Falling Through the Cracks
by Aimme,
with touches by My Note Book
Summary: His mask was flawless. His walls were perfectly structured. Protection and cautionary containment at its finest. Even a perfect pretend held fractures, though, and no matter how strong his glue, under the right circumstances, glue cracked and had to be gutted and filled in again.
Author's Note: So, uh...first, I want to say that this chapter is not all that I planned for it to be. Don't get me wrong, I like what's here, but I am disappointed I could not include everything I wanted to put into this chapter. Once more, this chapter was supposed to be split half-and-half between Cody and Zack. Then Cody got too talkative, I was dealing with a lot of writing issues which compounded my time restraints, and I eventually ended up with this. Half of this chapter was written between last night and today. How fun is that? I haven't even had a chance to do a full edit on it, but I didn't want to let you guys down by not posting this evening. The fact of the matter is, I ran out of time. And I blame most of it on my lack of information about medical forms, which slowed me down tremendously. I had to just improvise a bit, basing my questions on a medical release form for a group my brother is a part of called Royal Rangers (it's somewhat akin to your average Boy Scouts).
However, on the subject of Cody getting talkative: I didn't foresee any of that stuff coming, but I don't mind the history. For me, it was...intriguing.
I hope this chapter is alright with everyone, but let me say that I like what is here...
BlackKeys96, thank you! And also, thanks for elaborating on the double meaning! I appreciated it and I enjoyed your thoughts! I am glad that you thought the chapter emotionally beautiful and the details such as Bailey's irrational anger and her being an emotional wreck were poignant to you. The fallout of that (Bailey's state) will be interesting to see. As for Moseby's initial reaction, you are right: it is sad! And yes, I think he really does love the twins. You just have to get to that soft spot down beneath the prickles it hides in. And oh yes, a big shocker! That will be fun to write, I assure you! By the way, I made some changes on the last chapter and the beginning has a few more paragraphs. I thought I would let you know that you might want to take a gander at that.
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Chapter Nine - The Memories Were Bittersweet
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"He never thought he cared so much about the minute hand,
Until he started praying for a second chance,
If he could only do it all again..." -33 Miles
'The truth…I wish I knew the truth with Zack.' I sighed and closed my eyes, willing away the stress-induced headache whispering on the edges of my brain before it could blossom into an out-and-out pain inside my skull. Part of me kept repeating a sentiment that I couldn't do this. I couldn't handle this.
1:45 PM
'Where had the time gone?' my mind wondered absently as I left off my glance to my watch, my eyes flickering across the carpet listlessly. My lip curled as I distractedly noted that someone had not vacuumed this hall in awhile.
They really should. I would have to speak to Mr. Moseby about the lackey attitude which had added its touch to this hallway. Someone was slacking, and the uptight manager never let me or Zack off.
'Zack…' I groaned in frustration. I'd made the mistake of thinking my brother's name. I pushed past the thought, trying to think through. 'What is it? Surely you're facing something beyond what I'm seeing. Aren't you? You're such an…opinionated person, so sure of himself and together. You didn't seem so very together then. What's your issue? You always have some off-the-wall reason for what you do. What will you tell me this time? Zack…'
I let out a long breath, returning my attention to the form I was supposed to be filling out. I frowned.
Social Security Number: _ _ _ _
I knew my social security…but I did not have my brother's memorized. In fact, I couldn't remember even seeing it…once. Did Zack even know his? Considering my twin's penchant for overlooking details and putting things so quickly out of mind that nothing stuck inside that thick skull of his, I rather doubted asking him for it would help—not that I could do that right now anyway.
Stupid lock.
I have to wonder, though, if Mom has even bothered to give him his social security card. Banking on Zack being responsible enough to keep up with it probably wouldn't cross her mind, and since something like that getting lost was too catastrophic, letting him have his card would seem to be too risky. Which meant, that since I couldn't ask Zack, and he probably didn't have his card, I would have to call Mom and ask her.
Which meant that I would have to explain to Mom the situation. What could I say? 'Oh, yeah, I need Zack's social security because I have to fill out this form for the infirmary…the infirmary? Yes, that's what I said. Why? Oh, because I found him bleeding and out of it and then he fainted in the infirmary when we got there. No, I don't know what's wrong with him... So, how are you? Pleasant weather?'
Oh, yeah, that would just be superb—the most fabulous thing since Ford got a better idea.
Stupid Nurses.
Stupid Nurse Frightengale… if she hadn't have kicked me out, I could at least check Zack's wallet to see if Mom had given him his card. If she hadn't have kicked me out, at least I…
I made the mistake of closing my eyes against the thoughts still spinning around, still pushing at my awareness, for when I closed my eyes, I saw that wakeful nightmare which had been in my brother's cabin…the nightmare endured while awake which had transpired in the infirmary.
…At least I could see my infuriating brother in person instead of left wondering what's wrong with him, completely uncertain about his wellbeing…or perhaps lack thereof. At least I could see him.
I glanced at my watch.
1:47 PM
What? Only two minutes had passed? Oh sweet life… I pinched the bridge of my nose, subduing the urge to grind my teeth. (It's not healthy.) I wanted to tell that haughty, put out voice in my head to shut up as it whispered that it was going to be a long wait.
'Okay, focus. Get over it,' I tried to tell myself, but some part of me said that it wasn't working.
I returned my attention to the form, finding inside of me a cultivation of the preference for it to be a pop quiz or even finals rather than some kind of cold, removed questionnaire on my brother's medical history. The rational side of my brain told me it was necessary information and that they needed the cold, hard facts, simple and straight, but I hardly felt partial to that part of me at the moment. I would rather have been studying quantum physics or figuring out how to explain string theory to an ant.
With a difficult sigh, I began to fill in the other information which I knew.
'Cabin number: 8 · 1 0 2 .'
That was an easy one, for Zack's cabin was across from mine and the generic numbering system of the ship didn't allow for any specialization. A fact, I might note, that has never much suited my brother.
Whether it was the car window in the old 1989 Ford four-door next to the backseat he always insisted on sitting in -the one behind the empty passenger seat where both of us knew our father should be and wasn't- and that seat and window were his and not to be messed with, or whether it was his side of the room in the Tipton hotel or the outside of our door in our suite, Zack had always felt a driving need to add his spin on whatever was considered his area of our living spaces.
He drove Grandmamma crazy when we stayed with her briefly while our mother travelled for work, because he would not leave the ancient wallpaper alone in our bedroom. She could never get him to leave the deep blue door alone, either, where he hung a number of glow-in-the-dark stars and planets Dad had given him the Christmas before along with a number of seashells he had gathered with Mom at the beach in a state park of Washington -before Dad threw him in the water and chased us both up and down the shore until we had nearly dropped from exhaustion- the last time we had gone as a family when Zack and I were five.
The time period during the fiasco with the walls and the door, though, was also when Grandmamma could never tell us apart, and that drove her crazy, too. She finally settled on a single strip of blue electrical tape around my brother's left wrist to tell us apart, which Zack had found to be fascinating at that age. He took it off a number of times, just to see the tape pull at his skin before peeling away (he also liked slapping it on my arm and yanking it off, which stung a lot), but for the most part, Grandmamma could get him to keep it on and she knew who was who.
If she knew that it was me in the room with her for a period of time and Zack was the one who was absent and had been for too long for him, she knew to head for our room immediately and see what new spin on the decorations he had decided to make.
He would be up there doodling on the walls or taping one torn piece of coloured paper after another to the wall until there was a kaleidoscope collage on the surface he had commandeered—or, one time, he got into Grandpappa's studio and found a bottle of Elmer's glue we were not allowed to have and used that, and Grandmamma was furious at him because the paper would not easily or safely come back off. Our Grandparents tried getting him an art book, something for him to doodle, paint or glue things in—they stocked colouring books and sketch pads, allowed him supervised time with the markers and coloured pencils, the crayons and kids' paint. To a degree, these helped, but nothing worked completely.
I vaguely remember our Grandparents discussing how the situation was a result of his stubborn streak (which he "gets from his father," they would vow staunchly, and is "a mile long and as prominent as Martha's jet blue hair"—words and phrases I did not understand at the time (what is a "stubborn streak" and how can it be a "mile long"? How long was a mile, anyway?) and I did not know who this Martha was nor why her hair would be jet blue—didn't people just have dark, charcoal-coloured hair like my father or golden, sun-coloured hair like my mother or snow-coloured hair like my grandparents did?). They went on to say that it was combined with the fact that our lives were in such upheaval and he was reacting to the situation the only way he knew how—that everything else was out of his control, but this was something he could control, so he was going to milk it for all it was worth. They said he had a wild side as untameable as his father and that he was acting out to get attention, and that this compounded the other issues.
He didn't obey or even listen to them when they told him to stop, but I think they felt sorry for him anyway. Our parents had torn our lives apart and neither one of us knew what to make of it, barely six-years-old and the only security we had ever known had been stripped from us. Our Grandparents couldn't have Zack ruining the walls, but they knew he was only reacting and dealing with the tempest-tossed fractures in our family the only way he knew how to at that age—they felt for him. They felt for us both.
Yes, he had driven Grandmamma crazy. But she loved him to no end. And she did her best to help him, to help us both, but Zack had been set off by the disturbance in our life and he had been too unruly for them to be able to settle him down—he had been too emotionally jolted by the split in our world that his rebellious streak had reared its head and he would not be tamed.
However, I don't think he did it to get back at anyone, or that he even did it on purpose. He didn't want to disobey our Grandparents, but he couldn't help acting out. I don't think he did it consciously; he just did it. He had been set off and there was no getting a hold of him again. He was too young to handle it; we both were. Our whole lives had been ripped away from what we knew, our sense of security and home had been shaken, and he subconsciously latched onto the semblance of control because it was something he could bank on.
And while I had Blankie, he wrapped himself up tight in being able to control a situation by acting out.
I wondered if that had ever changed, but I found a part of my heart, deep inside, softly whispering that I couldn't be certain anymore. However, I didn't understand why that whisper was there, I didn't understand what it meant. And I was tired of being so confused, so I ignored it and let that ship of thought sail.
Instead, I let a small, half-smile tug at my lips. The memories were bittersweet, but they were beautiful.
And so much had changed.
At least through it all, though, there had been a thread of constancy in the form of my brother. There were certain quirks of his that I knew I could count on even if the rest of the world turned all around on me, turning everything I knew about it upside down until I didn't know anything about it anymore.
I sighed and glanced at my watch, but my heart fell when I read the hands.
1:52 PM
Time was crawling and for reasons I could not pinpoint -or did not want to pinpoint? my heart supplied- I was antsy. Being on edge and feeling restlessness gather in a nervous ball of energy inside of me, I tried to curb the grating impatience by returning my attention to the form.
'Give the date of your latest tetanus shot or booster: _ _ _ _ / _ _ _ / _ _ _ .'
I frowned, tapping the pen against my chin. My mind went blank. I had had mine last month, but, unless it was the memory I held of several years ago, I could not remember the last time he had had one, and so I suspected that, since I have not been with him for one in years, it had been too long since he had received his. I rather doubted Zack had voluntarily gone for one, as it had taken a lot of coercion the last time -the time I knew of for certain- to get him to go.
*Flashback*
"Zack, where are your shoes?"
"I dunno," was the mumbled reply as his eyes remained glued on the TV screen.
"Have you looked for them?"
"Yup," he answered distractedly, his attention focused on the video game he was totally owning (not that I was watching the game!).
I quirked a brow, but remained silent, glancing between his clueless form and Mom's simpering agitation, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. I didn't want to get involved, to be dragged into the middle of what I worried was soon to be another fight, as they were teetering on the edge of one, and with the way my brother was pushing it, it was inevitable.
I also knew for a fact that Zack hadn't done much looking for his "missing" shoes earlier, either, after announcing at breakfast that he couldn't find them. He had lifted the edge of his blanket on his bed, glanced underneath for a grand total of two seconds before dropping the fabric and getting up with a muttered, "Nope." He had cast his gaze over the room briefly and gave it up as a lost cause. That had been the extent of his looking after we had eaten.
It was now two hours later, a half-hour until we had to leave, and Zack was paying more attention to the video game than the potential of being grounded from the game system. It was only a matter of time and enough testing of the boundaries before Mom resorted to punishment to get through to him.
"Where did you look for them?" Mom pressed and the slightest lift of a brow told me she was beginning to think along the same vein as my suspicions.
Zack grunted in frustration, and from my vantage, I could see a scowl flash across his face. "I looked," he grumped, with the slightest hint of a peevish tone mingling in his voice. He slammed the fire-button on the controller in his busy hands, blasting a space-ship to kingdom come. It exploded across the screen, and I wondered if it would be my brother or mother who would be the first to do likewise in this situation.
"Zack."
Uh-oh. It may be my mother.
Zack's jaw clenched. "What?" he asked with a level of calm that set off warning bells in my mind.
Great. I was seriously going to have go get into the thick middle of it, wasn't I?
Zack may have answered, but he didn't look at her. And Mom suddenly barked, "Zackary!"
I wanted to slap my forehead, but before I could even react, Zack had slammed the pause button and jumped up.
"What?" he snapped at her, his voice raised and his eyes flashing.
Guess it was my brother. Mom's not far behind, though.
I hurried over to my mother's side and laid a hand on her arm. "You know what, Mom, why don't you go-"
"Don't you take that tone with me, young man!"
Oh great.
"You started it!" he shot back.
"I am your mother."
"So?" he scowled. A bad feeling settled heavily in my gut and I didn't want to see where this was going.
Mom's eyes narrowed more at his impertinence. "Keep pushing it, mister, and we'll see how much more you understand those words when you've had six weeks of no electronics and straight to school and back to think about it."
He scowled, but sniped back, "I'm not pushing anything. I'm standing here."
"This is your final warning, Zackary," Mom stated in a cool tone.
Something flashed across Zack's face, something that I did not understand (and to this day, I still do not). It was a nasty kind of look, one that dropped a cold weight into my gut and struck deeply in my heart. And then it was gone, as I blinked my eyes, as if it had never existed.
It seemed as if the words Mom had said hit a nerve, driving a point home that I could not for the life of me identify. I had no inkling of an idea. But suddenly, Zack was withdrawing from the fight.
"Fine," he ground out, but his previous hostility had deflated and he seemed uninterested in getting his way.
"Fine what?" Mom pressed, but I was distracted by what I had seen. Had I seen anything? Mom apparently hadn't caught the dark look that had skittered, somewhat like a cornered puppy, through his eyes and the nasty grimace that had curled his mouth. Hadn't caught the way those particular words seemed to mean something -something that I wasn't sure I liked- to my twin.
"What do you want me to say?" Another snipe, borderline resentment and put out cynicism, hinting at bitterness, but he seemed cowed and his tone was quickly losing its heat.
"Excuse me?" Mom's tone was that of slight surprise, at his apparent impudence, and warning, for his disrespectful attitude.
Zack's jaw shifted, clenching, and his lips curled the slightest before he forced out calmly, "I asked you what you want me to say."
"I heard you, young man," Mom began, but I laid my hand back on her arm. She was too riled, and if she just backed down herself a little now that he had, then this situation would quickly deflate and resolve and we wouldn't be late for our appointment. She rethought her words briefly and continued with, "How about 'yes, ma'am'?"
Zack's lips tightened, his mouth twitching in barely restrained anger, and his breathing was heavy and quick. He dropped his head, apparently watching as he scuffed his foot across the carpet for a moment, but when he looked up, his face had adopted a completely indifferent, impassive mask.
"Yes, ma'am," he answered in a flat tone, dutiful manner. His eyes held more than that, though, but I could not read what was in them.
"That's better," Mom answered, anger still obvious in her fuming figure. She glanced at her watch. "Now, find those shoes, mister, and you've got ten minutes. You better find them," she warned with an 'or else' tone speaking the silently tacked on words. "And you will be in the living room when your time is up. I will take the system away if you don't watch it, Zackary."
Ooh. Still Zackary. He'd really done it this time. She was furious with him.
Zack grumbled something as soon as Mom's back turned, but she immediately whirled back around.
"What did you say?" Mom demanded. He should be gulping at this point, but for reasons I couldn't put my finger on, he was rigid and unmoved, emotionless. Riled, sure, but unaffected, removed from the situation. Aloof.
He didn't reply and Mom's eyes widened in fury.
"What was that, Zackary?" She seethed.
Zackary. Again. Her tone was very scary, like she was going to do something to him. Now, I knew she wouldn't, but I was both afraid for my brother and immensely grateful I was not him, that I was not in his shoes—er, position.
I knew I could trust her not to hurt me or him, but the way he responded didn't sound like it. "N-nothing," Zack stuttered and his eyes got really big.
"Yeah, you better not have," she bit out, then left our room.
My brother shook his head and sighed. He looked at me and I knew if I didn't leave soon, I would get a whole boatload of stuff I didn't want. The question I weighed was whether or not I should stay and endure it.
However, instead of what I expected him to do, he just shook his head again and breathed heavily, dropping his gaze away. He bent down and looked under his bed.
"Zack?"
"Leave me alone, Cody!" he snapped.
I wasn't really shocked. He always got weird after he and Mom got into fights—like, really bad fights. They had disagreements and spats, sure, but I am talking about the shouting-match showdown that had taken place here a few minutes ago. These kinds didn't happen often, but when they did, the explosions were intense, heated, and could last for hours—although there was one time, one of these fights lasted for two whole days.
That one had been after Mom and Dad split up, and Mom took us with her.
They fought for two days, and then Zack refused to talk to her for three days after that. And then, he barely spoke for a week after he did begin talking to her.
We were five and a half.
*End Flashback*
Zack very quickly located his shoes (in the closet, where, I think, he had hidden them), and we had left for our appointment and managed to only be two minutes late. The tension, though, on the ride there, had been great; on the ride back, the silence was easier and soon broken with talks of ice cream and going to the pool. As far as I know, Mom and Zack never talked about the fight, just let it be forgotten, and we moved on with our lives.
Still, it's incidents like these, and the fact that I know Zack hates needles, that tell me that he wouldn't have gone voluntarily to get the shot and so I rather doubted he had had one in years. I just couldn't remember the date of that time, though.
Shaking my head, blowing out a deep breath, I moved on to the next question.
'Height: 5'8" '
I knew that one well, because it was a source of contention, sometimes, for Zack that I was two inches taller than him. The thought made me smile. We hadn't finished growing, and it was possible Zack would gain back those missing inches, but for now, the fact was amusing.
'Weight: _ _ _ '
I frowned. Once again, I wasn't sure what to put. How was I supposed to know? I shrugged it off and moved on to the yes/no questions.
Then it occurred to me. Why was I filling this out? At the top of the form, there was a disclaimer that stated: "To be completed by the patient (if 18 or older) or by a parent/guardian if the patient is a minor (under age 18)."
I was neither the patient nor his guardian, and we weren't eighteen yet. Technically, it would be illegal for me to finish this form. What then? I supposed I would have to call Mr. Moseby, have him come down and sign the form after I had finished filling it in. While we are on the ship and students enrolled in the Seven Seas High program, he is our legal guardian.
A fact he hated, I think.
I exhaled heavily and dug out my phone, but when I dialled the manager, his cell simply rang and rang. His voicemail clicked on.
"You've reached Marion Moseby's personal cell. If this is important, leave a message. If this is Zack, don't bother!"
I stifled a laugh. I didn't know Zack was in the habit of blowing up Moseby's cellphone. It was just like him.
"Hey, Mr. Moseby, it's Cody. I'm down at the in…" my shoulders dropped, my voice wavered. I wasn't there there, and I hated it. And I hated the fact I was anywhere near here in the first place. What was wrong with Zack? I cleared my throat and forged on, "At the infirmary, and I can't sign this form for Zack. I would appreciate it if you could come down here when you're available and complete it for me. Thanks."
Snapping the phone shut, I dropped it on the bench beside me and stared straight through the paper for a long moment.
Where had my day gone? How had I ended up here, waiting on a stupid bench to find out if my stupid brother was alright? What had happened? A nail?
I groaned again, shaking myself from my thoughts. I glanced at my watch.
Seriously!
1:57 PM
Five minutes? Five? I buried my face in my hands, breathing deeply. Time was dragging its feet as it slowly passed, and yet I also felt that too much time had passed.
It had been about fifteen minutes since Zack had passed out, and my nerves were shot. I was on edge and I was having trouble curbing my impatience, my agitated restlessness. It had been too much time, and yet time inched by so agonizingly slow.
Those minute hands, I had never thought so much about as I was right now. Why did my tense heart feel as though I had been gone from my brother's side too long? Because I was worried and confused and I didn't understand what had happened or why, or what any of it meant.
I didn't know what was going on with my brother. And I had never been bothered so much by that fact as I was being perturbed by it now.
"You only get just one time around, you only get one shot at this,
One chance to find out the one thing that you don't wanna miss,
One day when it's all said and done, I hope you see that it was enough,
This one ride, one try, one life to love" -33 Miles
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Author's Note: I have to say that...I forgot what I was going to say here. Stupid allergies, runny/stuffy nose, and medicine, along with the late night and the track record of bad nights of sleep for several nights...yeah, I really am not thinking straight. I think I wanted to point out that "Grandmamma" is the way Cody refers to their mother's mother, and "Grandpappa" is the way he refers to their mother's father. About Zack's cabin number: I was told (by this site called something to the effect of Suite Life Wikia) that the number in the story is Zack's cabin number. If it's wrong, I'm sorry. Also, Zack's height is what imdb claims is Dylan's height (which is two inches shorter than the height listed for Cole). And I think that's it...
I do not remember if I used any unusual words (I mean, words I do not see used very often), so no vocabulary this time...unless someone points out a word I missed. I could go back and re-read, but it's late, I'm late, this is late, I've got to get to bed...etc, etc, etc...
So, the usual... What do you think might happen next? What might you like to see happen (hey, it might spark some ideas and get the writing going even better—you never know!)? What popped out at you? What about the history we got given, like anything particular about that? And yes, I am just trying to think of some random questions that might help with writing a review, if I can get the gears in your head turning...
Thanks for dropping by for the next installment! We appreciate it! And in the words of Spock's father (what's his name again?), "I must have your thoughts." Will you share them with me? Yes? No? We shall see! Okay, until next time...