Fireside

{ This is a rough draft of the second chapter to 'Requiem' . If you have any input, editing, critiquing, etc. then please just let me know. I really appreciate you taking a look. Thank you ^_^ . }

"Scars remind us where we've been, they don't have to dictate where we're going." - David Rossi

-

I don't know.

I don't know whether a heaven really exists. I spent so much time with myself, that it was often the only prepossessing thought to dwell on. When I was younger, I sometimes asked my Dad his own conclusions on life after death. But his answers were never really whole.

"Dad, does God exist?"

"Sure."

"...Okay." After a while, I started to believe that God was just too busy to worry about me. I didn't want to be a burden.

It occurred to me that the atmosphere had changed. The air was thin and moderate in it's wintry. It felt like I was being embraced by a thousand ghosts. Cool in their touch, but gentle in their message. Yet all I could see was darkness. Was this death? Smothered for an eternity in the Siberian night?

Honestly, I was a bit disappointed. The word 'Purgatory' doesn't exactly give off sentiments of 'neat' or 'cool'.

And then this loud, didactic voice blearily crept closer and closer to my hearing. I was suddenly aware of human presence, and the television gently playing in the background. It must have been on the News. I'd recognize Duke Brenner's voice anywhere. He was the town reporter.

I thought about opening my eyes, but this bliss was far more favorable than reality. I couldn't smell the whiskey, in fact the air tasted sterile and bitter. The scent of mold had expired. The feeling of being anxiety had departed.

"Police today discovered what may have been a dump sight for countless bodies. It was found fives miles north of the highway leading into Ambrose. Of those bodies, one was confirmed to have been identified as Kiera Hals. The 7th grader was declared missing a week ago, when she didn't appear at school." Kiera... Her name was so familiar. I'm sure I'd heard it before.

But as I searched my mind for some sense of rationality, I suddenly became uneasy. This was not my home, yet I was afraid to open my eyes to see what it might be instead. Would it be worse than what I had started with? Or better? I was cautious as I chased an end to my little world of dark.

The bloodless light filtered through my lashes like the morning purging the night. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to this new setting, and for a moment all I could see was the squared ceiling. I blinked a number of times, allowing myself to wallow in the tenebrous twilight.

I gripped the cotton blanket wound daintily around my legs, attempting to sit up. Except my body suddenly felt like it was detonating form the inside out. My brain was exploding, and it was lake someone was driving a blade through my skull. The whimpers perforated from my lips, though I tried to contain it.

Unanticipated, I found myself cowering as a summery touch pawed my shoulder. And then this voice that sounded like smoke and resonance unlocked my hearing, coaxing me gently. The way an angel greets a spirit.

"Hey, you shouldn't move." I was still shying over on the farther edge of the bed, suspicious of anything. My eyes wandered around the room, but they stopped on the owner of the voice that had endeavored in calming me.

I knew him.

I knew the way his breezy hair fell, a white gold with flecks of tawny; the way it curved at the front like a peculiar cliff. The rich chartreuse in his eyes, and the color seaweed ripped fresh from the bottom of the ocean. Like there were still beads of salt dripping from his gaze, drying into the brine that was his sharp demeanor.

Yet there was a vague obscurity in his cryptic inspection. Something so opaque and mysterious that I couldn't quite read it. And what I noticed the most, was the cut on his lip and the swelling bruise on his left eye.

Grey Anderson.

"W-what happened?" I shoved out the words from my throat, which was closing up at an incredible rate.

His brows lifted imperceptibly at my anxiety, but he continued his baritone voice nonetheless.

"When I came in, you were already passed out. But your dad..." He studied me for a long time, and then let his gaze fall down to his hands. "He came at me, so we fought. I got carried away though and... And the police had to pull me off 'em."

I stared at Grey for a minute, studying his lean muscularity. The way his body fit loosely and fully at the same time in each curve of his button-up long-sleeve.

"Is he-"

"Dead? No." If he had died, I'm not really sure how I would have reacted. I might've cried or acknowledged some sort of grief. In all honesty, I believe that I would have exposed the same silence I had been using. I asked my next question, nervous to hear the answer.

"How long have I been here?" He sat there for a couple of seconds, contemplating the closest unit to the right one.

"About... three days?" Grey Anderson wasn't popular. He could talk to most people, but he was never really part of any one circle. He was too much of a loner, like myself, to make real friends. There was a certain regard in the way he looked at you. It was thoughtful, but necromantic too. And maybe that's what attracted so many girls to him. That air of sophistication, along with a serious habit of picking fights and not completing assignments.

I think we were both about to say something, when a small woman stepped in. She had on a thin smile that seemed more like she was pursing. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she wore a faint look of exhaustion.

"Oh good, you're up. I'm Grey's mother." Grey looked from the both of us as I shyly replied.

"H-hello. My name is- is Khris. Khris Winters." She nodded then, stepping a little closer.

"You can just call me Cat. How are you feeling?" Some how, I could tell that she genuinely cared. But it was a little unbelievable that she did. Considering all I'd put her through. I'd never thought of myself worthy enough for someone's distress.

"I'm fine... Thank you." Cat bit her lip for a moment and her gaze flitted around the room until she finally spoke.

"Look... I have a proposal to make."

"Yes?" Cat opened her mouth to speak, but Grey beat her to it.

"Things are complicated. A social worker came down here yesterday, and he wanted us to hand you to the state... Well we- we made a deal." His eyes were like malachite and his voice was a half-step lower than a bass. "I- we- we want you to stay with us."

My eyes wandered up to Grey as he said this. I had never so much as talked to him before this. What had changed that I should suddenly come and move into his home? Was it all for pity? Did he actually care? I'm not a charity, and I never intend to be.

"Why?" Grey seemed a little caught off guard from my question.

"I don't think it's right that everything has to change now. You should stay in Ambrose. Your home." Another long pause ensued before us, but I was still skeptical whether this was actually going to happen.

"Are you-are you sure about this?" Cat intervened this time, interrupting her son.

"We are. I've already finished all of the paperwork. It was a nice way to kill time while you were resting. Now we just need your consent." Within the silence, I thought of a million reasons to say no.

"Okay."

-

On that day, Cat became my legal guardian. It took me a couple of hours to adjust to this conscious state, but the doctors let me out early on account of a simple linear skull fracture. Which is basically a small crack in your skull. I have an inkling that I might have a couple of those from Dad's bad habit of throwing things when he angry.

I walked between Cat and Grey as we started down the hall, when this cacophony of acrimony swelled from one of the hospital rooms. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my heart began to palpitate into electric speed.

"Let me the hell out of here! I've done nothing wrong!" Nurses began to rush into the room. Their white shoes pounded on the colorless tiles and echoed off of the basic walls. "Let go of me! Let go of me!"

'That's your father, isn't it?" Cat asked. I only continued to look behind me at the scene in that same muteness. And then Grey's balmy skin made contact with my thin arms, directing my movement back to the doors.

"Khris... Let's go home."

"What will happen to him?"

"He's going away Khris. He's not going to hurt you anymore." As I looked up into his green gaze, I searched for any excuse to explain why he could be wrong.

I couldn't think of any.