What Remains of You

The Death

The day he died started the same as any other. He woke up to Rebecca's home-made alarm (it was really just her walking into his room and opening the curtains with a loud whoosh) and went downstairs to have breakfast. Except this wasn't going to be any normal day.

Dennis had finally found the street which dad had died on, and he was going to go there and figure it out. He made sure to put clues throughout his diary for Rebecca in case something ever happened to him; not that he thought something would. It was more of a needless precaution that put ease to his mind, almost like his way of apologizing to Rebecca for not telling her what he had found. He smiled his way through breakfast, dying on the inside and fidgeting restlessly under the table.

It definitely didn't help that he had a pounding headache which felt like someone hammering his brain with a wooden mallet. He was pretty sure his vision went purely black at some point, but he shook it off as nerves and ignored it to the best of his ability.

Rebecca looked extra jubilant this morning, flouncing around and helping her mom with the dishes. Dennis assumed she noticed his closed-off behaviour and was trying to rub off some of her happiness onto him. It was a Saturday after all.

Dennis knew Rebecca hated school. She had very few friends—save for him—and her grades weren't exactly perfect. He knew he shouldn't coddle her the way he did, but he almost felt pity towards her and did his best to make her feel welcome and like his little sister. He even broke up with his girlfriend when Rebecca started crying and begging to leave Tiffany and hang out with her instead—not like it was much of a loss anyway.

There was something slightly off about her though that he just couldn't place his finger on. He did his best to ignore the nagging feeling, but it came back whenever she did something really obnoxious and obsessive. At some points it was almost scary.

He finished his plate and brought it to the sink to be washed. His hands were shaking and he gripped the ceramic tighter to stop it as he set it down and rushed out the door with a quick, heartless goodbye.

The more he thought of goodbyes, the more he wished to never say them and gave up trying to make them meaningful because it never sounded right and always came out choked like a piece of food was lodged in his throat. Today was no different, but reminiscing on it now, he wished he could have said goodbye to his mom and hugged her telling her how much he loved her and Rebecca. It sent a pang through his heart, tugging him back to the presence as Rebecca almost passed a red light, speeding across the road.

Right, he thought, she doesn't have her license. What was the point of bringing me back from the dead if you're just going to end up killing me all over again? He noted bitterly.

He thought back again to three days ago and how it happened. He was leaving the house, the headache pounding turning into a loud throb that burned his eardrums. It was so bad he almost ran back into the house to throw up at the feeling and claim sickness, but he had to do this for dad. For the sick person who killed him and did who-knows-what with his body. It was utterly ridiculous and totally preposterous that someone could even think of killing someone, let alone go through with it.

He shivered involuntarily and stepped into his car, turning on the ignition and pulling out of the driveway.

The drive there seemed to 'drive' all the hope Dennis had left in him, leaving nothing but dread and pain. The headache kept getting worse and worse. It was so bad he almost drifted off into a ditch, but he slammed on the brakes at the last second and hoped that he wouldn't get hit by anyone behind him.

Thankfully the road was empty and he continued on his way, trying to shake off the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As he got closer to the street, pain wasn't even the right word to describe the headache anymore. It was a certain feeling of impending doom that settled in his head and heart and as the street came into view, his vision blacked out for a moment again. But he would not stop here. The street was right there and if he could just... his head flopped to the steering before he could finish the thought and the car spun at the force of his head turning the wheel. It whirled, Dennis falling sideways as it flipped into a ditch beside it. He didn't wake up again.

Suddenly a light had pulled him from the darkness, a sharp feeling of something being stuffed into him choked his senses. He spluttered internally not sure what the hell was happening to him as he felt a cold body and hard ground. He knew he had died, he had felt it when the darkness hit him like a truck (which was probably the steering wheel). So why was he getting the odd feeling of waking up like nothing was wrong? He didn't even feel pain anywhere, not a single cut or uncomfortable sensation. Just a white light and a cold, concrete floor with a body that didn't quite feel like his.

When it finally stopped, life seeping into every pore of his body, he opened his eyes to a soft lightened building and the sound of someone breathing. When he looked over it was Rebecca.

Here he was now, defying everything he knew to be true, and alive, even though he shouldn't be.

Rebecca turned onto their street, Dennis getting sharp flashbacks to when he left, and she spoke again. She was actually talking the whole time on the car ride, but Dennis heard none of it as his mind couldn't register much in the crazed dizziness.

"Mom will be so glad to have you back home," she said, looking at him. He was staring blankly ahead, his fingers wrapped tightly around the edge of the seat. Rebecca didn't notice and she pulled into the driveway.

She undid hers and Dennis's seat belt and walked around the car to open the door for him. She grasped his pale, numb hand and brought him out, leading him like he was a child who hadn't walked outside before. It was enough to make him scoff internally, but that was all he managed to do as the empty sensation settled back on to his shoulders.

He stepped cautiously up the stairs, getting used to the feeling of anything beneath his feet since his shoes had been long forgotten–probably thrown out at whatever place he went when he died. Rebecca undoubtedly did not notice this little detail and would most likely have freaked out if she did. She didn't even comment on the weird hospital-like clothes he was wearing. It was oddly peculiar for her not to be obsessing over everything he wore, but she was clearly too excited to notice much.

She was excited. For killing people. He had tried to ignore that fact the whole drive, but it kept worming back. He still hadn't accepted it, would deny that his sister of all things had murdered four innocent people, and was now tramping up the stairs with a bounce in her step and a genuine smile plastered on her face. He didn't want it to be true but he knew, deep-down, that it could not be changed. The action had been set, and the family of those four teenagers would wonder forever what came to be of their children. It made him feel like crying again, and he pushed his long train of thought away.

Rebecca opened the door cheerfully and pulled Dennis the rest of the way up the steps as she walked into the house, their mom cooking up a storm.