The small town was beautiful at night. the locals were nice-for the most part-and it was calming, overall. There were small lights strung up around an outdoor restaurant's patio, and you could see the groups of people dining there.
The sun had set long ago, and a cool breeze had easily broken through Clary's t-shirt. She was reminded, once again, that she was wearing days old clothes, full of sand. Her hair was still messy, but she'd managed to comb through it with her fingers, so now it at least looked slightly presentable. But what did it matter? She lost years worth of memories, and who knows how many lies had been invented to keep her from the truth. And just the fact that Alec had been the one to tell her this, and not Isabelle, or Magnus, or her Mom, told he something she didn't want to know. Of course she knew they thought it was best for her, but the fact that they thought lying to her was better than the truth, it stung a little. It really hurt.
At that point, she was glad her phone was still tucked underneath her pillow-otherwise she'd be pestered with calls and texts, when all she wanted was to be alone. Away from all of them. Clary, you're being stupid, her brother's voice rang through her head. "I don't want to hear it, Jon," Clary mumbled to herself. This will only make things worse. "I don't care. I want to be away from it, far away," she probably sounded crazy, but it felt as if she were having a real conversation with Jonathan, and it made her heart hurt. So badly. She wanted to be able to hold him, one more time. "Don't be stubborn," Jon said, and Clary's head snapped up immediately, looking around frantically.
She was going crazy, Clary was sure of it.
There, standing a little ways away, was Jonathan. His fair hair blowing in the breeze, and his green eyes lively and looking right at her. It's not real, she told herself. Jonathan is dead. "Go away!" Clary near shouted at him. It wasn't him, though, it couldn't be. Jonathan is DEAD! She internally screamed at herself. "You didn't miss me, little sister?" He asked, walking closer to her. Clary backed away, onto the empty road. She tripped over the curb, and stumbled around before she finally fell to her knees. There was a burning sensation in them, she had probably scraped them on the pavement. She buried her face in her hands, crying hysterically. "You're dead, you're dead," she repeated.
A hand began rubbing up and down her back, she turned to look, as tears ran down her cheeks rapidly. "I'm not, Clary," he said. "I'm not dead." Clary looked at him, beginning to hyperventilate. Her breathing coming in short wheezing noises. She pulled herself away from him, moving slowly on her knees, making the burning sensation worse. Jonathan was crouching, where she had just been sitting. Clary stumbled, putting her hands out, to push herself back to her feet. She took unsteady steps backwards, as tears stained her cheeks. Jonathan stood up, sighing, he stayed standing where he was. "I'm going crazy," Clary said, to herself. "I'm going absolutely crazy. I'm seeing my dead brother, I lost my memory, I'm a disaster, I'm crazy," Clary mumbled.
She wiped at her eyes, trying to clear her vision, sure that when she could see clearly, Jonathan would be gone. Clary looked ahead, trying to regulate her breathing, and sure enough, Jonathan was gone. "I'm so utterly crazy," Clary breathed, covering her eyes with her hand. Suddenly, she was wrapped in someone's arms. Their embrace was tight. Clary looked up, and was met with the same green eyes as her own. "I'm loosing it," Clary mumbled. "I've already lost it."
"Shh," he said, burying his face in her curls. "Stop it; you're not crazy," Clary looked up at him, her eyes slightly blurry with tears. "My brother died three years ago," she said. He shook his head, his eyes glossy. "I knew I shouldn't have left. Look at you," he muttered, holding her tighter. Clary knew that Jonathan would be gone-he wasn't real, after all-soon, so she hugged him back, needing the comfort from her brother. Something she'd missed since he'd died.
"Don't leave me," Clary cried into his shirt, soaking it with her tears, knowing she looked like a complete lunatic; talking to the air, and all. He rubbed circles on her back. "I won't," he said quietly. "P-please," Clary cried even harder-if that was possible. "I need you back. I need my brother."
"And I need my sister," he said. "Clary, I'm not dead, I promise. This is me, I'm alive," he said. "No you aren't," Clary mumbled into his shirt. "I'm imagining you, I'm going crazy."
He ran his fingers through her curls, brushing them out-just like he always used to do. "I wish you really were here," Clary went on. "I miss you so much," she pulled away from him, seeing the big wet spot on his white, long-sleeve shirt, she felt even more heat rise to her cheeks, surely making her look like a fire truck. "Clary, what will it take to prove I'm real?" Jonathan asked, bending down to be on her level. She shook her head at him. "Stop it." She demanded. "Stop saying you're real, I know you aren't."
Jonathan gave a frustrated sigh, and walked up to a woman-maybe in her early twenties-with brown hair, pinned up, out of her face. She gave Clary a worried look, noticing the tears streaking her face. "Excuse me," Jonathan said, catching the attention of the woman, she went blank, her cheeks turning slightly red-Jonathan had always had that effect on girls. "Y-yes?" The woman stuttered. "Could you give me directions to Main Street?" He asked. The woman nodded, and proceeded to rattle off a series of directions, and he promptly thanked her, returning to Clary. She smiled weakly, and shook her head at him, "Jon, you're dead."
"I am not dead," he said, firmly, sounding a little angry. "Clarissa, look at me," he commanded. Clary met his eyes, he was looking her up and down, worriedly. "You are not hallucinating, and I am as real as can be. Now, tell me, why are you in Virginia?"
Clary laughed, dryly, and somewhat bitterly. "Summer vacation, Jon," she said, growing tired. "Now, tell me," she started. "How you are alive."
Jon sighed. "Sit down," he pulled her to a bench near where they stood. Clary fell into the bench, all those nights without sleep, and restless sleep, setting in. She yawned. "Do you remember the crash?" he asked. Clary shrugged. "Depends, are you going to tell me the true version, or the one I know?" He gave her a curious look. "Either way," he began. "I didn't die, Dad did. I was unconscious, and barely breathing. Mom thought I was going to die, but I didn't. I woke up days before you, and Mom had told everyone I had died, because she didn't want me to get stuck looking after Dad's company-although, there was probably a less extreme thing to say, than that. I wanted to stay, wait beside you until you woke up, but Mom shipped me off to college here, in Virginia.
"When I told Mom I was coming home for Christmas break, the first year, she said I couldn't. Said you thought I was dead, and it would overwhelm you when you found out I wasn't. I didn't understand why, not until the next year, when I asked again. She said no, and I demanded an explanation. Do you know what Mom told me?" Clary shook her head, and waited impatiently for him to continue.
"She said the crash screwed with your memory, did you know that?" He asked, his tone gentle, but somewhat angry. "I just found out. Today," Clary answered bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. He gave her a sympathetic look. "Do you remember anything? At all?" Jonathan asked.
"Most things, it only screwed with parts of my memory, Jon," Clary replied. He grabbed her hands, holding them between his. "I wanted to see you so bad, Clare," Jonathan said, his tone quiet, gentle. Clary felt tears well in her eyes again, hearing him call her that nickname, brought back so many memories, and she couldn't help but wonder what other memories were associate with the name. The ones she didn't remember.
Clary threw herself into Jonathan's arms, clinging to him for dear life. Her breathing coming in short, gasping breaths. Jonathan held her tightly, rubbing her back again, whispering soothing words in her ears. "Where are you staying, Clary?" He asked, as she sat up. Her eyelids felt heavy, and moving her legs felt like moving bricks. "Um," Clary said, trying to focus. "Beach house, by the lake," Clary said. He nodded, and grabbed her hand.
Jonathan knocked on the door, holding a sleeping Clary in his arms. There was rustling from behind the door, and then it was flung open. "Clary?" Isabelle asked, and then looked up, to see Jonathan. She was speechless. "Jonathan?" Isabelle asked. "Hi, Isabelle," he said. "Can I come in?" He motioned to the sleeping Clary, that he held tightly to.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Isabelle stepped aside, holding the door open for him. Jonathan stepped inside, careful not to hit Clary on anything. "Is that biscuit?" Magnus called, and stopped dead in his tracks, looking from Jonathan, to the sleeping Clary in his arms. "Jonathan?" Magnus asked, his eyebrows almost touching his hairline. "You are dead," Magnus pointed out. "I am not dead," Jonathan pointed out. "Now, where is her room?"
"Follow me," Isabelle said, and she quickly dashed up the steps, followed by Jonathan, who walked slower, as he was holding Clary. Her red curls hanging over his arm, waving around in the air as he walked. He had missed her so much.
Isabelle was standing in a bedroom on the left end of the hall. He pushed thorough the door, and placed Clary on the bed that he knew by instinct was hers; the one with messy blankets an sheets. He pulled the blanket over her, and kissed her forehead gently, before turning back to Isabelle, who was watching him intensely. She quickly turned, walking out of the room. Jonathan followed her, down the stairs, and turning to his right, into a living room, it seemed.
He recognized everyone sitting in the room immediately; Alec Lightwood, Jace Herondale, and Magnus Bane. They all looked at him, Magnus was less surprised than he had been, moments earlier, while Alec and Jace were staring at him incredulously.
"You are supposed to be dead," Alec gulped, pointing at him. Jonathan smirked slightly. "So I'm told."
There was silence, as everyone just watched Jonathan in somewhat of an amazed and confused state. "Where was she?" Isabelle finally asked. She was sitting on the couch, beside Alec, her right leg crossed over top of her left, as she picked at her cuticles. "I found her walking around, talking to herself," Jonathan replied. "It was like she was talking to me," he continued. "And then I actually started talking, and she kept saying I was dead."
"Aren't you supposed to be?" Jace asked, and Jonathan looked at him, remembering all the time he had been over at the house, the time he had been Clary's best friend. It was impossible to believe that anymore, though.
"I hope you've all taken care of her," Jonathan said, ignoring Jace's question, but his eyes still landed on the boy, giving him an accusing look. "She's my best friend, Jonathan, what do you think?" Isabelle said, rubbing at her temples, bending over slightly, so her inky hair fell around her like a curtain. "I thought best friend was Jace's department," Jonathan said, leaning back into the chair he'd sat in. "She doesn't remember," Jace said, his voice low, and a little angry.
"There's nothing we can do about it, Jace," Alec sighed. "Don't you think we would have done something, if there was something to be done?" Jace looked resigned, and tired, as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'm going to bed," Isabelle said, and trudged up the stairs, her expression wistful.
Jonathan didn't blame Isabelle, for feeling such a way. He had felt it every day since leaving Clary behind. She was his little sister, after all. His family. And he needed her.
Here's the new chapter! You guys got me to 100 reviews so fast! I'm so happy with the feed back I'm getting. It makes me smile so much, you have no idea.
Plot twist, after plot twist with me, huh guys? You must hate me by now.
Either way, I'll have a new chapter for you all at 130 reviews!