A/N: Hello, everyone, bit of a different chapter today as we're going to see how Alex's family is holding up since his departure. You don't see too many of these types of chapters in these types of stories. Anyway, before we move into it, let's respond to the reviews of the last chapter.
Jestalnaker94000: Indeed. A lot of worrying developments in that last one. Will the Pridelanders be able to recognise a threat when one comes to pass? We'll have to wait to find out.
LORD3N: I'm glad that moment made you laugh but you should concentrate in class! XD And it was indeed humble of Mufasa to admit when he was in the wrong. I like to add more depth to these characters and that means adding positive traits as well as more negative ones. Thanks for the review and the kind message and I hope you're well.
Arika: Interesting question. It would probably be PG-13 (12 in the UK) but if it were to be accurate to what I have planned, it would definitely be closer to R.
London. The day after Alex left for South Africa.
Lewis' POV
"All bodies were accounted for," the police officer said quietly, but to me, it rang in my ears as a siren of despair. At that moment, it was as if everything that allowed me to see the light and beauty in the world had been extinguished.
"Apart from two," the police officer added, interrupting my grief.
"So... you're saying Alex could still be alive?" my father sat up. The police officer sighed.
"The odds that anyone would survive where the plane crashed, hundreds of miles away from human civilisation, it would be miraculous," the police officer explained. But the hope that was reignited in my heart after nearly falling into the abyss of despair would not now be extinguished.
"I know my brother. If anyone can survive that, he can," I said as I stood up.
"Wha- where are you going?" Dad asked me incredulously as I started to walk out of the living room. I admit, what I intended to do wasn't what you'd expect someone to do the first thing after being told their brother was in a plane crash, usually you'd stay with those who are closest to you, and share in their grief. But the thing is, after my father allowed himself to capitulate to grief, to succumb to habits borne from despair, we became distant. It all started on the day that our mother died, and everyone dealt with their pain in different ways. Dad resorted to numbing the pain, trying to forget it until the next morning. It's what they used in the old days to dull the pain while you had an open wound.
Alex dealt with the pain by trying to hide it. He never spoke to anyone he should have. I only knew about how he expressed his pain by finding the razor blade he used to cut himself. He didn't have to worry about blood or scars. Only the pain mattered.
I dealt with it as best as I could when the two people who lived with you, who you were meant to trust the most, who were supposed to be dependable, hid away. I could only open up to my friends who worked at the local café. And that was what I was going to do. I went upstairs to fetch my wallet and scarf and when I went downstairs, my father was seeing the police officer out.
"Thank you for your help," he sighed.
"I wish we could tell you more, Mr Maximilian," the police officer shrugged.
"It's okay," he forced a smile. "Have a good day."
The police officer nodded before they walked out of the doorframe. Their blurry silhouette could be seen when the door was closed. They put on their helmet before they walked out of our front garden.
"Where are you going?" Dad asked me.
"I'm going to the café," I replied.
"That's what you've always done, scuttle off when your family needed you," he said as he walked down the hallway.
"I needed you. We needed you, but you decided that you needed the bottle more than you needed to support your sons," I said firmly. He stopped just before he entered the kitchen.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" I asked coldly as he turned to face me. "I am your father and you will not speak to me in that way," he growled.
"You're my father?" I raised my eyebrows. "Could have fooled me, because you haven't acted like one for eight years!" I said harshly as I opened the door in a quick motion fuelled by anger and slammed the door behind me. I immediately regretted what I said and how I left, but my pride stopped me from returning. He wouldn't be ready to make up regardless.
I walked down the road at a pace fuelled by my emotions. I felt as if people were looking at me as I walked past them, even the passengers on oncoming buses. I turned onto the High Street and sighed in contentment as I saw the pink and blue sign for the Sanctuary. It was one of the few places where I could escape from my life these days, and even though I should be excited by the path my life has taken in the last few days, it feels as if I am back to square one. Back to the day when I had to pick up the pieces of my heart and put them back together on my own. To be honest, I've never felt like I could build my own life, I felt like I was beholden to Alex's fate. We are twins but we are also individuals, but Alex's gifts and destiny always seemed to hold me back from taking my own path.
People have hurt me in order to get to him. The progenitor of our family, the supposed first Guardian, haunts this generation. His purpose was passed onto Alex and the tribulations of his loved ones are inherited by me. I have to worry about who might hurt him or who he might hurt. I am the shoulder to cry on when the burden becomes too great to bear. I am the one who has to keep him humble and calm.
But now we are further apart than ever before. He isn't the most emotionally stable person, and no one could fault him for that. I just hope that he has someone who will keep him safe from himself. The police officer spoke of a second survivor.
Before I could think any further, I found myself standing in front of the glass door with the white frame. I looked at my reflection and saw a sullen, weary face. I almost looked like my father, even though I inherited my facial structure from my mother.
There was still little strength in my arms so I had to lean into the door to open it. As I hung up my coat and scarf, I heard footsteps against the wooden floor originating from the kitchen. I turned towards the counter to see Victoria, or Vicky as most people called her. She was usually a proud and confident person who always had a smile, but her expression was muted. It was almost as if I was looking at the person she used to be - Daniel. Vicky was a trans woman. She was born a man but realised her true self and completed her journey physically as well as mentally last year.
"Lewis... I'm... I'm really sorry about Alex," she said solemnly.
I produced a weak smile as I walked towards the counter.
"Thanks, but..." I began. "Alex was always going to go on his own adventure, and I was always going to have to let him go," I sighed. Vicky frowned in response. I shook my head.
"I'll have a latte, please," I requested casually.
"Coming right up," Vicky replied. As she returned to the kitchen, she put down a piece of paper that I only now noticed that she was holding all that time.
As I waited for my drink to be made, trying to ignore the screeching of the machinery, I stared at a framed picture of the Sanctuary on the exposed wall. It was taken on opening day and several members of the LGBT community and straight allies, including Alex and myself, were standing beside a local borough councillor who opened the cafe four years ago in the summer. Alex was smiling. It was a genuine smile, one where you could see his straight, white teeth, with arrows on between his mouth and cheeks and lines by his eyes. All his school photos were empty smiles.
"Here you go," Vicky interrupted my reminiscing session. I then realised that there was a mug of frothy coffee in front of me and I instinctively delved into my back trouser pocket to pay for it.
"Nuh-uh, it's on the house," she insisted.
"Are you sure?" I asked with my hand still in my pocket. "Not even a tip?" I chuckled.
"You're here because you need someone to talk to, the coffee is secondary," she said.
"That's very kind of you," I smiled. "You're right, I do need to open up, but... the person who needs me the most won't talk to me," I sighed. "I left my house having had an argument with my dad. I said some harsh things, and at moments like this, you think of the last thing you'll ever say to someone you love... and what if it's that?"
"I know that you didn't mean it, and I'm sure he knows you didn't mean it," she said, trying to reassure me. I pretended to find comfort in her words. She then went silent and wiped the counter with a cloth, even though it wasn't really dirty. Her expression reverted to a troubled one.
"What was that piece of paper?" I asked after a few seconds. She looked up at me and then back down at her hands and blinked a few times before she fetched the piece of paper. It was a folded piece of A5 paper. She handed it to me wordlessly and without eye contact.
I opened it up and inhaled sharply when I saw what was written on it.
'Daniel'
"I found it yesterday on the doormat as I was opening up," she said shakily.
I folded it back up.
"Who knows your... deadname?" I asked hesitantly.
"Only you, Alex, my colleagues and trusted regulars. And... my parents," she listed.
"You think it was them who sent it?" I asked.
"I wouldn't put it past them," she scoffed. "They practically disowned me when I came out to them,"
"I'm sorry, that's... that's fucked up," I shook my head.
"Well, I won't let it put me off my stride-"
SMASH
"What the fuck?" I cried, recoiling from my flinched position. Vicky was still hiding behind the counter.
I was now facing the window at the front of the building and saw that there was a hole in the middle of a web of cracks that reached the edges of the frame. I looked at the floor below and saw a red brick with a piece of paper affixed to it with a rubber band. I dared to step towards it and when no other missiles entered the cafe, I quickly picked it up and removed the rubber band. The piece of paper unfurled and fell to the floor. I picked it up and what I saw sent a shiver up my spine. I looked at Vicky, who only now stepped beyond the counter.
"Whatever it says, read it to me," she ordered. I swallowed.
"Daniel. The path you have taken will lead you to Hell," I read the note aloud as I put the brick on the same table that Alex and I were sitting at yesterday. Vicky reacted in a way I didn't expect.
"Ah, that's my parents, alright," she chuckled derisively.
"I'll call the police. If it's somehow not a hate crime, it's criminal damage," I said as I went to pick my phone from my pocket, but just as I held it up at the height of my diaphragm, it started buzzing in my hand and it informed me that my Dad was trying to get hold of me.
"Oh, hang on, my Dad's ringing," I informed her before I accepted. I wouldn't ordinarily accept a call from someone so soon after an argument, or even while witnessing a crime, but a part of me felt like it wasn't a coincidence that Dad happened to be calling me.
"What do you want?" I said uncharacteristically, letting him know I was still annoyed with him.
"You need to get back now, Lewis," his static voice commanded.
"Why?" I responded.
"I just need you to come back to the house. Something's not right," he said desperately.
"Dad, are you okay? What's the matter?" I asked quickly, my voice accelerated by worry.
"There are people watching us. Just get back to the house!" he ordered before the call cut off after 15 seconds.
"Right, I'm really sorry about this, but I think my Dad's in some sort of trouble," I said.
"It's okay, you go to him, and I'll sort all this out and call the police," she gestured to the glass strewn all over the floor.
I looked behind me before I twisted the key to open the door. There wasn't anything out of place, I noticed no new vehicles parked on the street. There was no suspicious activity down the alley between the two rows of streets. I saw nothing to justify why my Dad sounded so stressed on the phone. The only alternative was...
"Dad?" I called out into the hallway and noticed that the kitchen door was open, and to my dismay, there was an open bottle of whiskey on the dining table.
"No... no, you haven't!" I shouted as I closed the door behind me and stormed into the living room that was to the left of the hall. I stopped when I saw Dad sitting on the sofa, staring at a glass of whiskey on the coffee table.
"Part of my coping mechanism was... the act of getting the glass and the bottle," he explained.
"I'm sorry for what I said, I was afraid that what I said would be the last thing I ever said to you," I said with a heavy throat.
"You were right, though. I haven't been the father that you deserved," he admitted with a sigh. "And it's not because of that, that's just a symptom," he said, pointing at the glass of whiskey on the table. "It was my choice to surrender to grief," he said before he pushed himself up off the sofa and stood up taller than he had in years before picking up the glass and walking into the kitchen. He stopped at the sink and turned to face me and raised the glass. I could only frown in confusion.
"To Alex," he said before tipping the whiskey down the sink.
THUD
"What the fuck?" I flinched for the second time this morning. I immediately dismissed the possibility of a brick going through a window. The sound was much louder than that and it came from the front door.
BANG
"I fucking told you we were being watched," Dad exclaimed.
"Is that the police? Why are they trying to bash our fucking door in?" I raised my voice above the commotion.
CRASH
We flinched once again, protecting the vulnerable parts of our bodies. We only saw for a split second that the door to the back garden was now on the floor, with shards of glass littering the kitchen floor.
"POLICE! POLICE!" about half a dozen armed officers howled. We immediately put our hands above our heads.
"Why are there armed police officers in our kitchen?!" I demanded from Dad as my arms were forced behind me. "It's not to do with Alex, is it?" It always was.
"We have some explaining to do," my Dad sighed as he was guided towards the entrance out to the garden.
"You owe me a new door, by the way," Dad remarked to an armed officer who was escorting him out through the doorway as the glass crunched under his feet.
The events that happened in the hour following that moment were quite traumatic. We were unceremoniously bundled into a grey van that was part of a convoy. When the van stopped for good, after a pair of firm slams of the driver and passenger doors, the side door opened up and we were escorted through what I would describe as a tunnel, the walls of which were mostly hollow metal panels, doors, vents and stairways. We were led to a grey metal door. The only act of courteousness afforded by one of the armed officers was to hold the door open for us to enter a room with concrete walls. There were four chairs surrounding a wooden table with a metal frame and legs.
"Please be seated," one of the officers ordered in a tone that gave us no reason to refuse. Due to the adrenaline running through my body, I pulled the chair from under the table quickly and clumsily and the legs scraped against the floor, producing a torturous din.
"Like, do they think we've got something to hide?" I asked incredulously.
"We've been hiding things from people all our lives, and... even from you," Dad sighed while looking at the table.
I felt that it wasn't appropriate to reply with a sharp remark about his relative absence as a father and his aloofness.
"You know when Alex pushed that kid in school in front of everyone? That involved a lot of paying people off and... and even wiping people's memories, and... you're about to find out why," he said.
At that moment, the door opened and two people entered. A man with white hair parted to the right wearing a grey suit with a blue tie and a woman with brown hair tied back in a bun wearing a canary cardigan.
"You can't hold us like this. You didn't arrest us, you haven't charged us," I exclaimed as over half a dozen armed officers entered the room behind them. This nullified the urge to stand up in protest.
"This isn't a matter of the law, Mr Maximilian," the man said as he pulled the chair from under the table.
"Is this about my brother?" I asked.
"What do you know about your brother, Lewis?" the woman asked as she sat down. Strangely enough, it didn't really perturb me that they knew my name.
"I know that he's special, that he can do things no one else can do, things that people like you don't want people to see,"
"Mr Maximilian, there is a pattern in your family, going back to the days of the Normans, where a son is whisked off on an adventure that culminates in the world being changed forever,"
"The stories are real?" I asked my father in disbelief. When my mother told me and Alex bedtime stories about a young man embarking on a life-changing adventure fighting with anthropomorphic lions against forces of evil, she painted a picture that you could almost touch.
"Yes, I've kept a lot from you, and even from Alex, maybe too much, but it was all in the name of keeping you safe in the sanctuary of ignorance," Dad replied.
"There are some circles of the establishment that think Alex will one day go on to change the world beyond recognition, and for worse," the woman said.
"Worse for who?" I scoffed. "Look, my brother is a bisexual socialist anti-fascist, and I bet the people you speak of fucking hate that," I chuckled.
"Lewis," Dad tried to interrupt me.
"No, I love him, but my brother has to sort his own world out before he could hope to change this one. I don't know what he'll do on this adventure. Hell, how can we be sure he'll survive? But I tell you what, if there's anyone we should be afraid of, it's those people you speak of telling us little people who the enemies are. They are the enemies, the authors of inequality, the reason why you can't get an appointment at the doctor or why the richest and poorest areas of the country are in the same London borough," I spoke.
"That's enough, Lewis, they're not interested in that," Dad interrupted again before leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his fists.
"They want to know what he can do, where he is and what he's going to do, and I can tell you that we know as much as you do," he said. "When someone pisses him off, the last thing you wanna do is get in his way. We know he's somewhere in Tanzania or Kenya because that's where the plane crashed. As for what he's gonna do? He's going to fight against the forces of evil, and the circles of the establishment you speak of? He's the one who is going to stop them, not the other way round," he finished with a smirk on his face.
"Times are changing, Mr Maximilian. And people will be deciding where their loyalties lie in the coming years," the man said chillingly. "You might think it has started to begin with Brexit, with politicians convincing people to surrender their freedom and prosperity for the sake of notions of security and sovereignty, but it's part of a bigger picture. One that has been painted over billions of years. What you're about to see in the coming years is us protecting you from the paintbrush as it passes over us," he said. "If I were you, I wouldn't stand out too much," he advised.
"Don't worry, we'll stand out as much as we need to," I replied defiantly. "And I know that Alex is a major part of that picture, and even though we have been separated before, we always end up standing by each other's side,"
"Whatever you do, please don't try to frustrate the course of events that are designed to protect people. You might end up not standing beside your brother,"
Dad almost hit the ceiling at that comment as the chair was noisily scooted behind him as he stood up, but was quickly held by the shoulder by an armed officer.
"You're talking about forces you don't understand. We know perfectly well what's about to happen and we know whose side we're on," he said before he shrugged off the hand of the officer.
"We're done here," he affirmed.
"What's going to happen, Dad?" I asked him as I pulled up a chair at our dining table. He was inspecting the door to the back garden - it was fixed as if it had never been bashed down in the first place. We never saw the extent of the damage to the front door, and now there wasn't any at all.
"Things are going to go south. You'll see the government consolidate and centralise its power. They'll appeal to our worse instincts. They'll tell us that certain people are a threat to our safety, our identity, our freedom. They'll try to control us, they'll call it protection, but it's anything but," Dad explained.
"You said that they were dealing with forces they didn't understand. What did you mean by that?"
"It's time I told you about your mother... who she really was," he sighed. "Where to begin?" he chuckled.
"How about at the beginning?" I suggested with a smirk. Dad only glared at me before clearing his throat.
"So... I met your mum when we were kids, I was 13 years old, she said she was 13, and... she never had any family to look after her. She said that they died, but... she told me that she came from a very far away place, beyond the most ancient stars themselves," he recalled.
"Beyond the stars? Did... did she mean she came from a different world?" I asked in disbelief.
"Not a different world," he shook his head. "A different universe," he corrected. My mouth hung open and I could only cover it with my hand as I realised that everything I thought I knew about not only my family but also my universe was only a fraction of the truth. I thought of myself as someone with quite a universal perspective and knew that our existence was simultaneously miraculous and inconsequential, that all the chaos and drama on this planet barely resonates when you consider our nearest neighbouring star. If we do share this universe with other lifeforms, of which I have now had my eyes opened to the almost inevitability, then we would look pretty primitive and infantile.
"You know the lullabies she used to sing to you? That was the language of her home - singing," Dad revealed. "The stories of the close relationship between humans and lions? That comes from her world," he added.
This onslaught of this new information was overwhelming and at that moment, the only way I could expel the frustration of being kept in the dark my whole life was to stand up and look outside the window.
"Why didn't she tell us?" I asked, my words not meeting my father's eyes.
"She didn't tell you because she wanted to protect you, if her knowledge was passed on to you, forces from her world would go after you in particular," Dad claimed.
"What was her world like?" I asked as I turned to sit on the sofa, slowly redistributing my weight to fall gracefully.
"Of what she told me... it was beautiful, more beautiful and mighty than our own," Dad said. "It was part of a great empire, a society in which every human had a lion with which they shared a bond of the soul," he explained. That would explain the stories revolving around lions.
"Her lion was called Zairana, and she missed her dearly, she missed her world so much, but you boys gave her love and purpose in this one,"
"How did she come here?" I asked him.
"She told me she came from a shooting star," Dad chuckled. "She was beautiful enough to be forged from one, when I first met her, her silvery blonde hair shone in the sun like specks of starlight, and her eyes were like wondrous galaxies, they were simultaneously youthful with innocence and curiosity, but also aged with wisdom and grief," he explained. "And only on the day that she... she died did that glow of hers fade away," he added.
"Only this greedy and selfish planet could extinguish such beauty," I said vigorously. My Dad only looked to the floor.
"So...you always knew that Alex was going to be this 'chosen one'," I asked.
"It was never about what he would do but what he would inspire, what he would start," Dad replied. "He's not a chosen one, but a progenitor of a new world," he declared.
"And people like those who interrogated us are on the side of those who want to keep it as it is?" I surmised.
"The best way to stop making the world a better place is to make it a much worse place. Brexit is just the start of what they're going to do to control us, they're going to normalise hatred and detriment," he said.
"What can we do?" I asked.
"What can we do?" he chuckled. "We're just two people who this kind of 'Deep State' know of," he added. I sighed.
"I'm going to Samantha's,"
"If you tell her anything of what I just told you," he stood up quickly.
"I'm not going to tell her... it's wrong of me to keep secrets, but if it keeps her safe, I'll think nothing of it. We've got... other matters to speak of anyway,"
I pressed the button next to Samantha's apartment number, 2, on the intercom. There was a buzz before the door clicked as it unlocked and I leaned into it to open it. I climbed the stairs but there was no weariness in them by the time I ascended them, for at this moment, I took great joy in the prospect of seeing my girlfriend and enjoyed actually seeing her even more. Especially considering I asked her to marry me a few days ago, and she said yes!
Unfortunately, this development was obviously marred by Alex's turn of fate. It was likely that he wasn't going to be able to attend my wedding. Sam offered to postpone the wedding by years when I told her that somewhere in my heart, I knew Alex's path would diverge from my own like this, but we would come together again. I declined her offer, saying that Alex wouldn't want me to put my life on hold for him. And honestly, I had done enough of that. It was now time to see who I am and what I can do without my brother by my side, and what my purpose was other than to keep Alex in check.
I have already found one purpose - to love, cherish, protect and share in this unknown journey with my first love. She would help me find my next purpose in the next chapter of our story, as a family and as a nation, and I would help her find her own. As much as she wants to be a lawyer, she also believes in a higher calling in the halls of power. She wishes to run for election to our legislature, the House of Commons. Even I knew it to be an unfriendly environment for young women. It was inherently and structurally confrontational and adversarial, and many legislators were habitual drinkers. It was typical of those who believed they were owed, that they were destined for a seat in that place, the kind of people who saw power as a pursuit between privileged friends rather than the ultimate form of public service. I was proud of her for her ambition and principles. She knew this country was so great that it could make sure that nobody would know the indignation of homelessness or poverty if it so chooses, but those choices were not being made. Those who made those decisions distracted their next victims with confected wars against our culture and imaginary threats to our sovereignty. What was said by the people we were brought to by the armed police now made sense. The pieces were being set to divide and oppress people under the guise of protection.
This line of thought ended by the time I climbed the flight of stairs and down the corridor that led to the door to Sam's apartment. She opened the door and greeted me with a sympathetic expression.
"Oh, come here," she said with a loving pout as she hugged me. I could only half-heartedly reciprocate, placing a hand on her waist. "I can't imagine what you're going through right now," she added. She didn't know half of it. Part of me wanted to tell her what I was told by my father, as would befit an open, transparent and honest relationship, but now I knew what the government (if this was the government or a force that supersedes such a concept) was capable of in their pursuit to keep our family secret a secret. And when I thought about whether this place was being surveilled, I thought about the implications of not only Sam's privacy but also how it would affect our relationship if she ever found out in a way that was out of my control.
"Have you heard any news about Alex?" Sam asked, rescuing me from the realm of my thoughts. Having let go of me, she unbuttoned my jacket and untied my scarf.
"Umm... the police said they found all but two passengers," I replied at length. Sam paused to look at me with her blue eyes, trying to read my own as to whether there was hope in them, but any hope would be clouded by guilt and indecision.
"That's... that's awful for all the families," she emphasized as I extracted my appendages from the sleeves of my jacket. "But... that means Alex could still be alive, right?" she asked with a hopeful inflexion.
"I know he's alive, and I know we're going to stand together again," I said confidently as I hung up my jacket on the hook on the back of the door that I just walked through.
"Cuppa?" Sam asked casually as she walked towards the section of the room to my right that acted as a kitchen, separated from the 'living room' by a partition made of wood.
"Coffee, please, two sugars," I answered as I walked into the living room, which was towards the front of the building, to my left as I walked in. I went to sit down but noticed on the TV that a news reporter was stationed outside Heathrow Airport, talking about the plane crash in Tanzania. I grasped the remote that was on the wooden coffee table and changed the channel to BBC One.
"Oh, yeah, sorry, I was trying to find out as much information as I could and you weren't answering your calls," she called above the boiling kettle.
"Yeah, I... uh, I was preoccupied with an unforeseen situation," I replied while internally debating whether to tell her the truth.
"Do you... want to talk about it?"
This might appear as an encouragement but it was really a subtle reminder to be honest and not hide things from her. She really didn't like bullshitters, be they colleagues, clients or politicians, she had to deal with them frequently.
"Oh, it was a horrible and traumatising thing that happened this morning," I said. still remaining truthful at this point.
"On top of everything else that's going on? It must be bad for you to describe it that way," she remarked as she walked slowly with a mug with piping hot liquid in each of her hands. She placed it on the coaster nearest to where I sat.
"Ta," I acknowledged as I leaned forward to hold the mug with the handle and gently wrap my other hand around the other side. Only now was my hand beginning to return to normal surface temperature.
"So what happened this morning?" she asked further. I made a decision, but I didn't know which I would regret more - making the choice I did or not making the other choice.
"So... I went to Helen's café this morning but Vicky was there," I began.
"Oh, yeah? How was she?" Sam asked. I sighed after I took a sip of the coffee.
"She... she was quiet and withdrawn, she was holding a note in her hand and she gave it to me, and her dead name was written on it," I recalled.
"Oh, goodness, that's awful!" she gasped.
"Yeah, but that's not the worst thing that happened. A few minutes later, someone threw a brick through the fucking window!"
"You're joking!" she said at a considerable volume.
"No, and on that brick, there was another note saying her dead name and how she was gonna go to Hell," I concluded.
"Fucking hell," she whispered and shook her head in disbelief that something like that could happen in a welcoming community in a progressive city like London. "Is Vicky okay?" she asked.
"She's shaken up a bit, but she's not gonna let something like that stop her," I said. Vicky wasn't the type of person to give in to conformity or to let wrongs go unrighted.
"Did you call the police? Do they know who did it?" Sam asked. It was as if she was giving me another chance at being honest, but in my mind, a precedent had been set. I had already been truthful about what happened to Vicky, but she probably wouldn't appreciate me using the incident to avoid the additional truth.
"Vicky had to call the police because, after that moment, Dad phoned me," I said. I decided to tangent from the truth that would probably bring her harm but keep it both truthful and feasible. "He was in a right state, he sounded like he was really struggling," at this point, my throat began to grow heavy, not only due to remembering our argument and the subject of the conversation after our kidnapping but also at the thought of keeping the whole truth from the person I had asked to enter a solemn contract of honesty and devotion.
"I went back home, found Dad crying, and I cried with him, feeling as if a part of us had been ripped apart, even though we knew it wasn't permanent, it still hurt like grief, and... then we talked about my Mum, about what trouble Alex might get into without me to help him," I chuckled, but it was masking the urge to cry and my lips began to tremble.
"Oh, Lewis," she cooed before she leaned her head on my shoulder. "You don't need to worry about him anymore, he's on his path, you're on your path, and you'll miss each other like crazy, but he wouldn't want you to be beholden to him, he won't want you to wait for him, his time for waiting is over, as is yours," she said while stroking my hand.
"You always know what to say," I said before I planted a kiss on her blonde fringe. "I'm glad you're going to be my wife," I declared.
"Mmm... " she sighed contentedly. "I suppose it wasn't the right time to tell your Dad," she commented.
"Nah, I'll tell him, just... let's sit here for now... forever," I uttered.
I woke up on the sofa with a blanket over my body. The moment when I wondered which time and realm I was in quickly passed when I delved into my pocket, extracted my phone and saw that it was nearly half-past four in the afternoon, and then I stretched my body to wring out weariness from my limbs and found that there was an ache in my back.
"Sam?" my voice croaked. I lubricated my mouth and throat with my own saliva. "Sam?" I called again, my voice echoing in the room.
"Yeah?" she called from her bedroom.
"Your sofa is a shit bed," I remarked.
"Well, that... that's because it's a sofa and not a bed," she retorted, I could tell she was smiling when she said that.
"Why didn't you put me in your bed?" I asked while rubbing my eyes.
"Because you've got legs but you're too lazy to use them," she replied. 'Whatever,' I thought. She might have a point there though. I was now sitting upright and a game show was playing on the TV.
"I'm gonna head off in a bit," I announced.
"You got somewhere to be?" she asked as she walked into the kitchen holding a plate with cutlery on it in one hand and an empty glass in the other.
"Yeah, but... do you need help with anything?" I offered, wondering if she was only now able to tidy her living space.
"Nah, I'll manage, thanks," she politely declined. "I've got a meeting with someone from the CPS in a few days, an interview about an internship," she said.
"Oh, that's brilliant, I hope the outcome is a good one," I responded before yawning again.
"Thanks," she replied. "You sure you're not gonna fall asleep on the bus?" Sam chuckled.
"I'll be too stiff to fall asleep," I said as hauled myself up from the sofa.
"Christ, you're already sounding like a middle-aged man," she scoffed.
"Ha-ha," I vocalised.
When I sat down on the forward-facing plastic seat with an overcomplicated design on the fabric padding, I realised that I was familiar with this seat, I remembered the scratches, stains and graffiti on the back of the seat in front of me, the discoloured 'STOP' button. It was the same pair of seats where Alex and I first went to high school. It was the pair of seats where I first kissed Sam in public.
And then I started to think about coincidences, and how this one reminded me about how my life has been a circle so far, and maybe this is the day when I forge my own path, but then I wonder if this is always meant to happen to me. Were these events designed by higher forces? Would making a different decision make a significant difference to the course events, such as choosing to not go on the trampoline the day before 7/7?
I rocked forward gently as the bus decelerated before it stopped at the next bus stop, and on the bus boarded an elderly woman with a shopping basket. She had dark grey hair and was wearing black leather gloves. By the time she put her Oyster card against the reader, I wondered what she was going to do today, and what decisions she made to end up in the same bus as I did. She acknowledged the driver friendly and sat on the collapsible seat closest to the driver.
The next stop was the one that served the cemetery in which Mum was buried. Part of me was fed up with being confused, miserable and traumatised for today, but it felt like something I had to do, it was a milestone in Alex's journey and I guessed that it would help to 'talk' to her.
I got off the bus as soon as it stopped. I found myself standing in front of a long wall of leaves and iron, with the evergreen bush growing between the metal bars of the fence. and I turned right to walk through the pedestrian entrance beside the gated entrance to the cemetery.
To get to Mum's grave, one had to go from one side of the cemetery to the other, and you would travel through stories of tragedy, love, abandonment and dedication. From children who never got to know the joy of life to people who only knew how cruel it could be. People who had everything in life, and people who had nothing, but they all had one thing in common - they brought nothing with them to their grave, to the afterlife. They left behind love or pain. They left behind a legacy or shame. And even then, no matter their choices, no matter what paths they took, no matter whether they gave more than they took, no matter whether they were selfless or selfish, they were now all at peace.
Some families talk to the graves of their deceased relatives for closure. Even though they know they won't get a response, they'll say what they always wanted to say to them and then have no regrets.
In my case, when I talk to my mum's grave, I feel her presence, even though I can't see her. It's not a presence within my heart, but a presence within this realm, like there is a gap the size of a keyhole between the barriers of the different realms in which we now reside. I felt like she could hear me, and that she was listening. Is that what a ghost is? Beings from different universes?
I finally stood in front of Mum's grave. It was a white marble headstone with golden writing that read:
LAURA MAXIMILIAN
1970-2008
Devoted mother, beloved wife
Daera pharon waer erar mnar
Ruaen, ecite, egarath
Knowing what I do now, I concluded that the two phrases were in her maiden language. Dad had always told me that she wanted to be an author and made up her own language. It was an answer that was both plausible and instilled pride as a child, but now I am only more fascinated, about where she came from, about what it was like where she was born, and if she was really just 13 years of age by the time my Dad met her. It would be so Earth-like for her ageing process to be accelerated by the elements of this world. Only this planet could host and forsake such beauty.
I edged to the side of her grave and knelt down to inhale the still-fresh roses of red, yellow and white, placed there a few days ago by myself, Dad and Alex.
"Alex is gone," I said aloud. "He's gone on his journey, like our ancestors, as you told us in your stories," I said. "Though... they weren't just stories, they were the stories of your home," I said and allowed a pause as if to allow Mum to absorb and realise what I meant.
"I know the truth, Dad told me," I said. "I know why you kept it from us, I know what's about to happen, I know who wants to stop Alex, I know what's about to happen,"
"You don't know half the truth, my son," a delicate voice passed across my ear like a gentle breeze through still air and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I slowly stood up to my full height and looked around to see if anyone was in the vicinity that could have produced that noise. When I saw a complete lack of humans in this part of the cemetery, I could only conclude that either my Mum did speak to me through that minuscule gap, or it was just wishful thinking.
And with that, I returned to the foot of Mum's grave.
"I love you, Mum. I'll speak to you when Alex comes back," I declared.
"So be it, my son, I love you too," the voice said. There wasn't the definition of my mother's voice or the accent, but there was no other explanation for it.
It was now dark and I decided to not think about it any further. I exhaled and I could see my breath in front of me before I turned to leave, heading for the nearest exit that was the furthest one from the exit I entered and it was the nearest exit to my home.
A/N: A relatively short chapter but no less action-packed, and we even met a few new faces who will feel the effects of the war that will apparently be fought in Alex's name. What trials and tribulations will await Lewis, his family and his friends? We'll find out later on in the story.
And I suppose you're wondering what the translation of the phrases on Laura's grave is. Well, here it is:
Only those who fall can rise. (A personal motto to Laura, indicating her tendency to never give up that was inherited by her sons)
Honour, justice, courage (The motto of the place she was born.)
Anyway, please make sure to leave a review and don't forget to press the follow/favourite buttons so you don't miss the next chapter. Thanks again for reading and I'll see you next time.