There were few people in the world who meant anything to me.
Those same people meant everything to me.
As so I could only watch helplessly as one of the few was desperately looking for a way out.
I could only imagine how trapped she felt, and how disillusioned she was.
She was coughing, I couldn't hear but I could see that she was having a bit of trouble breathing.
My stomach tightened around a knot forming inside me.
She stumbled into the room less than gracefully. Anxiously I followed her with my eyes as she examined her playing field.
Her eyes caught an envelope hanging from a string and tore down the envelope from the string.
"No..." I said aloud to myself, never looking away.
And then she disregarded that completely, tossing it aside once she caught sight of the glass box in the middle of the room, and the salvation it held.
"Addie no!" I yelled, frustrated with her.
But she could not hear me.
In hindsight, I would understand that Addison had been inside the house for far too long.
She had been breathing tainted air, the effects of which could not have been working well with her brain and pre-acquired lack of common sense.
So, she reached inside the glass box with one arm, the razors scraping against her wrists, leaving trails of fresh blood in their wake.
I watched her grasp fervently at the syringe inside. As she struggled with herself, she pulled open the syringe incorrectly, and squandered every drop of the antidote.
"Shit!" I stepped away from the monitors, eyes wide, cringing with the sight.
Distraught and frustrated, she reached inside with her free hand.
"John! John, SHE'S STUCK-" I yelped in vain.
The trails of blood flowed down her arms, a ruby river.
I watched her numbly as her inaudible wails for help came to life in my ears, as if I were there with her then.
And stood by and watched her die.
"She's dying..." I whispered numbly.
I reached out, and touched the monitor, disdainfully.
The sword of guilt pierced my heart and I bled out onto the floor.
It was like my life and hers flashed before me in that moment.
I could see her, and myself. I was young, too young. I, barely seventeen, and she had just celebrated her twenty seventh year of life.
We met by chance and bonded by a happenstance.
She asked me for a cigarette, I didn't have any.
She asked me to walk her to the store. I did.
And now, she was begging for her life, for help. I couldn't.
The large Hispanic man-
Xavier
-approached her from behind now. I felt it would be useless to think for a moment that he would even find the decency within himself to hand her the discarded silver key on the floor.
He obtained the number-
Blue 9
-from the back of her neck, and then he turned away from her, ignoring her pleas.
Addison never let on that she possessed any kind of vulnerability, in fact she wasn't someone with the victim mentality.
I wasn't aware that Addison could cry, until I saw her, seconds from death.
She took life as it came, and never complained. I remembered her laugh, pretty and opulent, as if she were a cultured lady of a court.
She always knew who she was, and wasn't worried about what or who she would be.
But I, one who had only recently found my place in the world. Was standing in horror, petrified at who I had become.
What am I doing? How could I...
A commotion was taking place on another monitor, I caught sight of Amanda running down hallways with the kid, from the corner of my vision.
It took every ounce of me to tear my eyes from Addison. And as I did, she finally, slipped out of consciousness and fell limp with her hands held in place.
-
I feel I could regret many things in my life.
Some thoughtless, irresponsible things.
I had shed oceans of tears over what I had brought upon myself, and that was all before the age of eighteen.
However, many of those, I had forgiven myself for.
But in that small space of time, as John still waited patiently across the room, I concluded that I would spend the rest of my natural life trying to let go of this.
Let go of my staggering disdain for what I willingly witnessed. I stood there, shaking, allowing it to sink into me; bound with an anchor that would rest there, in my core, until my end. And wherever I went now, Addison would go with me. Her blood on my hands.
I covered my face with my hands, wondering if this was really happening to me. I could very well be asleep on my couch.
I'm gonna make this okay Addie.
I will wake up soon.
I held myself tightly, gripping myself by the shoulders and squeezing myself awake maybe.
When I looked up, Amanda and The Boy were no where on the monitors. My forlorn eyes scanned each monitor for any visible sign of life. All was still now. Addison had not stirred, her head lolling forwards like some broken doll. Left behind, by a little girl who was too scared to go get her. Me.
It should have been me.
I was starting to want just one smoke. Things were trying to fall back into place with the way they were, like an old puzzle from your childhood-
"Rivielle." He beckoned me.
Almost instinctively, I went back to John, my composure slipping with every step I took.
Eventually, I was standing in front of him, holding my breath.
"What was the last you saw?" He asked me, nonchalantly.
I exhaled, looking down, trying to process this as real. I was always taught that once you speak something into existence, you give it life. Allowing it to affect you, and that was the last I ever wanted.
"They're-" I choked. "They all failed. Amanda, she's..I can't see her anymore. I don't know where she is-"
"I see." John showed no sign of affliction from this news. "I had high hopes for her."
Once he spoke so indifferently on the situation, I came close to losing it.
But if there was anything I was determined not to do at this point, was fail John.
So I held my tongue, which was urging me to release my pain. But it was absolutely necessary not to do so.
"Emotion is something that is difficult to control..."
He stepped back, watching me cautiously. Observing my next move. "But you did well. I have faith in you Rivielle."
He taught me how to carry myself, to use restrain in a stressful situation.
I learned from him, and I would put it to use. It was only right, only needful.
-
How does one keep from panicking when lives are on the line?
Sometimes, you hear about planes crashing. Falling out of the air to the ground, no survivors.
Charred remains of humans and of plane.
But sometimes people talk about pilots who valiantly save their passengers; and I always wondered how they kept their sanity and composure during all of that.
I used to think that all the training and preparation in the world couldn't keep you from absolutely losing it, when the scenario played itself out.
But that was before I knew John.
Before I knew what was most important in life.
Of course you're going to be sad. Worried. Exhausted. Angry. Scared. Life happens.
Actually, in my case, death happens.
But I had learned that when something needs to be done, emotion must take a backseat.
And so, as John continued to question me, I stood up straight and pushed aside my feelings.
They were, useless.
"I need you to do something for me." He took a deep breath from his oxygen mask. I bit my lip, waiting. "Do you see that clock, Rivielle?"
He pointed to the digital clock on the wall above the staircase trap.
"Yes." I replied.
"Pay attention to it."
I nodded obediently.
"The actions on the monitors are being recorded. When the tape fills, it will stop. I would appreciate it if you could rewind them to the beginning when that happens."
"I will." I told him.
A loud thump was heard downstairs. I looked around jumpily, "What was that?"
"It could be any number of things." He said quietly.
I waited, standing protectively in front of John, trying to calm my heartbeat. Somebody was coming.
