Pieces

18. The Sixth Piece

I'd expected the place to be dull, dark and gloomy, but with Marcus, it was always "expect the unexpected." Sunlight streamed through the pale yellow curtains, adorning the windows to our right, and the first thing I noticed was how colourful and vibrant and "alive" the place looked. It seemed almost unnatural and laughable that the person who'd spent his whole life here was no longer alive.

The floorboards creaked under our feet as we made our way into his room. My eyes scanned the room, unable to take all it's beauty, at once. The wooden walls had been painted upon, with bright colours of red, orange, yellow and blue, giving a vibrant glow to the room. A single bed was located at the far end of the room, right next to a small balcony, from which the beach was visible. A small desk stood, along with a large bookshelf right across the entrance to the room, and there was a closet in the far end of the room, right next to the balcony.

All his things remained untouched, as if they'd only been used a day before. The bedsheets were sprawled across the bed, the bathroom door hung open, with a towel draped atop it. The cupboard was a crack open and there were still many books lying atop the desk, along with many picture frames and pen holders and other items. It was almost like he'd never left.

I turned to face Antonio as I realized he was no longer following me. He stood frozen on spot, a mere step away from the door. He was staring blankly at the place in front of him, and at once, I knew, that he wasn't strong enough, yet. I walked towards him and wrapped my arms around his neck, engulfing him into a hug.

He felt cold and still against my body, even as I tightened my grip around him.

"I can't." He croaked, after painful moments of silence.

"I know." I whispered into his ear, as I moved my hand in circles, around his back, trying my best to comfort him. "It's okay."

"No. It's too much. I..." He stammered. "I'm not... I'm not ready yet..." He said, his voice hoarse, as he broke away from my embrace, looking at me warily.

I sighed. "It's okay, Ant. I get it. You can wait downstairs." I assured him, feeling a little guilty for having forced him into this.

"Are you sure?" He asked, hesitantly.

I nodded, before turning my attention to the books lying on the desk. I heard the door shut behind me with a soft click as I made my way towards the desk. The books were mostly from school. Mostly, after they'd been cleared from his locker. There was another book lying on the table, that caught my eye. It wasn't a textbook. It was a novel.

I could recognize the teal blue of it's colour and the name of the author, anywhere. "The Fault In Our Stars, by John Green," it read. I took the book in my hand and sat on his bed as I flipped through the pages. He'd highlighted some of the lines with a neon green marker.

"You put the killing thing right between your teeth. But you don't give it the power to do the killing."

"That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt."

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."

At first, I thought they were connected and that he had engraved some kind of a cipher into the book but as it turned out, he'd only highlighted some of his favorite quotes from the book. I went back to the first page of the book, expecting some kind of a message, but there was nothing there. Then I flipped to the last page of the book. All of Augustus' letter was highlighted but that again, gave no sign of there being a message.

Frustrated, I decided to look through his other books. I left The Fault In Our Stars on the bed, and went back to flipping through the textbooks, but I couldn't find anything. I was about to give up, when my eyes fell upon a black object hidden almost completely behind one of the picture frames. In the picture, a five year old Marc was grinning back at me, holding a large digital camera, the size of his head. I reached for the frame and behind it, stood the same camera from the picture. Out of excitement, I took the camera and plonked on the bed and turned it on. A still of Marc's face showed up. He was dressed in hospital clothes and behind him, there was the all-too-familiar dull wall of the hospital. He was grinning at the camera, though his eyes gave away his weakness. He looked tired and his hair was a mess. The picture, itself, was a little blurred.