Chapter 5
“If Heaven and Hell decide that they both are satisfied
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark”
Illuminate the NOs on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark”
Death Cab for Cutie, I’ll Follow You into the Dark
January 5, 2012
8:30 pm
It is rather difficult to discern the exact emotion one feels after hearing the news that a beloved family has passed on because the entire body goes numb. And the body tends to remain in this state for an undetermined number of hours or days depending on the individual who has heard the news and the closeness between the deceased and the remaining member.
So to say that Brielle was in shock in the days following the horrible phone call would be an understatement. Rachel made the calls to the family for her since there was absolutely no way that Brielle could function enough to even dial the phone, let alone tell the family that the one person whom she loved more than anything in the world was dead and that the girl who also loved him more was in a coma.
The most surprising reaction, and perhaps the most irritating, was that of Christine Reynolds. Rachel almost dropped the phone at the horrifically loud, banshee like wail that emitted from the mother who had disowned her son. The sound of the cordless phone dropping was obvious even from Rachel’s side. Cade Reynolds’ voice came over the phone, inquiring for more information. Rachel gave what she knew and asked if he could spread the word to relatives so she could take care of Brielle. She could hear the heartbrokenness in his voice as he gave the affirmative and hung up.
Rachel stayed up with Brielle the entire night, even after she had fallen asleep in a pool of her own tears, her own heart breaking for the pain of her friend.
Three days later, and Brielle found herself on a plane flying for Denver. She would be the last of the family to arrive due to a few reasons, the first being she wanted a little time with her mother as possible. She also needed the give The Boss a couple of days to be able to find someone from a temp agency to work for the two weeks she would be gone. She had run the substitute through the ropes quickly and Rachel then rushed her to the airport.
She was numb through the entire flight and moved mechanically through DIA to the baggage claim. Had she the capacity to feel, she would have been glad that she had flown through DIA countless number of times. With her bag collected, she stood at the curb, awaiting the arrival of her father to take her to the house she grew up in. And to her mother.
The red Honda accord pulled up to the curb and out stepped Cale Reynolds. “Hello Daughter.”
“Hi Daddy.” Brielle blinked back the onset of tears that threatened to spill and watched as her father loaded up her suitcase into the trunk.
He tenderly wrapped his arms around his only daughter and the two embraced for a long moment. “How are you holding up, sweatheart?”
She shook her head, her face buried in his chest like she did when she was small and needing comfort, unable to speak.
He smoothed a hand over her rough hair and held her tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before leaning his cheek against it. “Me too, honey. Me too.”
The ride home was spent either in silence or discussing funeral plans.
Cale explained that Nathan’s body had been sent to Boulder by his request and he had also worked with the trauma center closest to Brattleboro to send Destiny to Denver as soon as she was stable enough.
“How is Merylin doing?” Brielle’s voice was quieter than Cale had ever heard it, even at the hand of her mother and it broke his heart how distraught she was.
He sighed and pulled around a slow moving vehicle. “She flew out to Vermont to see Destiny and to be with her. She’ll return for the funeral but will fly back out there the day after. She’ll be bringing Vigo back with her.”
A corner of her mouth turned up at the thought of the dog, but fell again at the idea of Vigo needing to come here. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Another heavy sigh. “Your mother won’t take him in, so if we can’t find someone else here, he’ll have to go to the shelter.”
Brielle was furious. “Why not leave him with Joe?”
Cale shot a look at his daughter. “He’s 65, Brielle. He can’t take care of a dog like that. He has enough to do with trying to find a replacement at the shop.”
The 27 year old let out a muffled sob and threw her arm over her eyes. “Fuck this shit.”
“Honey…”
“Dad, don’t. Not now.”
“I was just going to say, there is one more option.”
Silence from Brielle but a movement of her arm revealed she was looking at him to continue.
“You take him.”
“Dad, I live in the city. In an apartment.”
“I took the liberty of calling Rachel, the girl you work with who lives in your building. And she said it would be no problem according to the building’s policies to have Vigo at the building. She’s seen dogs bigger than him there. She also would be willing to go with you to walk him at various parks.”
Brielle gave her dad a weak smile. “I’ll think about it, okay?”
“That’s all anyone can ask you to do, sweetheart.”
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The showdown she had been dreading happened not ten minutes after she arrived at home.
“No, that’s the way I want it run. I was his mother, I think I know more about him then you do!” Christine was demanding, the phone held tightly to her ear.
The next thing the man said must have angered her even further because she told him to fuck off and hung up on him, slamming the phone on the table, sobbing into her hands.
“Where the fuck do you get the right to act the way you are now?”
Her mother’s cries hitched as she started, staring at her daughter standing in the dining room door way, seething in furious anger.
“He was my son, Brielle. I loved him.”
“What in the hell? You hated him with everything in your being! I, on the other hand, loved him more than anything from the day he was born! I have done everything I could for him!” Brielle shrieked, pounding on the table once with a fist, causing her mother to jump again, startled.
“I never hated him! I’ve always wanted what was best for my little boy.” She wailed in a mournful voice. “I only wanted him to let me into his life.”
“Ha!” Brielle let out a bark of harsh laughter. “You didn’t want him to simply let you in. You wanted to own his life, Mother. You wanted him to let you in so you could run his life. You couldn’t let him be his own person!”
“That is a lie!” She shrieked, standing and pointing accusingly at her daughter. “You turned him against me! All I wanted was to love him and you poisoned him against me!”
Brielle looked her mother straight in the eye. “What’s his favorite color, Mom? What about his girlfriend’s name? Hell, when was his fucking birthday?!”
She stammered out her answer, flustered at the barrage of questions. “Bl…blue. K…Kate. De…December…”
“Wrong!” Brie interrupted angrily. “Strike all three! His favorite color was black. It’s always been black! Destiny, the girl in the coma? The one who went out to visit him? That’s his girlfriend. Kate was years ago. Like, when he was 15. And his birthday? That’s the most pathetic of all. October 31st, Mother.” Brielle’s voice dropped to a hushed, dejected tone. “Do you know how old he was?”
Christine Reynolds let out a soft cry, tears slipping down her cheeks. She shook her head forlornly.
Brielle stared unblinkingly at her mom. “He had just turned 24, Mother. 24. If you paid attention as to what day it was when you went into labor…fucking god, Mom. Any mom knows what day her child was born! And if you had taken the time to even try to know him, you would have been so proud of the man he was becoming. I turned him against you? Look at yourself, Mom.”
She walked out of the dining room, leaving behind a sobbing, heartbroken mother who was slowly, yet finally, coming to the realization of just how much she had failed both her son and her daughter.
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The group of friends, family, and well-wishers each walked by the closed casket to pay their respects, and all had tears in their eyes when they looked at Brielle.
She had refused her mother’s wish that she clothe herself in a somber black dress that resembled a nun’s habit. Instead, she wore a black pair of cargo pants, a simple black cabled sweater, her black combat-style boots, and her black slouchy hat. Her face had lost all color the day she heard the news and had yet to gain it back it seemed. Her eyes were dark and hollow against her paper white face, like her soul had turned into a black hole.
On a thin chain around her neck hung a bolt. Had anyone asked, they would have known it was a bolt that had stripped when Nate was teaching her how to change the tires and the oil on her van long ago, before he went to Vermont. Instead of yelling or getting angry, he had laughed and later welded a small loop to the top and strung a chain through it. When he gave it to her, she gave him a look of confusion which changed to glee as he explained it was to hold the memories of them close to her even though he was leaving for Vermont. But no one asked. Instead, they chose to gawk at her as if she were a statue standing in an art museum that represented total and complete hopelessness and despair.
But the stares and whispers didn’t bother her. In fact, it was almost as if she didn’t notice that anything was happening. She stood stock still, a motionless stone in a blurry sea of sad and lost beings. She wished for nothing more than to be in that casket with her brother. Nothing, except for him to pop out and yell “April Fools!” She’d hit him, of course, be pissed beyond all hell, but at least then he’d be alive.
She collapsed next to her aunt on the end of the pew reserved for family. She had never enjoyed the idea of a funeral, hated attending, hated seeing funeral homes. The idea of death had never sat well with her. She had a morbid fascination with graveyards, but that fascination was born out of her love of photography and mystical scenes. When asked if she would talk at the funeral she glared seethingly at the pastor and told him that if he was in the same situation, would he want to talk about the person who had died? Then mocked him because ‘oh wait, you do that already, my bad.’ Then told him to fuck off and find some other socialite puppet to do his bidding.
Now, she was being forced to attend the funeral of her best friend. Of her baby brother whom she had doted on since the moment Mother had brought him home from the hospital. Later, when asked by Rachel and Grant about the funeral, she could not recall anything about the ceremony. Her entire thought processes were focused instead on breathing and not going psychotic and murdering the entire fake, heartless room of people who were there crying simply because it would be a social faux pas if they didn’t.
A few people attempted to make conversation, but a quick glance at the expression on her face had them quickly moving elsewhere. She really was a fright to gaze upon, with sallow cheeks and a face completely void of any makeup. What was the point of wearing the stuff when all it would do was make a mess on her face? She knew that was why her mom put on the makeup extra thick today, to satisfy the social succubus that attended all social events. She hadn’t spoken with her mother since the other day in the dining room.
Who put happy looking flowers by caskets? Why was the room so brightly lit? Sunlight was supposed to represent happy times. Why was it sunny for the funeral? Wasn’t it supposed to rain or something during the most sorrowful times of life? No one else seemed to share her distraught at the uncooperative weather. They were all probably very happy to have a break from the winter snows. Even the trees, completely devoid of leaves, seemed to be stretching their arms to the warming sun, happy to stretch out and mock the pain inside the church.
The sound of the organ startled her out of her depressing musings and drew her attention back to the pastor standing at the front, hands clasped in front of him as he addressed the congregation. “The family has asked that only those they have spoken to earlier join them in the journey to the cemetery. They appreciate all of you being here to support them in their time of need and mourning and wish to stress that this is not saying they don’t appreciate you. They simply wish that the cemetery be a private good bye to their son.”
Brie’s face darkened at that, her thoughts dark and angry. Son? Pawn, in Mother’s case. Say brother. Say ‘Brielle wants to say good bye to her best friend and brother without the social vultures of her family’s social circle, people who don’t truly care.’ Stupid fucking moron.
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As the family stood around the hole, the casket resting nearby, the clouds starting to roll in, Brielle repressed a shiver that ran down her spine. The noise around her dulled to a low hum and the only thing she could think of was that her baby brother was about to be buried under six feet of cold, suffocating dirt.
She repressed the urge to vomit and clenched her hands into fists to stop herself from pummeling the pastor droning on into the ground, or to bash her mother’s makeup streaked face in for the pretense of loving her children.
The casket was lowered into the ground and dull thuds turned harsh and prominent in her mind as everyone shoveled a scoop of dirt onto Nathan’s casket. When the shovel was passed to her, the person took a step back at the absolute rage and hatred in her look and skipped her to pass the shovel on to the next in the circle. How could anyone even think of helping to bury the young man? She still couldn’t accept that her dearest brother was gone.
The family started to meander away from the grave, pausing to give condolences to the mother, father, and sister and to inform that they were going to see them at the house. Brielle ignored all of them and just stared at the newly covered grave.
His face materialized unbidden in her mind, the carefree smile he would have when driving, and it morphed into a twisted picture of horrific destruction and she screamed, clasping her hands over her ears.
“Goddamn that fucking car!” Brielle shrieked hysterically, tears flooding down her suddenly flushed face. She collapsed to her knees, hands clutching at her dreadlocks, her hat dropping off her head to the snow behind her. She ignored the snow soaking her pants and chilling her legs. She bent over, collapsing into her lap, and finally let herself let completely go, completely unaware of her mother fleeing and her father uncertainly standing nearby. She heard the crunch of snow as he approached and sat up abruptly, ignoring the freezing wetness on her cheeks or the snot dripping out her nose. She stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocused and saturated.
“I’m taking Vigo home, Dad.”
He didn’t question how she knew it was him because he knew why she knew. He simply dropped to the snow beside her and held out an arm. With a cry, she collapsed into her daddy’s arms and wept into his lap. He stroked her hair as best he could and cried with her. Cried for the loss of a son, of a best friend, of a brother, of a boy-still-becoming-man.
A long road awaited.
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