All We Will Never Know

Chapter 12 - Will

Will Armstrong fell back onto the steel gray Egyptian cotton sheets that adorned his bed, the impact of his body creating the first imprint that the fabric had seen since he was forced to leave his home and his life behind. The soft fabric beneath his skin was like a dream; a reminder of the many miniscule moments about civilian life that he had so desperately missed. It was a far stretch from the stiff, itchy blanket on his twin bed in his jail cell. It was also much more than just fabric... it was a symbol of his freedom.

He smiled wide, wrapping his hands in the plush comforter neatly folded on the edge of the bed. He pulled it up to his chin, covering his body. Though the blanket had no real weight behind it, he felt safe beneath the surface. Maybe it was just the simple idea of being home that made him feel that way. He had been here, in his bedroom, in the same house he and his sister grew up in, for hours now, but it had only recently hit him that it was real. He even pinched himself to make sure.

As much as he was enjoying this time to himself, each break in his thoughts only made the noise from outside more noticeable. He wanted to hold a pillow over his ears to drown out the noise, but he knew that what he really needed to do was get used to the reality of his return home. They warned him this would happen. Even if he hadn't been warned, he should have known. They had been pinning him as a monster since the day Bella died, and he knew that their opinions would never change. It didn't matter that he was found not guilty of the crime, it didn't matter that he had burst into tears in the courtroom when confronted with pictures of his baby sister's mutilated body, it didn't matter that there was no sufficient evidence to convict him of such a heinous act at all. The community needed someone to blame, someone to point the finger toward all in the hopes of making themselves feel safe. He was an easy target.

From the second he set foot outside of the Hollywell Penitentiary, the scrutinizers were on his tail. His mother, Melissa, had squared his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, just moments before they set foot outside the jail. "If you were able to make it through the past two years, you can handle this, Will. I believe in you," she said, her voice soft yet stern. She then reached for his hand, squeezed as if she was never letting go, and pulled him into the fire.

The reporters were everywhere. He almost felt like a celebrity, with all the camera flashes in his face and people asking him questions, but above the bustle of the so-called paparazzi were the protesters. They were the loudest of them all. They were what scared him the most. People held signs, slathered with horrible words about him and what they think he had done. He saw the words MURDERER and MONSTER. He saw pictures of Bella, her haunting smile sending shivers down his spine. Amongst the bustle of the crowd, he even saw a few glimpses of Hadley's face staring back at him--the real crime he had been punished for, though the truth behind that was as skewed as the media's current impression of him. As difficult as it was to walk alongside the people berating him, he couldn't let his eyes fall to the middle of the crowd. He couldn't look at their faces, into the eyes of people who demanded he be put to death, people who wanted him to meet the same fate as his sister. People who swore up and down that he was guilty of more than what he had served time for. Their shrill, shouting voices were enough. He heard them loud and clear; he didn't think he needed to see them, too.

Once they reached the safety of his mother's car, he tried to drown out the pounding on the windows and the chanting by turning on the radio. Even with Metalica blasting through the speakers, the faint rhyme still rang in his ears: "SISTER KILLER - BURN IN HELL!" He wasn't able to sit in silence until they made it to the freeway, and even then, as they drove the seventy mile stretch back to Everwood, he knew it was far from over.

Another crowd of protesters had gathered around the driveway, just inches from the Armstrong property. They backed out of the way just enough for Melissa to pull the car in. As soon as Will stepped out onto the concrete, the cassette hit rewind. He breathed in the fresh air just as a ballsy protestor crossed the property line and ran toward him. He didn't even have time to flinch; his strong, beautiful mother stepped between them in a flash. She held a hand behind her, fingers grazing the skin of Will's forearm, her other hand outstretched in the man's face.