tantrum, I clamped shut. In lieu of making a horrendous scene, I clenched my fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. My sister meandered after my mom but my brother looked about as interested in going to look at the plate as he was doing his homework.
"We'll be done soon," Dad said as he followed the rest of the family.
Resigned, I sat down at the nearest bench and squeezed my hands together, trying to keep my eyes on my lap. People continued to pass me by while I attempted to manage the mini heart attack creeping up on me.
The trees loomed above me, leaning in and surrounding all sides—closing in around me.
Every shadow—every sound—hidden aliens lurked and waited for an opportunity—
A branch out in front of me dipped and creaked. I threw my hands up and tangled my fingers in my hair, tugging. Eyes closed, I hummed quietly to myself in order to drown out the anxiety and thoughts plaguing my mind.
It seemed like an eternity but eventually, someone stood in front of me. I heard their shoes crunch on the snow and I looked up, fingers curled and ready to scratch some eyes out.
"Baby?"
Oh. Just Mom.
I lowered my hands and stared up at her helplessly. She crouched in front of me and took her my hands in hers. "Honey, you're shaking, are you okay?"
When I shook my head, it was a jerky motion. "I want to go home."
She nodded and stood up straight. "Alright, let me go find your father and I'll be right back. Alan? Alan stay with your sister."
Though he visibly sighed, my brother still came to my side and stood there, shoulders hunched against the cold. He had been talking to one of his friends from school, but they were ushered away when Alan left them. I glanced at him and stared at my lap. "Sorry."
He looked at me and blinked. "For what?"
"Nothing," I murmured, huddling closer to myself.
Silence—save for the buzz coming from the group by the tree—descended around me and my nervousness increased. Eventually, even the sound of their mingled voices faded into nothing and I found it hard to focus on any one thing for longer than a second before my attention was directed elsewhere.
I was certain that the shadows were alive and scheming against me. I felt the eyes of something sinister watching me from the canopy, making my heartbeat thunder in my ears.
"Are you scared?" Alan asked me, interrupting the panic attack.
It must have been my breathing that caught his attention: I hadn't realized how audible it had become. I swallowed the bile in my throat and looked down in shame. "Kind of."
Without looking at me, he held his hand where I could see it. Confused, I turned my head toward him and cocked it to the side. He still didn't look at me even as he said, "You can hold my hand if you want to."
To my credit, I didn't tear up. I smiled and took his hand in mine, then waited for our parents to return. We didn't say much, but there wasn't really a need to. The warmth of his hand was enough to keep me calm while my parents wrangled each other up and found my sister. It didn't completely chase away the feeling that I was being watched or that the shadows harbored monsters, but it was a start.
