First, sincere thanks to everyone who gave this a read. It's always much appreciated. In addition to the show itself, this story was partially inspired by some of the real-world happenings we've heard about the past few months. We always see the immediate after-effects of a mass shooting, but how do those most affected cope? Can they eventually get to that healing place, and how? I wanted to stay true to what the finale set up and really explore the ramifications for everyone. This event's a catalyst for each character's individual story, stories that might find themselves converging and mixing it up down the road…
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"I kinda suspect you'd hate all this, but we need it. Yes, even me. I know I didn't make it easy, but you were there for me during one of the worst times of my life." When her voice broke a fraction, she steadied it. "A real friend, you know? Not the kind who has a hand out expecting something in return. You could deal with my brand of crazy, because you'd seen it a million times over in your life and you stared it down with a shrug and a smile. You helped give me my heart back, figuratively and literally." Kendall reclined into the arms that had circled around her. "I'll never forget that, and we'll never forget you."
They stood before the memorial for Griffin Castillo, and she felt Zach's breaths synchronize with her own. Mutual strength.
Words wrapped in warm gravel were whispered into her ear. "Your mom's here."
An observation or a warning, she couldn't be sure. Taking a final strengthening breath, she turned around. She supposed her first reaction should've been shock or at least surprise, but she didn't really feel any of those things. Not today. Instead, she stayed true to her Kaneness, indulged in her first impulse, and gave her approaching mother a fierce hug. Tiny, yet powerful arms instantly returned the embrace. A minor miracle in itself. Ten years ago, those arms would've been drawing back for an Erica Kane-special double-slap instead.
Kendall leaned back and touched a tender spot just above an exposed left ear. Her mother's pulse beat strong. "I'm glad you decided to -"
"Oh, this, honey, is the next big fashion trend. You just wait, in another two weeks, everyone will be sporting this look." Erica's hand brushed her scalp for effect before landing and lingering on her daughter's hand. She brought their interlocked fingers down before giving them a squeeze.
Kendall smiled. "I give it two days."
Erica cleared her throat. She regarded the empty seat next to Kendall. "Is your sister here yet?"
"I…I don't think she's coming." As her watery smile wavered. Kendall braced herself for 'the look.' Her mother did not disappoint.
"Honey, she has to -"
"Mom, she's not the same."
"I know she was having a hard time before I went away but she's always -"
"A hard time? No, it's a lot -" She heard the accusation seeping into her voice, but she wasn't going to give it free reign. Not here. "Everyone's got a limit, Mom. Everyone."
Erica's face had lost some of its previous fire. In the quieter moments, when she was only left to herself, Kendall had to wonder if her own mirror would hold the same reflection. She still couldn't test the theory. During the past year, she'd found herself in a most unfamiliar role: the sensible one, the steady one. It was a role she neither wanted or was particularly good at. As long as her mother still ran away at the first sign of trouble, as long as Jack ran just as hard in the opposite direction, and as long as she looked at her sister on the rare occasions they were even together now and saw something even more unsettling - her own younger self –then it was a role Kendall had to take. Not by choice. By necessity.
"I should have stayed," Erica said.
She could offer no reassurance. They'd been down this road before, but obviously time did not always heal. Watching as her husband stood a silent vigil beside an equally silent Krystal Carey - in the spot where her sister should have been - Kendall had to acknowledge that, sometimes, time only kills softly and slowly.
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He whispered words he knew didn't mean a whole hell of a lot. She simply nodded and continued examining her daughter's face. Committing it to memory.
She told him once, with her gaze on the floor the whole time, that she was afraid she would forget. 'I had two years, but right now it seems more like two minutes,' she'd said. He, for once, had been silent. He knew the things she would never have the chance to forget haunted her more. First word, first steps, first day of school…proms, graduations….the years measured in minutes. Parents were supposed to hand down the photo album so their children could fill it with new life. It was never intended to be a mausoleum of memories.
With Babe, they had the distraction of the drugs and Hayward being Hayward that consumed their attention. Redirected the hurt. But now…now there was only that big, gaping quiet hole that all of the drugged milk in the world couldn't fill. He knew Jenny helped; she might've been the salvation, but that was too much pressure to put on any kid. It was on him – Tad Martin, jokester extraordinaire – to make sure the mother of his child didn't go tumbling down that hole.
But what magical formula existed to wipe away the pain of watching two of your children lowered into the ground? Sure as hell not the Flintstone vitamin sing-a-long he'd concocted at Stuart's funeral all those years ago.
Stuart.
He and Marian got their miracle. A year ago, those miracles were in no short supply. Now, Tad witnessed the remnants of that 'miracle' as Stuart hung his head, his wife by his side. His amazing re-entrance into the world had come on the same day as his son's sudden exit. The spontaneous celebration of a miraculous resurrection had become the scene of a mass sacrifice.
And the hand holding the bloody knife –
He did his level best to push the thought away, because stumbling down that particular path never ended well for him or his new wife.
He was her rock, she was his star, and together they were 'rockstar.' Tad put a quick clamp on the urge to chuckle at the stupid joke. Those little asides either confirmed his need for a ticket to Oak Haven or they kept him sane. He still wasn't quite sure which.
Instead, he joined Dixie so he could do his duty as that plastic rock. He draped an arm around her shoulder and brought their foreheads together. "We can go," he muttered.
She had insisted they come. A part of him knew it was essential for her.
Offering a weak smile and a slight nod, she whispered, "I'm fine."
Liar.
Tad gave her a tender forehead kiss. "I…I'd like to go see Dad after, but if you -"
"I'll be there." She looked up at him in that way that always made everything matter a little more. "We're in this together."
"Forever," he finished.
Their attention was diverted by the steady stream of newcomers entering through the church'sdoor. His brother – the one who had been the last face many of the memorialized saw – nodded and ushered himself and Amanda in their direction.
Tad's heart both lifted and weighted in some crazy paradox as the younger members of the Hubbard family followed through the entrance. New detective Brot Monroe held his fiancee's hand and guided her toward the nearest seat. When she stood before the pew, he softly pressed her shoulders until she sat, facing forward. Facing him. The tremors in her upper body dwindled, but did not disappear.
He looked away with a mixture of shame and relief and focused his attention on the small bundle between Frankie and Randi. The tiny yawn on those even tinier features let him grab a relaxed breath, and he greedily took it before shifting his eyes to the figure now looming in the doorway.
His best friend. Another miracle gone topsy-turvy. Widow-maker turned widower.
When the tell-tale silver hair appeared just behind Jesse, his first thought was that the widower might soon make a widow of Brooke. This time, his unspoken joke played to the deadest silence.
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Oh, no.
This scene was looking way too familiar. Large gatherings – hell, 'gatherings' of more than one – had a way of bringing out the worst in Pine Valleyites. She'd been the guest of honor at a few herself. There was the nice wedding gift she gave her father and Erica at their first ill-fated trip down the aisle. The quite literal roasting she bestowed upon her BFF at Thanksgiving. Or who could forget her last wedding from hell, when she walked down the aisle of this very church to announce to the world that yay! she was in fact alive, and said world had better take notice.
Now, as the two men stood eye to eye in front of the church, she thought that another one of David's ready-made miracles would be perfect right about now. They'd take their own turn down that aisle one by one, smiles bigger and more real than the ones on those flimsy pieces of paper meant as poor stand-ins. Griffin would lead the way in that annoying superhero doc way he had. He'd give Kendall a light kiss that would kick off the latest chapter in the star-crossed saga that was Zach and Kendall, and then he'd go off in search of his mysteriously absent sister. Scott would stroll in after, giving her that charming grin that had scrambled her brains momentarily – okay, for more than a moment – when she first hit town. She would even slip him a cell phone so he could call Madison in Boston and either make her the happiest woman on the planet or put her in a fainting heap on the spot. More importantly, he would go up there and put the light back in his Dad's eyes, because a Pine Valley without Stuart Chandler's special brand of bright was like Christmas without Father Clarence. Scott's best friend would follow his lead, and Marissa would give her mother that second chance she obviously desperately needed. While she was at it, she could also rescue Greenlee's cousin from the Bizarro Bianca that was currently inhabiting her body Next, Greenlee would be the first to lay eyes on the woman who once saved her life: the woman whose certain trek led only to the shattered man at the front of the church. They would embrace in that quiet way that still amplified everything around them tenfold, and everything would be okay. The world would be right-side-up again.
Almost, anyway, if –
She shook her head, wiping away the little-girl wishes that never were or would be. Instead, she braced herself for the shouts and punches that would quickly turn this memorial into a front-page, headline-grabbing 'Memorial Mayhem!' spread. Hey, they could have bald Erica as the sideshow caption.
Greenlee didn't even have the heart for a good snark about that one. She reached for a hand that wasn't there and settled for digging her nails into her palm instead. Jesse and Adam's showdown finally came to a head as the cop stepped aside. She could see that all-too familiar hardness in his eyes give just a fraction as the older man nodded and passed him, bowing in front of the final memorial picture. Adam rested his chin on level with his daughter's. Silently, he traced a trembling line down her cheek. When his forehead pressed against the altar, Greenlee turned away. She knew what came next, and she couldn't see it. Not again.
The man in the suit was just a flash, a grateful distraction from the soft sob that echoed through the church. A latecomer paying respects? A crashing reporter? Ryan?
She'd told him he should be here, for all the good she knew it would do. But if he had actually decided to come, why would he leave? Sure, things had been…strained, but why would he cut out on everyone else who supposedly mattered to him?
Something tugged at her, compelled her.
Angered, admittedly needing a distraction, and – compelled – she quietly slipped from the last row of pews and began scanning the outer corridor. Nothing or no one greeted her but the usual relics and oil paintings.
One bright streak did make itself conspicuous in the stark surroundings. When Greenlee approached the piece of cloth, the familiarity grew more intense. With its emergence came the onset of the pulsing white light and the accompanying assault inside her skull. This time, she didn't cry out in pain or stumble into any furniture. She simply and gladly gave in to the darkness.