Days of the Dead Book 1: The Thief's End

Chapter 12: Final Requests

Kit
Going home is easier than I anticipated.
I am back along the road I disappeared from. So it's easy enough to pick myself up and make my way into town. It's nearly dawn now. So. Almost time for school.
I'm not dressed appropriately, but I am so far from caring. I make my way into the throng of students, a couple shout jabs, but I really am beyond caring. I am sorely tempted to reply but I am not wasting my voice on them. It's sore anyway.
I have no bag or books so I feel like an outsider. But no one seems to notice. All too wrapped up in their own affairs to really bother about the mute boy, who looks like death warmed up, skirting the edge of the crowd.
I make my way to the last men's room on the first floor, waiting just until the bell rings to walk in. I stare at the chipping tile. Waiting. slowly, finally, the door creaks open.
"What are you doing here? The entire town is looking for you," Aster sighs, stepping in. "You look like shit."
I walk up and lay hand on his chest, studying his fine face. Jawline for days. A mole on his left temple. I move to kiss it.
"No, no, this needs to stop," he says, pushing me back.
I frown, holding up my hands, in a gesture of 'why'.
"Because I'm going places. And you're a sick freak."
I walk up and snatch a sharpie from his bag, going to write on the wall: If I'm such a sick freak why do you like kissing me?
"Because there's something wrong with me," he says, grabbing me by the throat and tugging me up to his lips. I kiss him readily but he throws me aside halfway through. "See? You always want it."
I stumble, regaining my steps but just barely. Tears are in my eyes.
"Stupid fag."
That's what breaks me. The slur. One more time. He turns and walks towards the door. Ready to walk away. Like always. always leaving me.
"That's what's so strange," I say, slowly, letting my now deep voice drip cold, and sure.
Aster leaps and turns around, like trying to figure out who was there. Then he sees the grin on my face.
"What—what the fuck—,"
"It's so strange. All this time I thought I was going to be the one to die first," I laugh.
"What—what are you talking about?"
I raise a hand, blue magic ebbing through me. It wraps around my fingers and stretching out, taking hold of him as he screams. I throw him into the opposite wall. His blood smears down the broken wall tiles, as I drag his body up again to shove him through the frosted window. He screams then abruptly stops as the glass rips through his face and neck. Blood bubbles in his throat, then it's gone. I drop his corpse, broken and bloodied, to the bathroom floor. His head is nearly ripped off by the jagged glass and every bone is broken at the wrong angle, making him look a limp, discarded puppet. Blood drains from the cavities of his ripped out eyes and pools on staining tile floor.
I turn and walk, out, slowly. It's just the start of class so the hall is still clearing out. But it doesn't matter. Even if they suspect me it'll be too late. I'm not coming back.
Someone screams. I keep walking. Out the double glass doors, out into the early morning sunshine. I turn up the road to walk home.
That's how my mother finds me. Walking along the side of the road. Barefoot. Just a little splattered with blood. She was driving into town I guess. I don't know why. But she pulls over. And I think about it. I think about talking and saying the words I've wanted to say for five years. The words that will make everything okay again. Hi mom. And grin. And let her take me home. And erase everything. I can go back. Go find that wizard he said he'd help break the curse. Hi mom. Say hi mom. And go home. Say hi mom. And never confess anything but at least come close.
"Kit? Kit where have you been? What happened?" My mother asks, taking my hands.
And then I remember if I talk. Right now. I'm going to be held accountable for my actions.
I shrug.
"Honey, baby, we're going to the hospital, okay? We need to go to the hospital right now," she says.
I nod, getting in the truck. How long can this possibly take? I do have a date at the cave tonight. Those idiots are still stuck in the cave. and before I die I want us to get out. Apparently the curse is going to kill me, but it can't do that if I get myself killed first. So. I'm thinking just to be obstinate I'll do that.
We get to the hospital and intake rushes me back. Faster than I thought possible, I'm hooked up dozens of monitors and an IV and more medical tests than I thought we had access to as a nation. But no. They fear for my blood yet they take my blood. They worry about my breathing then restrict it with a mask. My mother cries and holds my hand. I try to comply. She wants me to do this I guess. I'm pretty confident. The gay wizards said they healed me for a bit and I do feel fine.
"He's dying."
Or my confidence is misplaced. Curse my foul luck.
"What?" My mother asks, gripping my arm. We're in a hospital room, me on a bed hooked up to a dozen monitors. I'm in a flimsy hospital gown that betrays every bruise I've gotten over the last few days. I am ready to wrap this up and go home.
"His pulse is at 200bpm, and we can't get it to come down, his oxygen saturation is at 82%. He's in end stage kidney failure, he's anemic. And that's just the results we have back so far. We're going to need to run a lot more tests, and get him on dialysis to try to save his kidneys. Which isn't going to do any good if we can't regulate his heart but he's not responding to medication, frankly, I've never seen anything like it," the doctor says, looking down at a clipboard for reference and then back up at us.
My mother's hand his shaking, "No—no he was fine. He was fine a few days ago—he is fine he was just walking by the road—,"
I nod that I feel fine and start removing leads.
"No—we can't. We don't know—what is going on but, given his levels right now, we need to keep him hospitalized till we figure out just what exactly is going on," the doctor says, "I'm going to call and arrange for him to be transferred to Raleigh, a bigger hospital with more resources—,"
"No, I'm driving him there. Now. Right now, I'm not waiting for an ambulance. You're saying he's dying? Then we're going, to somewhere they do know what is going on—,"
"Ma'am, wait, please wait, I can't recommend you do that."
"Well nothing you've recommend has helped so far, so we're going, come on Kit," my mother says, hand on my wrist. I flip off the doctor then snatch up my clothes.
"Come on honey, we're going home."
I get dressed and we leave. It's been hours by now and I'm exhausted. And I'm nearly due back at the cave. I climb into the front seat and ride amicably, staring out at the warm afternoon. I can feel sweat on my neck.
"Okay, honey, we're going to go and get some clothes and things then we're going to drive to Raleigh, do you feel okay?"
I nod.
"Okay, we're going to get you to a bigger hospital, they'll be able to help you," she says, pulling up in front of the trailer. There's still blood from those men I killed. I see it. Just on the lawn. Just blood.
I shake my head no, climbing out of the truck slowly.
"What? Yes, we are, we're going to make you better. It's going to be okay."
I stalk past her into the trailer. Tabitha's stuff is still there. She'll still be at school though. I walk over to the counter and find my sheets of paper.
No. It's not going to be okay.
"What? Yes it is, it'll be fine, sweetie, I'm going to figure out it," my mother says, stroking my hair out of my face, "Now come on, get some clothes and things, we'll get you to a better hospital."
No
"What is it? What is wrong?" She asks, flicking on the light, illuminating dust drifting through the air. This place still smells like my father's cigarette smoke.
I flick the light off, with a tip of my head.
"Kit, please tell me what is going on with you. Do you know—do you know why you're sick? Did you take something? Look I'm not going to get mad, I want to help you," she says, coming over and taking my hands, "I love you, baby, and I really want to help you."
I jerk my hands away and step back, anger mounting in my chest. Did I take something? Is that all they really think I am? Just a druggie?
I scribble on the paper, Bet Ethan wouldn't be doing this to you
"Kit, what are you talking about? This isn't like you—let me just—we just need to get you better then we'll talk about whatever, okay?" My mother asks, going to turn back on the light. She moves to start grabbing food to put in her bag. I flick the light back off.
My mother looks up slowly. Like it dawns on her I'm just standing there.
"You're wrong," I say, softly. She jumps, a little, but keeps staring at me in horror as the realization dawns on her. That I can talk. That I was choosing not to. "You're wrong. This is exactly how I am."
"You—you can talk now?" She asks, hands and voice shaking.
"I could always talk. You just couldn't hear me. And I'm not going to any hospital. I'm leaving soon. For good. And I hope we both die," I say, softly.
"Kit what are you talking about? I think, I think you're really sick. You're really sick baby please let me take you in to a hospital," she says, hands and voice shaking as she struggles to steady them.
"No. Goodnight now," I say, looking at the chain of amulets around my neck, "I should probably leave."
I turn and walk towards the door, slowly, looking down at my trembling hands. Suddenly I'm so angry.
"No, no, you're not—you're not going anywhere, please let me help you," my mother says, darting in front of me and pressing herself against the door.
"Get out of my way," I say, softly.
"No—,"
"Who do you think killed Dad?" I whisper.
"What?"
"You heard me."
"No—no what did you say?" She asks, voice shaking.
"Who do you think killed Dad?"
"No—his brain bled Kit, it's not your fault it—,"
"And those guys in the yard? And the story you'll hear about on the news, about the boy at school? It was me. It was all me. I'm beginning to think it's always been me. This is my purpose I suppose. So give up now. If you want some occupation. Then pray we both die," I say, slowly raising a hand.
"Kit—this is all because you're sick—it'll be fine—,"
"No this. I assure you. Is completely how I am," I say, and then I jerk her from the door, throwing her across the room and into the opposite wall. The wall bends and cracks, but she struggles back up, while I stand there and watch. She's reeling from the blow and from me doing that with my mind.
"Goodbye," I say, taking my necklace off, "I'm read to stop existing. I wish I could say it had been a good life but. Eh. We're not liars, are we?"
"No, do not move, please, I'm going to—whatever this is we're going to help you," my mother says, crying now, as she tries to limp over to me. One leg is bent and looks broken.
I raise a hand and throw her back into the fridge, easy as if she were a rag doll. The metal door of the old thing buckles and bends from the force of her body smacking it. Blood drips down the stained white exterior and onto our dusty floor. My mother can't rise from that one, but she does try to push herself up, both legs bent and twisted.
"This is it. Just goodbye. Sorry you had to make this so hard. Don't look at me like that. Crying. Just don't. I don't know what you expected. I really, really don't know what you expected. My father beat me, I think you know that. I get pushed into lockers every single day. I'm the town leper, because I kissed a boy. I'm just—ready to be gone. And this is how I go. Probably wouldn't be so hard on you. But it seems I'm meant to be a god, and when gods fall they burn up the world with them. So here we go. Goodbye."
I slide on the ring, as I do tugging the trailer down around us. Except I escape.
She does not.