by Elen Chase
"It's alright, Dan sure made up an excuse for me to be so late."
"You’re hopeless. I'm winning anyway, so tell that to him too."
"I will. See you tonight then."
"See you later, An."
I really did my best during that match. Like An said, I knew that even if I were to lose they wouldn't be disappointed in me, and they would be by my side anyway. Still, that was the reason I wanted to win: I wanted them to say that they knew it, that they were sure I would win. I didn't want to fail the trust they had in me. At the last minute, with the match almost over, I managed to score the winning goal. Then something happened; “You did it,” said An's voice in my head. Yet her tone wasn't cheerful and full of enthusiasm like always. It seemed as if she was crying. In a wink, a cold sensation spread throughout my body, starting from my brain, and I could feel my heart stop beating. My teammates were hugging me to celebrate the victory, but I couldn’t be happy anymore: I knew something had happened.
As soon as I turned my watchpad on, I received an urgent call from Dad, saying to get to the hospital, and I took the fastest train back. I didn't try to call neither An or Dan. I already knew, I could feel it, and it wasn't something to be said over a watchpad. I tried to get mentally prepared to the worst, but it was useless; when I entered the hospital's emergency hallway and saw my parents sitting on those chairs crying, the world fell on me. They hugged me, and my mother was about to say something to explain what happened, but I stopped her, shaking my head. They understood I didn't need to hear that. I contemplated the white door behind their back for a few seconds, and I forced myself to enter her room. Dan was there, by her side, holding her hand. He turned around, and without a word, he ran to me and hugged me, crying desperately. I didn't have the courage to look at the bed, where her lifeless body was lying, so I held him strongly and buried my face in the crook of his neck; finally I felt I could let myself go, and I cried too. When the crying stopped my brain was completely empty; thinking about anything would hurt too much. An intrusive thought was repeating in my head, over and over, “An is dead.” I didn't want to listen to it, so I filled my mind with the tender sensation of my fingers in Dan’s silky hair, my head resting on his shoulder, his arms around my neck. If when I entered the room I had thought I wanted to go with An, I stopped thinking about it in that moment. While I was feeling my life leaking out of my body, leaving me cold, his warmth was what kept me alive, and the weight of his body was what kept me on Earth.
Why does it hurt so much? Even though you're here. Even though we're close like we've never been before. Why are you still suffering so much, when I am here with you? Why can't I fill the hole we have in our hearts? We will never be whole again, will we? Because we didn't know that we were whole only when we were together. We found out now, now that we will never be together again.
◆◆◆
"He wants me to meet his daughter," I told Dan, as soon as I got back. "Apparently she is shut in her house and refuses to go out. He said that meeting someone who recently suffered a loss might help her overcome her problem."
"I see. I want to come too when you go meet her. Do you think it would be possible?"
"It depends on when and how he wants me to meet her. I can't just bring you along as I please."
"Yes, of course."
"I'll tell you as soon as he gets in touch with me. By the way, no comment on my good boy outfit?"
"Did you wax your hair?"
"Just a little… "
"Have it cut. It’s too long on the front," he said, and went to the kitchen to drink a glass of water. “Especially those emo bangs on the sides of your face.”
“That’s my charm point!” I said, and he looked like he was about to laugh in my face. “Dan, don’t even try laughing.”
Later that evening, Marshall called me back. We agreed to meet at his house the next day for a coffee in a very informal way. He said it would be just the two of us and his daughter in the house, and I asked him if I could bring Dan with me, since later we had business in Uptown. He unexpectedly said yes, and told me that it was even better for him, so he would have someone to chat with while I was speaking to his daughter.
◆◆◆
That night I went back to the graveyard. I had promised Shallie I was finally going to introduce her to An, so we had agreed to meet in front of the gate. I waited for her for a long time, but she wasn’t coming. Every second I spent standing there, waiting, my body grew stiffer. Raindrops heavily fell on me, gluing my feet to the ground and leaving me in a grip of deadly fear. From the entrance of the graveyard, the wind howled Shallie’s name. An indescribable horror froze my lungs, and relentlessly began to suffocate me. I gave in to despair and ran inside the graveyard; I needed to confirm Shallie was alright. I rushed through a maze of graves, but she was nowhere to be found. Rain kept pushing me down, until I fell on the ground, exhausted. With great effort, I lifted my head up, and I found myself in my parent's house, locked in my room. The walls were rapidly shrinking around me, as breathing became harder and harder. I ran to the door, banged on it and screamed for help. It opened at the last second, and I heard An's voice calling me from her room. I hurried there just to find, on her bed, Shallie's dead body, white and cold. A dull pain grew in my chest and I felt like falling.
I woke up startled and aghast, my heartbeat echoing loudly in my ears. I didn't feel like sleeping anymore. I saw the light on in Dan's room, so I got up and stared at him from beside the door. He was sitting with his back resting against the bed’s headboard, reading a book on his watchpad. When we were little, whenever I felt nervous or uneasy for something, looking at Dan would help me feel better. He was always so calm and controlled in every situation, and it seemed to me that he was able to limit the bad influences of the outside world on his life. Just his presence by my side was enough to relax me.
"Hey, you can't sleep?" he asked, closing the book on his watchpad and interrupting my thoughts.
"I had a nightmare. I don't feel like going back to sleep."
"That always happens when you go to sleep right after dinner. Your mother used to tell us that over and over, remember?"
"I do. Can I take one of those?" I said, pointing at the pills on his bedside table. I could never get it out of my head that he was taking those drugs.
"No, they're too strong for you."
"But not for you?"
"Exactly. I have a problem, that's why I take them. These are medicines, not candies."
"Says the one who was on drugs," I said, ironically, and I regretted it immediately. "Sorry..." I added.
"I'm saying this exactly because I know what it feels like to be an addict. These are drugs too, except that a doctor gave them to me."
"They're not the ones from the other day."
"I had my therapy changed. I think you could tell for yourself that the ones from before weren't working too well."
"So that's why you're sleeping so much recently."
"Yeah, they're effective, but I felt continuously sleepy for the first four, five days."
"I see." He didn't seem to be lying, even though I still wasn't a hundred percent sure that I could trust whatever he told me. I sat at the side of his bed; I didn't feel like going back yet. I could feel his blue eyes on me, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, it was rather nostalgic instead. I looked back at him, and our eyes met. I couldn't read his thoughts at all, but his expression was mild and tired. His long hair was untied, falling on his neck. Before realizing what I was doing, I moved my hand to it and lightly touched it, passing it by my fingers. Just as I remembered, it was soft and silky. Memories of that night at the hospital passed before my eyes.
"Drew, what happened?" he asked me, almost whispering, bringing me back to the present.
"It's that nightmare, I..." any other word wouldn't come out. He gently took my hand in his, and held it strong. A compelling urge of hugging him arose from deep inside my heart, but the rationality I still had in me blocked
me.
"Was it about An?"
"It was about everything. An, and Shallie, and me..."
"It's alright. You're alright."
"They'll never come back, Dan," I said, actually trying to tell that to myself. "I ask myself everyday if I made a mistake, somewhere. If Shallie had problems she didn't tell me about. I thought I had changed, but I can't understand other people's feelings at all. Just like before, I can only see myself and my worries. Even now, how many things am I losing, that are passing right in front of my eyes? It could be entirely my fault, what happened to Shallie." Dan held my hand tighter, and got slightly closer.
"Drew, no. It can't possibly be your fault. I know you, I'm sure you always did your best for her, just like you always did your best for us. I understand how you feel, trust me. I saw so many people go, unable to do anything to stop them. I should have called back to my father the day he moved out of our house when I was four. I should have said goodbye to my mother when she went out for the last time. I should have gone back home with An that day. But regret won't bring them back. It will only consume you, force you to stay awake, and haunt you whenever you manage to sleep. You're strong, Drew, don't become like me, don't let it beat you."
"Dan..." I remembered how shocked he looked when I woke him up that day. Was regret behind his sleeping problems?
"You're gonna be okay. It's because of the way you are that everybody loves you and respects you." His voice was warm, and reached me deep inside my head. I thought for a little while about his words, and I started feeling better. I couldn't afford to be haunted by regret, I had to move forward. That was the only thing I could do for Shallie now, and that was my resolve.
"Dan, thank you," I smiled at him, "and forgive me for the pills stuff, I’ve been very insensitive."
"It's alright. I understand you don't feel like trusting me completely. Things have changed so much."
"You know, you often speak of yourself like you're a lost cause, like it's too late for you to do anything."
"Really?" he said with a bitter smile.
"Things might have changed, stuff might have happened. But we're just twenty-one. It's not too late to start over for you."
He looked sincerely surprised by my words, and sadly smiled back at me. "No, it's not too late," he said, and then slowly took back his hand from mine. With his touch gone, I felt tremendously cold.
"You mentioned your father," I said, "I thought you never met him."
"I meant my mother's husband, James Price. I just have scattered memories of him, but I remember the day he left. It was because of me."
"What do you mean?"
"He's not my biological father. I don't know if he knew it right from the start, but since I can recall, he could never love me. Apparently I looked too much like some other man."
"I had no idea..."
"They used to fight a lot. I remember them screaming, and my mother crying. I didn't like him, I was scared of him. Your dad once told me he's probably the reason behind my social anxiety problem. But I often thought that if I had tried to create a bond with him, even just talk to him, at least once, maybe I could have fixed my family."
"That's ridiculous, Dan, you were just a little kid."
"You talk like your dad."
"That guy's clearly at fault, and your mother too. Fight in front of a kid, making you go through all of that, and leaving you on top of it. What an asshole."
"I don't know, Drew, he wanted me to keep his family name, even though he had all the right to have me change it. And I think that he also passed some money to my mother for a while. I can't help thinking that maybe he wasn't as bad as I remember."
"Thinking you could have done more won't make you feel better. Come on, don't be so emo," I said, and I made him laugh.
"What? After you came here crying over a nightmare I'm the emo?"
"I wasn't crying."
"Almost."
"Shut up."
Chapter 14
Sara was literally drooling on our table looking at Dan, as we were getting ready to go out. I was wearing the dark blue jacket I had brought back from Uptown the day before over a white shirt and blue jeans, while Dan had tied his hair and was wearing a beige jacket over a white jumper and black pants. I always felt rather uncomfortable with formal clothes, so when I had to dress up I inevitably ended up with the most obvious choice; Dan, on the contrary, could look elegant with whatever he was wearing.
"It must be nice being invited by such a rich guy. I'm sure his house is like a palace, they must have servants, halls for the parties, balconies, a gym, and at least five or six rooms for the guests," said Sara, daydreaming.
"Sara, he's a doctor, not the president of the City," said Dan. "He sure has plenty of money, but judging his house from the outside I think Drew's place is bigger."
"Eh? Could it be…? Andrew, you're from a rich family?"
Her question took me by surprise. In Uptown boasting about money or social status is considered rude even toward one’s own friends, so I was taught never to think of myself as a rich kid. "Well... I guess I am."
"And you have servants?" asked Sara.
"I wouldn't call them like that, but we have some people to help out with the house."
"Ehhh... and your house has balconies?"
"A couple."
"And a big hall?"
"Ahem... How big is big?" I asked, perplexed.
Dan was laughing so much he had to hold his stomach. I glared at him, and he said, "Yes, Sara, it's big. I think it could host up to sixty people. And they have a studio room with a library and a billiard table. No gym, though. And only a couple of rooms for the guests, even though they’re big too." She was hanging on his every word, like a kid listening to a fairy tale.
"I don't understand. If you were leading such a comfortable life, why did you come here?" she asked me, with honest and pure eyes. I felt uneasy, I didn't feel like confessing everything, but I didn't want to lie to her either.
"I..." I hesitated, thinking hard about what to say.
"’Cause he's in love with me and he's determined to stay here until he gets what he wants," said Dan, with a sadistic smile on his face.
"Eh?!" we both reacted the same way.
"So your relationship was like that after all! I knew it!" added Sara, jumping on her feet, her face as red as her hair.
"You kne— what? No way! There's nothing like that!" I said.
"You pretended to be my friend but you're my rival instead! I hate you, Andrew!" she added, imitating a dramatic pose she probably saw in a second-rate soap opera, then she ran away from the room pretending to be crying, while Dan kept laughing to the point he had almost tears in his eyes.
"You really are an asshole," I told him.
"Sorry, sorry, making fun of you is simply too amusing. I can't resist."
"By the way, guys," said Sara coming back from her apartment, "I have to work late tonight, so I'll see you tomorrow." So she was just kidding. Thank God.
"Okay, see you tomorrow then," said Dan.
"Bye, Sara," I added, and she left again waving her hand.
"Sara is a good girl," said Dan on our way to the train station. "She’s very sensitive, she knew she’d asked too much before. I never told her why you're here, but I think she suspects something by now. You're not forced to tell her, I just want you to know she is someone you can trust."
"I know, I noticed that right away. It's just that I feel ridiculous."
"What?"
"Until now we've asked a lot of questions around, but we didn't really make any sure progress. Even now, we could be just imagining things, and Robinson has nothing to do with Shallie. Before talking about it with anyone else I want to be sure of something. I want confirm I'm not just completely insane."
"I see, I can understand."
"I've stayed here almost for a month now, and the smartest thing I've done is being hit by a car."
"That's not so bad. I haven't done something
so smart in seven years," he laughed.
We reached the Uptown central station in about forty minutes and later took a taxi to Marshall's place. He welcomed us and showed us around the house, and then we went to the back garden, where his daughter was sitting on a chaise lounge with a plaid cotton blanket on her legs, reading a book. Short brown hair, thin-framed glasses, medium build but maybe not in very good shape. I was expecting to meet a suffering woman, devastated by pain, but she looked perfectly fine and self-confident.
"This is my daughter Lilian. Lilian, this young man is Andrew Lowell, the one I owe my life to, and his friend Dan Rogue," said Marshall. I hadn't noticed Dan had given him a false name.
"Nice to meet you," she said politely, not showing any other emotion. The four of us had tea together while talking about trivial things, and I had no idea how to create the occasion to talk about Robinson. Then Marshall decided to set the stage for me, in the worst possible way.
"You know sweetheart, I think you and Andrew have a lot in common."
"Oh, really? What may that possibly be?" she said, looking at me with the same cold, polite smile from before.
The fact that both our loved ones died three months ago. Was he expecting me to say that? It was really out of place.
"I think you both played soccer in the Rosedeer Young League, even though it was in different years," said Dan. I mentally thanked him a hundred times for doing some research on her.
"Ah, I see, so you're one of my underclassmen. Did you play under Coach Lucas?" she asked me.
"Just for two years, then he retired."
"It was about time, he was saying he wanted to retire when I started playing, and then I was in the league for six years and he never did! My friends and I used to say he would die on the spot one day or another."
It was good to talk about those old days, even though I still didn't know if she was hiding something; something maybe related to Shallie. Fortunately, the tension in the air faded, and soon Marshall received an urgent call from the hospital. He had to run to work, and left us at home with Lilian.
