I blink my eyes open, and Washinton is leaning over me, and I'm laying across the front seat of his car, the wheels rumbling beneath my head, my arm wrapped in what looks like the white lacy tablecloth from Herc's dining room, and I realize that all the red on it is my blood.
"Hang on, son. We're almost at the hospital," Washington says urgently.
But his face changes, and it's not George Washington anymore; the face becomes more feminine, and eyes filled with kindness.
"My Alex," my mother says, leaning down, touching my forehead, her hand soft as an angel's. "Mehson."
And that's when I know I'm dying.
The best thing about dying, I decide, is that I'm finally going to see my mother. She'll be waiting for me on the other side, and there'll be all of my friends back from Nevis who lost their lives to the Hurricane. Not like I ever had many friends.
But when I open my eyes, there's no friends or reunions, just a terrible numb feeling on the right side of my body and the sound of yelling, like someone's in a tsunami. I half expect to see a massive wave.
Except the voice doing the shouting is Hercules.
"You were supposed to work together!" He shouted, "You were supposed to watch him!"
I hear Washington's voice, the same steady voice he uses when he talks to everybody.
"Hercules," he said, "it was an accident. It's not John's fault-"
"Don't you talk to me about accidents!" he shrieked wildly, "He killed his turtle and now he's almost killed my first friend!"
"Herc, don't," Laf pleaded, "Please don't."
I open my eyes to see the room crowded with people- it seems like everyone's here. There's Washington and Laf and Angelica and Eliza and Peggy and Philip Schuyler and, heck even James Madison and Thomas Jefferson. In the middle of the room, Herc and Laurens stand across from each other like boxers in a ring.
"Hercules," Laurens said in a choked voice.
But it's too much for Hercules to handle somehow, and he takes to steps until he's standing right in front of John, and he slaps him. Slaps him so hard, I'm sure they can hear it across the river in Jersey.
The whole room gasped, and Herc raises his hand again.
Laurens blanched like he's been sucker punched, but he doesn't say anything; he just stands there, waiting for the next blow to fall. He's used to it after all. He looks terrible. His shirt is stained with my blood, and his usually sparkling hazel eyes appear to be a dull brown, and I can't take it. I can't take seeing that horrible look in his eyes like he wishes he was dead and Hercules his executioner. My two favorite people standing there, hating each other.
"Stop," I said. It came out as a croak.
Hercules spins around and rushes over to me, at my side in two steps.
"Alex, Alex," He said.
Washington shooed everybody out of the room, and I watch as Laurens holds my gaze until the door is slammed behind him.
I might add an epilogue if there's high demand, but I think the story will end here. Thanks for reading! =3 =3 =3