Your Trail of Blood in the Snow

Chapter 13

Montimer held a sore Lucas in his arms, fatigued by the wounds he knew were inflicted by an owl. He protected him by a reflection of his own body, of his own mind. He himself suffered some blows and perhaps he would suffer from some pain in his back and arms for some days, all of which he could bear.

He saw Lucas stuck to his chest. He still had blood on some parts of his fur. Although he had seen it, his mind now a little less foggy to notice Lucas' color. It was white. Never in his life had he seen a bat that color. It was a snowy color as far as he could tell, easily corruptible by any other color in the vastness of colors he saw before. He noticed that his breathing was labored. He was a little scared, maybe because of the fall, maybe because of the fact that he knew that when he was falling, he was about to suffer some kind of pain and maybe Lucas would suffer it too and then Larry would be angry with him, but he was sure he will forgive him as long as he is still breathing. He's breathing, I'm relieved, I'm very relieved.

Montimer turned his gaze to the entrance as he heard Larry's voice say something and could see a scene that moved him: Larry was holding in his arms his two children who were also his own. They were crying for joy, they were crying for happiness, they were crying from the impression of seeing perhaps a hazy illusion of their mind projected by the faint hope that Ron and Richie harbored in some recondite place of their pubescent mentality. But it wasn't a hazy illusion. That wasn't it. It was reality. Larry was hugging them, caressing them, rubbing his tear-sodden face into the tear-sodden faces of his children.

He couldn't help but cry.

Richie and Ronnie hugged Larry as if they would never let go. They didn't want to let him go again.

"My children," Larry exclaimed softly in a quiet cry, "I missed them so much... I missed them so much..." And he squeezed them tighter.

Then he could not continue as the tightness in his chest prevented him from speaking. It was an innocuous feeling, never experienced before. It was something akin to relief and exasperation seldom united in a single moment, on a single occasion.

Montimer saw Lucas. He was still holding him in his arms.

"Are you all right?" he asked him, breaking off his words. The unscathed cries of the children and Larry could be heard in the background.

Lucas opened his eyes.

"I guess so. I think I broke my arm, though."

"What?!" Montimer exclaimed.

Lucas laughed with a hint of derision. Montimer glared at him, but then sighed.

"I'm kidding. I'm fine... you can let me go if you want." He turned his gaze to the scene. "Go on. Hug them too. You don't want to be left out of that. They look so cute, don't you think? They'll look cuter if you go and hug them and cry with them. Come on. Don't grieve. You know you can't resist. It's your family. Don't be embarrassed just because I'm here... I can wait for a moment."

Montimer gently put Lucas down.

He went at a feeble pace to where Larry and the children were, crying more and more, not from sadness as before, but from happiness. Happiness. He opened his arms as he went, and when the other three members of his family became aware of his presence, they opened a space for him and Montimer hugged them all. He loved them. He loved them. He loved them. He would never stop repeating it to them. I love you.

Lucas saw that scene. He was moved. He didn't know he could be moved, and in fact he didn't really know many things about himself, but on that occasion he realized that he could be moved, that he could feel joy again. He could confirm it by the strange sensation of seeing that family united by a single feeling: love. He recalled his past, the time shared with Jordan, his father. He remembered his smile. He remembered his sour sense of humor and remembered the advice he gave him. Lucas made an effort to get up, but he could not. He remained seated, leaning against the wall. He sighed.