Chapter One – The Pilot

A form fitted black dress that comes down to my knees reflects off the aluminum coated glass and back in my direction. Two normally bright and sparkling different coloured eyes - the result of heterochromia - are now settled at a dull glaze as they take my appearance in, from the short black heels to the long, wavy, light brown hair stopping just above my tailbone. My cheeks are almost scarlet red, and underneath my eyes are puffy and swollen, wiped dry so many times now that my skin almost feels raw. To top it off, my nose matches the redness of my cheeks and swollenness of my under-eyes, and I feel it drip again.

I wipe my nose with the napkin, the same one that's been in my hand since I started getting dressed, when there's a knock on the door, and I look over my right shoulder as the door opens slowly and a pale head of blond hair pokes his way in.

"Hey Bri. You ready to go?" his voice echoes off the walls of the room, the syllables bearing down on me.

The room, one I used to be so acquainted with when I was younger but now feels more like a hotel room, sits mostly empty from the last time I lived in here– there was a double bed that was covered in a bland, beige blanket, with similarly coloured pillows, a full sized mirror across the room from the bed, alongside an empty dresser, and there's an old, large painting hanging on the wall right beside the door.

I hear myself sniffle again and nod at him. "Hey Trav. Yeah, I'm ready."

I turn, the heels of my shoes making a slight squeak as I make a one-eighty spin and head towards the door. The man standing in the doorway offers me an arm to help support me through the house, and I accept it without really thinking. His hand covers mine almost completely as he pulls my arm through the loop in his arm, and we make our way down the hallway, descending the stairs in silence.

Neither of us say anything as we move into the kitchen, where my Mom, standing taller than me by more than half a foot, is hunched in front of the sink beside a man of similar age. Her face is puffy and red too, her nose looking runny. She has dark bags under her eyes that are covered by the frame of her glasses – its apparent she's been crying for a while, too. The two of them look up, and upon seeing my current state I watch my Mom give me a pitiful smile before she leaves my step-Dad's side, walking over to trap me in an embrace.

With a new sob crawling its way up my throat, I wrap my arms back around her and tighten my grip.

"I know baby, I know." She whispers in my ear, my throat filling with another knot.

I pull back from the hug, drying my eyes with the fabric of the dress sleeves on top of my wrists.

"Come on, lets get going. Vic and I will meet you and Trav there, okay?"

I nod at her, "Sounds like a plan."

"C'mon, Bri. Lets roll out." Travis said.

I turn and shrug my trench coat on, then lock arms with Travis once again, and we make our way out of the two story house. In the driveway there's three cars parked – my step-Dad's brand new black Chevy Blazer, my own white Toyota Rav4 that has seen better days but is completely paid off, and my step-brother's brown Ram 2500 Cummins pickup truck. My mom's blue Ford Focus is tucked away from sight in the garage.

Travis helps me down the stairs and opens the passenger side door for me, waiting until I settle in before closing the truck door. He gets in to the vehicle a couple seconds later and reaches towards the steering wheel, starting the diesel engine up. The windows rattle as it turns over, and after he buckles in he puts the truck in reverse and backs out of the driveway.

As Travis drives down the road, the two of us sitting in total silence as I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from crying, I see him look over at me in my peripherals, then he reaches over the center console to grab my hand. The action catches me off guard, making me jump slightly, but it pulls my two different coloured eyes in his direction. He locks eyes with me for a moment, just long enough for me to see him go from my right eye to my left eye, before he looks back at the road.

"I'll miss him too, Bri, we all will. But we've gotta do this, and I promise we'll all be there to get through this."

I hear myself sniffle again as the knot in my throat gets heavier. "I know. I just didn't think…"

He squeezes my hand a little tighter, and my fingers follow suit. "I know, I didn't either."

After looking back out the window, the only thing I can think to say is, "This is gonna be the worst day ever."

Travis's chuckle is bitter, "Yes it will."

I'm silent for a moment once again, before admitting, "This is not how I wanted to start my new year."

The two of us stay quiet for a long few minutes, and Travis looks over at me again, "My Dad said your Dad was already on his way, did you brothers manage to get the time?"

I nod as I think of the answer, biting my bottom lip. "Yeah, Dad picked Bentley and Farrah up and are on their way now, Berkley and Sasha are comin' down with Aaliyah. Texted me this morning. And Bowan got leave so he and Bohdi are comin' down together too, they left last night and they're probably gonna come with me after to his home. Work on sorting everything."

The rest of the ride stays quiet, except for the sound of the diesel engine rumbling as it stops and starts at the traffic stops before we finally pull up to a long, white house that had been set into the GPS as the destination.

I hop out of the truck, bracing for the landing by bending my knees, and walk to the front of the hood to meet Travis at the front, but my eyes stay locked on the sign that stands by the entrance, almost like its taunting me, daring me to step closer and affirm what I secretly, honestly have been hoping is just a nightmare posing as real life.

Reilly Funeral Home and Crematory.

I bite at the inside of my cheek again but it fails to stop the tears from filling my eyelids and topple over, racing down my cheeks.

A warm hand slid into mine once again and squeezed it tight in reassurance, finally pulling my eyes away.

"C'mon, we can do this. Mom and Dad got caught a couple of lights back, they're right behind us."

I nod quietly, squeeze Travis's hand once more, than follow him as we walk across the parking lot and into the house. In the greeting area, we're met with an older gentleman who was definitely waiting for us. He's wearing a nice suit, his hair dark brown hair combed back neatly, and there's a gentle smile on his face.

"Good day." He smiles, "Can I help you?"

Travis nods for me, "We're here for the wake happening today for Briggs-Oliver Valentine. Our Mom is five minutes behind us."

The man nods, as if he already knew to expect us first, "Can I get your names?"

"Yeah, for sure. Travis McMahon."

The man nods, scribbled something down on a paper, then looks up at me.

I hesitate for a second, not trusting my voice to stay even or even work correctly, but after a shaky breath in I tell him none the less, "Briar-Olive Valentine."

I decide pretty quickly that I hate the look of sympathy he gives me. "Any relation?"

I feel numb, "He's my twin."

"My condolences, Ms Valentine," if it was possible, his eyes soften even more as he looks me up and down once more, as if finally realising that we do indeed look alike "It never is easy."

I take a deep shaky breath in, but nod as I feel my eyes fill with tears again. "Thanks."

Travis grabs my hand when I'm quiet for a few seconds too long, and squeezes it reassuringly once again.

"Well, he's just down the hall, if you'd like to go see him." The man offered.

Travis looks back down at me. "Its up to you."

I hear myself draw a deep, shaky breath in, "Yeah," the nod I make feels not very confident, "Lets get it over with."

Travis nods at me, pulling my arm up slip it around his elbow, and the two of us walk down the hallway. My feet feel heavy, like they're filled with lead, and Travis tightens his grip when we entered the spacious room. At the top of the room there was a casket, with the top half of it opened. My breath freezes when I see it, getting stuck in my throat as we slowly move closer. My fingers tightened on Travis's arm as my steps start getting slightly wobbly. The thought that I suddenly wish I'd worn flats and not heels flashes through my brain then disappears in two seconds.

Finally, we come to a stop at the front of the casket and my eyes land on him where he lays. He's paler than normal but even in death his skin is still more tanned than my own. His face is monotone, his lips set in a straight line. As if he's sleeping peacefully. It gets harder and harder to swallow the knot in my throat – I wish all he was doing was sleeping peacefully.

Tears fight to spill out over the edge of my eyelids first, not even threatening anymore, just spilling over tear after tear, wave after wave. Even if I wanted to, the tears wouldn't stop. The pain won't let them.

"Hey," I whisper, my voice thick, "Think this is the first time you've been earlier than me to something."

I feel Travis wrap an arm around my shoulders to comfort me, but the sound of the door being opened catch my attention and pulls my eyes over. The empty doorway suddenly fills as my Mom and step-Dad walk in, and behind them the doorway gets taken up by the frame of another man walking in. He's tall, taller than my step-Dad by about five inches, and built almost like brick. His biceps are close the size of my head, his shoulders resembling a barrel. He has a short buzzcut that's dark in nature, but the short trim goatee that takes up the space of the lower half of his face is starting to grey out. His sharp eyes looked around the room, before they land on me. Much like myself, his right eye is a bright, warm brown colour while his left eye sparkles with a bright bottle-green iris.

My Dad.

His towering stature, sitting around six foot five, seems almost like everything I need in this exact moment. An escape from how much this hurts, a place to go to where everything will go back to normal – the normal I want, not the one I'm forced to get used to now.

I leave Travis's side quickly, without uttering so much as even a single word. My Dad opens his arms as I get closer and I land between them. Warmth envelops me like a blanket, and while its comforting, it also reminds me that this is actually happening. This is my new reality now, the life I have to find some way to continue living in without Briggs.

"Hey Dad." my voice comes out weak, frail, as if it'll crack and crumble to the ground at any given moment.

"Hey baby girl." His deep baritone has me shaking as he squeezes his arms around me tighter, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. "I love you so much, Briar."

This time my voice actually does break around my tears. "I love you to-o."

As we pull back, the doorway behind him fills again as a herd of people walk in. A younger version of my Dad, dressed in a formal US Navy Uniform, leads the group into the room, as he always has. He stands shorter than my Dad, but only by about an inch or so. Dark hair that's slightly longer than Dad's sits cleanly atop his head and a similarly coloured stubble makes it clear that he's attempting to grow a similar goatee out but has to keep it within permitted guidelines.

My oldest brother, Bohdi. He walks in beside his younger twin, Bowan, who's groomed similarly but dressed instead in a US Air Force uniform. Behind them, the set of middle twins, Bentley and Berkley, follow them in. Bentleys dressed in a black suit and tie, while Berkleys wearing a black dress shirt and bowtie, but no jacket. Bentley and Berkley's spouses are walking together behind them, knowing they won't be needed quite yet. They all stand at a similar height, and it is quite clear they're all related, with the only a handful of differences between them, the biggest one being the colour of their eyes. While Bohdi and Bowan have dazzling brown eyes that look like melted milk chocolate, Bentley and Berkley have a sharp green pigment along their irises. Besides that, they all share dark hair, strong facial features, even a wide stature that they definitely inherited from our Dad.

Upon seeing them, Dad lets me go, and I move away from him to go grab them, hoping to comfort them as much as they had been trying to comfort me for the past few days. I need them right now, and I can imagine they need me just as much.

Bohdi catches me in his arms, similar to the way Dad had just held me, and in the span of about seven seconds the rest of the men dog pile on to me, their arms reaching around one another in an attempt turn the dog pile into a hug. Sobs wrack through my shoulders as my tears come at me full force, like a tidal wave that drips out of my eyelids, roll down my cheeks, and soaks into the black suits and dress shirts that wrap themselves around me. Like a swell of hurt that promises to be louder than anything other than the agony I feel like I'm drowning in right now. I hear one of them – I don't know which one – sniff, another one of them takes a shaky breath in as they all begin crying too, not that anyone can blame them. We'd lived our lives together for so long with all six of us, and now we're being forced to face a reality where theres only five of us left.

When they all release one another and let me go, each of our eyes are a little wetter and redder than before.

"Does he look…?" Bentley trailed off.

"Like himself? Yeah, he looks like he's just sleeping." I reassure him, my voice shaky.

"S'Trav here?" Bentley asks again.

I nodd. "Yeah, he's over there with Vic, Mom's up there right now."

Berkley, ever the Mama's boy, peels off from the group to flock to our Mother's side as she stands by the casket.

"C'mon, lets go see him." Bohdi said.

He reaches down and grabs my hand in his, rubbing his thumb back and forth on top of my own. Squished between my two oldest twin brothers, I walk across the room and up to the casket, where Bentley is hugging our Mom as she cries. Dad stands at the front of the casket, his face monotone but I know him well enough to know that means hes really struggling right now. I leave Bohdi with Bowan, moving from their side to tuck myself into the side of my Dad's torso. He wraps a strong arm around my shoulders and pulls me in so close to him that for a moment I think I'll disappear into his side as we look down at the body in the casket. His light brown hair had probably been shaved not long ago to keep up with regulations that came with enlistment in the US Army, and the five o'clock shadow that he always grew has been freshly shaved off. He still has the healed up scar along his right cheekbone, but with his heterochromia eyes sealed shut it doesn't look as special, and unique. Without the warm brown and green glow, it just looks like… a normal scar. Without him around to tell the story of how he got it, it isn't even close to as cool, as interesting as it could be.

The black suit and tie he's dressed in hides the bullet hole that had been shot through his right lung by a nine millimetre from a Glock of the same caliber when he walked into a corner store in a not-great-but-not-quite-bad part of town while a freshly released ex-convict was attempting to rob the owner of the store. Had the ambulance been called five minutes sooner, the doctors hypothesized that there was a chance they could have saved him. But the gunman left him on the floor to bleed out for those extra five minutes while making the store owner open the safe, and now my big brother, my only twin brother, older than me by four minutes and twenty-eight seconds, is gone and I'll never get to hug him again.

All I get left over is pain.

FIN

Started: December 26, 2021
Finished: December 26, 2021