by W. A. R.
Although Amber hadn’t touched him, much less spoken to Damien since the accident, Brian felt her underlying anger towards Damien. It was as if she were waiting, watching, winding up tighter and tighter until one day she exploded. Brian shuddered just thinking about it. He had never been intimidated by his sister, much less frightened of her, but the anger that was inside of her recently….the torment that was haunting her…it was too much and he could see her finally giving in to her rage one day. In all honesty, he was worried about it, because he knew that the day that it happened would be the day that she would be truly terrifying. She had always been understanding, forgiving…sure, she became angry and irritated now and again, but it was brief, ending quickly. And with the world the way it was then, with monsters and horrors never seen before in what was once considered normalcy, he knew that when she did snap, she would be able to kill someone without flinching, without a thought. She was strong, as was he, and they honed that in, refusing to give in to the darker of their emotions. Their father had raised them better than that.
Before the outbreak, reaching back to whenever they were kids, their father had taught them the most important things in life. He taught them honor, respect, discipline, and kindness. He had expressed that he understood that growing up, they would both (but Brian especially) encounter situations where they would allow their hurt and anger take control. He wanted them to hold on to that, to suppress it and mull things over before taking action. And Brian understood that suppressing it was exactly what they were trying so desperately to do, and soon enough it would come out and they would both frighten the people around them.
“Since your disdain for me is so painfully obvious, would you rather have me wait outside while you finish whatever the hell it is you are doing?” he heard Damien ask and Brian looked up to see him standing in front of him. He realized that he had been standing motionless staring at the drawer before him for a long while. For some reason, Brian didn’t trust the man to be alone, to leave his sight. Quickly, he slammed the drawer shut, feeling the nervous apprehension gripping at him.
“No. We can go check the spare room over there.” Brian said, motioning through the kitchen door and to the open door of a darkened room across the foyer.
“Whatever.” Damien said harshly, waving a dismissive hand at Brian and walking away. “I don’t even know why we are doing all of this. There isn’t any food here and we have guns back at the house. It’s bullshit; a waste of time if you ask me.”
Brian turned to him, eyes narrowed in anger. “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing no one asked you.” For a moment, the two men stared at one another, the tension pulled taut between them. Damien was the first to move, turning from Brian and finishing his trek to the spare room, mumbling obscenities under his breath. Brian turned back to the drawers, sifting through their contents.
He would have been a fool to deny that he felt the foreboding that Buddy, Amber, and George had felt. He simply chalked it up to the possible impending fight, even though the nervous feeling settled deep in his gut like a sinking rock. And oddly enough he couldn’t shake it. He could admit it, he was scared. Everything was far too coincidental. He feared they were going to lose people; he was going to lose the people closest to him. It had already begun, he realized thinking of his father and his cousin. And quite honestly, he wasn’t sure how to handle it. He felt as if there was something they were missing about the Biters, the people…hell, even Rick’s disappearance; as if there was a missing jigsaw piece that would ultimately bring everything together, to make the horrible image whole. If he could figure out what it was, maybe, just maybe, he could save his family from whatever was coming.
He sighed then, his mind settling on Rick. He felt so guilty, having said what he had said to him and now he was gone, vanished without so much as a trace. He may never be able to repair the damage that was done between the two of them and it was his fault. He had never meant to say those things, really he hadn’t, but he was so angry, so bitter with the truth that had rung out in Shelly’s biting words that he couldn’t stop himself. He winced as another thought surfaced. Shelly. Oh, did he love her and yet…he had let her down. So much so, that it seemed as if no matter how hard he tried, no matter how badly he yearned to, he simply couldn’t draw her close to him again. That thought alone bothered him immensely. He knew it was bound to happen; he was changing, she was changing, all thanks to the cruel world they lived in, facing the harsh realities that were only bound to get harder. He had only hoped that instead of growing apart, they would have grown and changed together, as a team.
He blamed himself for what happened with his father. He blamed himself for what happened with Rick. Every single time Amber, Shelly, or his mother had been hurt, he blamed himself and he felt his heart hardening because of it. He had tried to stop it, but he couldn’t. It was slowly becoming who he was, a part of himself that he couldn’t change because if he did, he knew those things were bound to happen again. He had always learned from his mistakes, he just never thought his mistakes would ever be this terrible. The sheer possibility of these dangerous people hurting his family drove him mad, every single time he thought about it. It served in making him angry and cautious, and yet at the same time wild and reckless, desperate to find any way out that he could; which was exactly why he simply needed to check the place that Damien had suggested. They could start over; build another home away from possible intruders until they were ready to deal with it. Sure some of their people were skilled in some ways, but they were still only human and he knew that they would fail and die miserably if forced into battle with more people having powerful weapons. He couldn’t handle that. He wouldn’t.
“Dude, seriously? What is your problem? We have shit to do and you’re fucking daydreaming.” Damien’s voice sliced through his reverie and he realized that he had once again zoned out. He slammed the second drawer shut and turned, rushing at Damien. Brian shoved him against the wall roughly.
“YOU are my problem.” Brian bit out, his blood boiling. He was angry with Damien, and yet he was unsure why.
“How in the hell am I your problem? I haven’t done a damn thing to you.” Damien countered lowly and he shoved Brian back. “You beat the hell out of me yesterday, and for what? Because you were feeling guilty about your old man?”
Brian’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he attempted to reign in his emotions. “Be careful what you say, Damien.” Quickly he turned back to the drawers and began sifting through them. Damien didn’t move. Instead, he stared hotly at Brian, his eyes burning a hole through him.
“Why? What are you going to do? You and your fucking sister treat me like I’ve personally attacked you, and I have done no such thing…not yet at least.” He growled and though Brian refused to look at him, to portray his anger, he simply knew that the corners of Damien’s mouth turned up in a menacing smile.
“Is that supposed to be a threat? Cause I gotta tell ya; it isn’t very intimidating. In fact, all you are doing right now is pissing me off.” Brian countered, and Damien leaned a shoulder nonchalantly against the wall.
“Consider it a…promise.” He countered and Brian quickly grabbed the first thing that his hand landed on in the drawer. He gripped Damien’s neck and shoved the item against Damien’s side until he saw the man wince in pain.
“I don’t appreciate your…promises.” Brian growled roughly, feeling the flames of fury lick up his spine and he tightened his hold against the man’s neck. “You threaten my family again and I will not hesitate to kill you.” He was angry and he wanted to lash out at the man. He had threatened his family, and Brian was unsure if he meant it or if he was only running off at the mouth like he had been all morning. Either way, Brian knew that he had to teach Damien a lesson. He would prefer that he handle the man rather than someone else. Gritting his teeth, Brian released his neck and grabbed his knife in one swift movement, pressing it back firmly against the sensitive skin of his neck. He applied pressure on both
weapons, and Damien winced, squirming against the weapon he held in his right hand. Damien narrowed his eyes at Brian angrily, unafraid but incredibly uncomfortable.
Damien smiled at him, challenging him. “Are you going to kill me now, Brian?” he asked of him and Brian simply stared at him. Was he going to kill him? Truth was, he wanted to so badly that it hurt. But why? Logically speaking, he had no grounds to stand on for doing so…so why did he want to so badly? Maybe part of it was anger for his father’s demise, but another part, a bigger part, urged him to take Damien’s life for an unknown reason, or, possibly for far too many reasons. Damien leaned his head forward, the tip of the blade digging into the soft skin of his neck. “You don’t have the balls to do it. You’re too much like your father.” He said softly, hatefully at Brian, the challenging smile still pasted on his face. Even though the words had been an insult, Brian felt the tug on his heart in response to the mention of his father. Yes, he realized, lowering his knife slowly, he was like his father. His father was a damn good man and so was he. He stepped away from Damien, aiming for the stairs, glancing down at the other weapon he held in his hand. A damn ice cream scooper. Oh well, he thought as he tossed it to the side, it did the job. He wasn’t going to stoop down to Damien’s level. He refused to.
“You’re right. I am. Thanks.” He bit out sarcastically and yet sincerely as he waited at the foot of the stairs. He wanted Damien in his eyesight, and he refused to allow otherwise. Damien walked haughtily over towards him, stepping up a few stairs before pausing and turning to Brian.
“And yet, he died. Wonder how that happened? You’re so much like him, maybe the same thing will happen to you.” He said lightly and Brian used every bit of willpower he had to keep his temper in check. He wasn’t sure if it was a threat, a confession, or possibly both.
Miles and Shelly wandered aimlessly up the stairs, looking about them at the rooms. There were three, and once they reached the top of the stairs they paused, glancing at each one. Shelly shifted on her feet, looking at him sadly. She was hurting, he knew, as was he. They were afraid, and he wished that they had never left the house. Guilt ran steady through his veins at leaving Amber and the children behind but he couldn’t leave Brian to do this alone. Shelly’s eyes stared hard into him and he knew that she felt the same way. What were they getting themselves into? So very slowly, they were losing themselves. He had watched, had noticed it happening in Shelly, in Brian, and even in Amber and George. They were all changing, adapting to the harshness; making themselves immune to the pinpricks of agony and horror, sorrow and fury that enveloped them daily. No, that wasn’t true. They weren’t immune to it…they were letting it flow throughout their body, in their veins, their minds, their hearts…and they were aching…they were furious. It was only a matter of time before something, one more crucial turning point, and they would all break…for better or for worse. What bothered him most, he thought, was that if they did indeed make it through whatever was going to happen, whether it be leaving or fighting…who would maintain their sanity?
Not that he thought any of their group was crazy by any means, it was just that, well, in the wake of tremendous disaster, they would be different…very different, if he had to guess. Amber would be so different, the children, Brian, Shelly…even he would be different. It went that way before, however, when he had lost Michael. His son. He sighed, he had completely lost himself when he lost Michael, or at least he thought he had. Amber had been able to bring him back to the surface however, to ease his pain, and he worried that he would not be able to do the same for her. Shelly then shifted on her feet once again, and Miles reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Her arms were crossed, and the look in her eyes was perpetual torment. They pleaded with him and he had no idea how to ease the pain that roared inside of their depths. She was frightened, and more for Brian that she was for herself. That was how they all were…thinking of themselves last, putting the people they loved first. Sadly, and ironically, he had found his place among these people, the people he cared about, and now they were on the verge of having that all taken away.
“I’ll check the kids’ rooms. I’m not sure I can handle going into Amber’s room.” She told him, shivering just at the sight of her room. While she stared at the room, he saw her mind drift back into thought.
“Is there a certain reason why not?” he asked of her, curious as to what he would find. Quickly, she shook her head and sighed.
“No, it’s just…she was so worried, and if I’m honest, I am too…she didn’t want us to go…and I’m scared that something may happen to them while we are gone. Just being in that room would make my mind run a mile a minute. The kids’ rooms are easier to deal with because I know without a doubt that no matter what happens they will be alright.” She paused, turning to see the pained expression on his face. “It’s selfish of me, I know…but there are some things you would probably like to see in there anyways…” she told him, quickly pulling from his reassuring touch before he could question what she had meant by her words.
He stared at the doorway in front of him for a moment before sighing and making his way to the cracked door. He didn’t really wish to be in there either, knowing that his mind would simply drift back to her and the children. He had been trying desperately to avoid thoughts of her, of Kyle, Cassie, and Elliot, and it proved difficult with the knot tightening in the pit of his stomach. He pushed open her door, the room was dim, and he stepped toward the curtained window, drawing back the fabric to let sunlight filter in through the window. He looked around the room. Surprisingly, it was tidy…a little messy from the throwing of clothing and tools into a bag to quickly beat the monsters that roamed the Earth, but otherwise it was clean. But…it suit her. The dark browns and tans of the comforter and the curtains, the cream colored carpet. It was soothing and flowing, gentle yet bringing to him a sense of durability. He noted the colors swirling on the bedspread and the curtains, watching as the browns faded to a yellow in color, and he couldn’t help but smile at what these little details brought to him. He was surrounded by the very essence and meaning of her name.
After a moment of admiration in what was her choice of decorum, he remembered what he had gone in there for. He swallowed before quickly rushing to her chest of drawers, rifling through every drawer. The first three held nothing but clothes, but the third one down, his hand hit something hard. He quickly pulled the heavy, cold object out of its space and stared in awe. It was a sawed off shotgun, loaded. He swallowed back both his surprise at her handling such a gun and disgust at why she would have it in the first place and set it calmly to the side.
He continued rifling through the rest of her drawers, finding nothing but a box of shells that went with the gun, and he stood on his feet, turning and gripping her mattress before flipping it completely off of the bed. Again, he was surprised to find a knife hidden under the mattress. He quickly grabbed it and set it off to the side before seeing a drawer in her nightstand. He slowly wondered over to it, unsure of if he wanted to know what it was exactly that she kept beside her as she slept at night. On top of the night stand there was a picture of Kyle and Cassie, and a picture of Brian and Shelly. A slow smile crossed his lips. Of course there would be a picture of her brother, her best friend, and her children there. It was fitting. He leaned forward and placed his hand on the round knob of the drawer, slowly pulling it open. His smile was lost as he saw two music boxes and a picture of him on top of many old papers. They were music boxes he had given her and it was a candid picture of him from the night of the party. He felt his heart ache a little at the sight of it, and quickly he pushed the ache away, slowly sitting on the box spring that was left on her bed. Slowly, he pulled each item from the drawer, looking in wonder at every note or card from him, heartfelt notes from Cassie and Kyle, pictures they had drawn her and at the very bottom was a handgun, lying atop a plain, untitled notebook. He pulled both items out, holding the gun tightly in his grip as he turned the slightly olde
r, thick and weathered book over in his hand. Slowly, he rested the book against his leg, turning the heavy cover over. It was her handwriting that was scattered across the first page, and what he assumed was every page after that. In the top right corner was a date from years ago. He furrowed his eyebrow in confusion and curiosity. Was this a…journal of some sorts?
“What do you have there?” He heard Shelly ask from the doorway. He jumped up, startled, turning to see her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and staring hard at the book in his hand. He sighed, setting it to the side as he knelt down to retrieve the shotgun and the knife. Talking about the past bothered him, hurt him.
“Just some book.” He replied off-handedly before standing. He cast his eyes to her, and noted the small smile that played on her lips as she stood there. He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously before she spoke.
“Oh, well then I see you found her stash of ‘special things’ as she likes to call it.” Shelly giggled and he couldn’t resist the smile that formed on his face.
“You weren’t paranoid about checking her room were you?”
Shelly shrugged lightly. “I was.” She replied and he shook his head, turning to examine her closet. He wasn’t sure whether or not to believe her.
“Did you find anything?” he asked her curiously, turning back to the box spring mattress.
“Nothing like what you found.” She replied off-handedly. He turned to her, looking up at her through the long hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. She was not going to let it go and he had a feeling that he knew why.
“You knew I would find it.” He said, more of a statement than a question. “You wanted me to.”
Shelly shifted on her feet and walked towards him, towards the table. “Yes and no.” She answered truthfully. “Yes, because she’s my best friend... She had went through a lot in life, and while Brian always gave her a hard time about all of this…” she paused, motioning towards the music boxes and the notes and letters. “…it was obvious how much of a difference that it made, regardless of who it was all from. Anyways...I figured this would set your mind at ease, ya know, if you had any reservations…about…anything.” She said, seemingly uncomfortable before walking past him to the table. “That wasn’t the only reason though.” She said softly, reaching for the journal that rested on the table. She stared at it, smiling sadly. “I also knew that she left those weapons here, just in case she ever had to come back…she would have something to protect the kids with...” She paused as he looked at the opened nightstand drawer once more. “Your pain was and is written all over your face. I figured you needed this more than I did. The journal too…it’s something you should probably read.” She said softly, handing the old, worn book to him as he set the shotgun and shells down, reaching for it.