The known was a demon I could no longer face.
When I was able to stand, Nate relaxed his grip on me, rising behind me. He suggested some bread, which I agreed to take, but there wasn’t enough bread in the house to absorb the liquor in my system. The shit was like sawdust in my mouth, sticking to my tongue. Little bites were all I could muster as Nate watched me like a hawk.
Finally able to understand some of the words out of my mouth, I attempted to speak again. Although it remained slurred, my speech was slightly intelligible. “I just want to sleep.”
“I’ll help you get into bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.” There was no point in arguing; he was bigger than me and hadn’t been on a three-day bender.
Once I was in my bed, he left on the light of The Seraphim and closed the door behind him. I filled the room with Sylvie’s voice but at a much softer volume than before. Only Sera and I could hear her.
Without making any noise, I pushed the dresser in front of the door. Returning to the edge of the bed, I admired my angel’s features: the softness of her face, the elegance in her arms, the way her dress hung from her frame. It was made more beautiful only by my wife’s voice bringing her to life.
My somber smile didn’t receive a response from the stone. I’d never see either of them happy again. Even the snapshots in my head were tainted by the ruin of the river. They were all spoiled—even those from months ago. When I saw her, she was blue and bloated. My beautiful angel was gone. Sylvie was on the other side of this world with Sera.
I ached to be with them.
The pain was so great it was crushing.
Quietly, I slid open the nightstand drawer, taking out my 9mm. I didn’t want to startle the girls, and I worried neither of them would be comfortable with a gun in their presence. I showed it to them, assuring them there was no reason to be afraid. Sera was more interested than Sylvie. She watched me carefully, never taking her eyes off my hands as I loaded bullets into the clip. I only loaded two.
I should only need one.
The pain in her eyes never wavered. She understood where I was and didn’t begrudge my needing to leave. Sylvie continued to bask me in the warmth of her voice as though she were sending me off on a journey with her raspy notes of unrequited love.
I scratched out a note on a scrap of paper for Nate.
You’re free. I love you.
I whispered to Sylvie that I couldn’t wait to see her before kissing Sera gently on the forehead. Her sorrow encouraged me to leave.
Dropping the safety, I raised the cold metal tip to my temple. Closing my eyes, I took several deep breaths in and out.
My heartbeat slowed.
My mind cleared.
Warmth and serenity.
Pulling back the weight of the trigger, I never heard the explosion.
Black.
24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nate
Bastian wasn’t in a good place, but I hadn’t been prepared for what I’d walked into tonight. Covered in his own filth and vomit, he was hallucinating. Or shit, maybe he was just drunk. Or maybe he’d finally lost his damn mind. I didn’t know.
The shot exploded through the silence, tearing apart the space between us. I knew what it was before it registered in my mind what he had done. Rolling or falling off the couch, I scrambled to my feet, desperate to reach him.
“Bastian…” I cried, reaching the door. My fists beat on the wood as I struggled to get into the barricaded room. My hands ached, and I’d used my shoulder to ram the door, but it barely budged.
“No, no, no.” This was too final.
Bathroom.
I was running out of time. With him on the other side, the only way was through the other door. Locked. Damn, Bastian! With every ounce of strength I could muster, I threw my shoulder into the door, crashing through it…unprepared for the scene in front of me.
The statue was shattered around the room, his body lifeless with the gun still dangling in his hand, resting on the floor.
Death hung on every surface.
Every inch of the room was covered in what had tormented him for so many years. Sinking to my knees, I pulled what remained of him to my chest, cradling his broken body in my arms. I released the fear I’d clung to for so long. Sobbing, I was wracked with grief for my best friend, my brother. I’d felt his pain for an eternity; I’d known how dark his mind would get.
That same darkness took me over as the finality of his choice crushed me.
Sylvie’s voice haunted me. It was barely audible in the silence. Bastian left this Earth with her with him. He’d never recovered from her loss. And I’d known that losing the closest thing to her replacement would destroy him.
“Fuck!”
There was no rush to call anyone—Bastian wasn’t salvageable. But I needed this for me—time with him. I never wanted to remember him this way, but I couldn’t bring myself to let him go, to put his body down to call the police. The moment I picked up that phone, he’d be gone forever.
Shattered by the loss, I allowed myself to remember him before Sylvie had died, our childhood, and the good times before he was taken to the grave. I wanted to find solace in the thought that he was at peace, but all I could think of was what a selfish bastard he was.
I sat on his bedroom floor, listening to Sylvie sing the same song over and over. The lump in my throat was as painful as the gaping hole in my heart. Crying didn’t eliminate any of the agony; it didn’t release any of the grief. The longer I sat there, the worse the struggle became.
I whispered to my best friend who wasn’t here to hear me any longer, but I needed him to know I’d always remember him. “Do you remember that time when Cecily Church wanted to be your girlfriend in middle school, but I had a crush on her? You told her you were gay and she should be my girl because I was such a cool guy?” The stories popped into my head as quickly as they left. “Or the day you jumped off the rope swing at the lake and hit a rock in the water, breaking your leg, and I had to carry you back to the car?”
He never responded, but I kept talking, hoping he’d show something, like the side of his head would somehow sew itself back together.
“What about when we went to Atlanta to see WWF, and Goldberg won the title? We could hear people chanting his name outside the Georgia Dome.” The memories didn’t bring him back.
Rocking back and forth, I made the hardest call I’d ever make.
Still holding him in my arms, the police arrived quietly with EMS in tow. One of the officers stooped next to me, encouraging me to let go of his body.
“He’s not here, son.” His voice was low, soft-spoken and pained. “You need to let him go.”
I looked up to the man with tears streaming down my cheeks. “He’s gone,” I choked out.
He nodded.
I squeezed my friend, covered in his blood. I couldn’t bear to say goodbye. “Please don’t make me let him go.” The muscles in my face shook, my voice weak and trembling.
The officer helped me move his body to the floor. Pushing back to the wall with my hands, I slipped in a pool of blood, bone particles stabbing my palms. With my knees to my chest, I closed my eyes, wishing it all away.
But it didn’t stop.
It didn’t disappear.
It unfolded in front of me.
They covered his body, converging in the hall. I heard their muffled whispers but couldn’t decipher the words.
While the paramedics didn’t rush me, they encouraged me to leave the room.
Finally helping me to my feet, they ushered me out of Bastian’s life.
Epilogue
Nate
The funeral was a madhouse. People who had never known him but admired his work came to pay their respects as he was laid to rest next to his wife. His parents attended, but, for the most part, they had allowed me to do what I wanted. They were clueless about the tragedy in his life since they hadn’t been around. They’d always thought he would just rebound from the loss
of Sylvie, never understanding why he couldn’t simply move on.
That wasn’t Bastian, though.
He loved faithfully, eternally.
He had few close to him, but those who were, he treasured.
Once the police had the house cleaned, I was allowed back in. His parents didn’t fight me on anything I wanted. I took every canvas he had ever touched, every brush, pallet, tube of paint. The police took the pieces of The Seraphim as evidence, but several weeks later, I’d picked those up as well. I trashed most of it, but her face had remained intact, as did her wings. How they’d gone unharmed, I’d never know, but I had them framed in a shadow box.
He loved her, and I wanted to honor that.
With no one to testify against Ferry, the charges for assault and criminal domestic violence were dropped by the state. While he didn’t have a rap sheet, he had fallen from grace in the art community. That world lost its fair maiden and golden boy within days of each other. The people in this town and their fans just weren’t terribly forgiving. Ferry’s career plummeted, at least on this side of life. As with most artists, death might bring success from those who loved the haunted.
Needless to say, Bastian’s work was in high demand. I’d had people offer me seven figures for one canvas, but I refused to let them go, not even to Le Musée.
Not right now, not yet.
They were his soul in color, and I just wasn’t ready to allow anyone else to have a piece of him. Maybe down the road, but I was too selfish right now to give anyone else the joy he’d brought to me.
I tried to soothe my wounds, telling myself he was with Sylvie again. Hell, maybe he’d introduced Sylvie to Sera. Sylvie would have loved her.
I hoped that in his death, he found peace with his wife, reuniting with her where he so longed to be. I hoped both of them were whole. Bastian had struggled for so long with who he was, where he was going, what he was becoming. He’d lost his identity when he’d lost Sylvie, but the last year was more than he could bear.
I took solace in believing my best friend had found peace.
It had taken me a long time to realize the gift he gave me in his life and his death. He’d freed me from what he believed to be the burden of him while he was living, but the truest gift I’d ever received was his life.
The End
Afterword
Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
If you or someone you know is struggling with depression and thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please reach out. Reach out to a friend, a loved one, or me—just talk. You’re never alone.
Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Open 24/7/365
Call 1-800-273-8255 or Chat Online at:
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/
Playlist
Beautiful Things by Gungor
Broken Together by Casting Crowns
Fade to Black by Metallica
Footprints On My Ceiling by Social Distortion
Hello by Adele
Hey Brother by Avicii
Hurt by Nine Inch Nails
I Won’t See You Tonight by Avenged Sevenfold
I’m Not the Only One by Sam Smith
Jeremy by Pearl Jam
Never Is A Promise by Fiona Apple
New York by Snow Patrol
Pendulum by Pearl Jam
Riptide by Vance Joy
Skin by Rihanna
Take Me to Church by Hozier
The Man Comes Around by Johnny Cash
The Promise by Sturgill Simpson
Tourniquet by Evanescence
Wake Me Up by Avicii
Watch Me Drown by Seether
Wave of Mutilation by Pixies
Weak by Seether
Awake My Soul by Mumford & Sons
Cold Cold Heart by Norah Jones
Duet by Rachael Yamagata
About the Author
A Haiku
You call her Stephie
To me, she’ll always be Trouble
She is amazing
Carina Adams, Bestselling Author
Also by Stephie Walls
Bound (Bound Duet #1)
Freed (Bound Duet #2)
Redemption (Bound Duet Spinoff)
Metamorphosis
Compass
Strangers
Beauty Mark
Fallen Woman
Girl Crush
Unexpected Arrivals
Small Town Girl
Family Ties
Beaten Paths (The Journey Collection #1)
Gravel Road (The Journey Collection #2)
Dear Diamond
Her Perfect
Holiday Hideaway
Reality's Illusion Page 29
