“Oh this is funny? You think it’s funny?” I asked, my blood boiling. “Because I am having a fucking ball here, Jace!” He lowered his head. I sighed. “Where am I taking you?”
“Take me to Mom and Dad’s,” he said.
“You’re kidding, right? Mom hasn’t seen you in a year and the first place you want to go is there? Beat up and bloody? Are you trying to kill her? And you know Dad’s health is bad…”
“Please, Danny,” he whined.
“Mom takes her morning walks by the dock around this time…” I warned.
He sniffled and ran his fingers under his nose. “I’ll just wait in the boat shed and get cleaned up.” He paused and turned to the passenger’s side window. “I’ll get cleaned up,” he whispered again.
Like I hadn’t heard that before.
It took us twenty minutes to get to our parents’ house. They lived on a lake a few miles out of Edgewood, Wisconsin. Dad had promised Mom a lake house some day, and it had only been a few years ago that he was able to buy her this place. It was a fixer-upper, but it was their fixer-upper.
I parked the car behind the shed. Dad’s boat rested inside, waiting for winter to pass. Jace sighed and thanked me for bringing him. We headed inside the shed, the morning light shining through the windows.
I moved over to the boat and climbed inside, grabbing some towels from below deck. When I came back up, I saw Jace sitting and looking down at his cut.
“It isn’t too deep,” he said, pressing the palm of his hand on it. I pulled out a pocket knife, ripped one of the towels, and pressed it against his wound. Jace glanced at the blade and closed his eyes. “Dad gave you his knife?”
I stared at the metal in my grip and closed it, sliding it back into my pocket. “Borrowed it.”
“Dad wouldn’t let me touch the thing.”
My eyes fell to his cut. “I wonder why.”
Before he could reply, a shriek was heard from near the dock. “What the hell…” I muttered before rushing outside with a limping Jace following close behind. “Mom!” I shouted, seeing her being pulled by a stranger in a red hoodie with a gun pointed toward her back.
“How did they find us?” Jace muttered to himself.
I looked back to my brother, confused. “You know him?!” I asked, disgusted.
And pissed off.
And scared.
Mostly scared.
The stranger glared up to see Jace and me, and I could’ve sworn he smirked.
He smirked before the gun was fired.
And he ran as Mom fell down.
Jace’s voice rocketed through the sky. His sounds were thick, filled with anger and fear as he charged to Mom’s side, but I beat him there.
“Mom, mom. You’re okay.” I turned to my brother and shoved him hard. “Call 911.”
He stood over us, tears streaming down his face from his bloodshot eyes. “Danny, she’s not… She’s not…” His words were fumbling, and I hated him for thinking exactly what I was thinking.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and shoved it into his hands. “Call!” I ordered, holding Mom in my arms.
I looked up toward the house and saw Dad’s face the moment he realized what had happened. The moment he realized that he had, in fact, heard a gun and that his wife was, in fact, lying motionless. His body was pretty broken down from his health, but he was running our way.
“Yes, hi. Our mom… She’s been shot!” Just hearing the words fly from Jace’s lips made my own tears shed.
My fingers ran through Mom’s hair and I hugged her body as Dad rushed over to us. “No…no…no…” he muttered, falling to the ground.
I held on tighter. Holding on to both him and her. She looked at me with her blue eyes, begging for answers to the unknown questions. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” I whispered against Mom’s ear.
I was lying to her, and I was lying to myself. I knew that she wasn’t going to make it. Something inside me kept telling me that it was too late and there was no hope. Yet I couldn’t stop saying it, I couldn’t stop thinking it. And I couldn’t stop crying.
You’re okay.
~ Present Day ~
Death isn’t frightening, it isn’t a curse.
I just fucking wish that it would’ve taken me first.
~ Romeo’s Quest
I sat on the pew in the far back. I hated funerals, but then again, I believed it would be weird if I loved them. I wondered if there were people who did love those kinds of things. People who showed up just to breathe in all of the sadness as a sick form of entertainment. You know what they say—you can’t spell funeral without fun.