The Counter Born (#Wattys2016)

Chapter Six

"Do I even want to know what that was about back there?" Jen asks as she kneels beside me on the soaked dirt. I trace the imperfections artistically. The previously dried cracks are filled with fresh mud, and it bubbles over just as easily as boiled water. You can always add more to what there already is, but you can't add more to what there isn't. You can always add years to lives, but you can't if they're non-existent. Stop thinking about your parents, Landon. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You're not weak.

I punch the ground, leaving a mark. Of course that mark would fill up with more mud and heal. Why can't I heal? How is it that a world so inhuman has the human qualities we can never achieve? I notice the modest scrutiny of Jen when I turn from staring at my crafting and childlike hands. "You are a deep thinker, aren't you? Will I ever know what's under those layers?"

"No, Miss Devlin." I gulp. "You don't know everything about me and you never will."

"So do I want to know what happened at the ceremony?"

"Not really," I say.

"Okay then." She pauses uncomfortably and moves to lie on a patch of grass, green from excessive rain. "I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to visit you in the hospital. I've been busy."

"Well I haven't, and it's been bothering me. Maybe that's what I need to take my mind off things. I need to work."

"Landon, the last thing you need is another homicide case." I close my eyes and turn away. "I uh– I brought your wheelchair. You left it inside." Jen touches my arm gently, and I shrug it off. "I bet Oliver has already told you this, but if you need anything-"

"Yes he has," I cut her off. She rubs her arm as she gets up, even though I don't understand why. It's not all that chilly.

"Jen." I yank on her frail arm suddenly. She glances down, startled. "You could do one favor for me." She rolls me back past the dreaded cobble gravestones. They're nothing but a storage blocks for depression filled thoughts.

"Why would you want to come back here? Oh." Jen brings me in between my parents' caskets and I open them. Each of their hands are placed carefully over the other in an unnatural position. Their skin is whitened, and lips tightened. Even so, their eyes seem like they could just open and they'd wake up to their former state.

"Could you leave us for a moment?" I prod quietly.

"Of course." My lower lip trembles as I take both of their icy hands in mine. My eyelashes flutter in an attempt not to sob. My willpower is too weak, however, because I bury my face in my right arm and my sleeve dampens. My thumb moves back and forth across their blue skin, imagining the warmth it once had.

"I'm sorry I let you down. I should have been aware of what was coming. I was careless." I shake my head, ridding the abnormalities lurking behind a cover. "But I'll redeem myself. I promise you that. I'll find whoever did this to you, and I'll make them pay dearly." Birds chirp sadly, like they are offering their sympathy. "You know you used to teach me French instead of singing me to sleep. Both of you, but mom's accent was better. Sorry dad," I laugh airily. "J'ai ri avec mon père et ma mère. Vous me manquez beaucoup."

"Landon?" Jen murmurs.

"What?"

"We should go. It's getting late." My head hangs low like a weeping willow, lifted only by a breeze.

"Fine," I agree disappointedly. She grabs hold of the wheelchair handles as I look back. "Au revoir," I whisper, and their arms hang loosely from the coffins. The ride home is rainy and pretty cliché for the type of mood it set. Jen doesn't say a word the whole time, like she's too afraid to ask. I'm the big and muscular man with tattoos running up his bulky arms while she's the little girl with a lollipop passing me by. She's either that or the opposite. I'm either that or the opposite, emotional, breakable, soft underneath all the tough exterior. Jen knows that, and she knows who I am. She knows enough to know when I am beaten. She knows the extent it takes to break me.