Murderer

Chapter 22: Brendon

I got off the grass that was partly burning from the explosion, dazed and confused. I stumbled around, barely knowing where I was going. Sirens wailed in the distance. The brightness of the fire that engulfed the abandoned house was blinding in the blackness of the night, it was hard to see anything. I had a painful limp, my leg was damaged by the explosion. When I looked down to look at the contusion on my leg, I saw the purple flower I had given to Leslie earlier. It was miraculously in perfect condition, as if I had just plucked it from the ground moments ago. The flower was the only thing I could pick out from the explosion, and I had just assumed that she was gone. Christopher had robbed me of the only other person that I loved. Just snatched her from me, violently. She shouldn't have died this way, at the hands of a monster.

So Christopher had faked his death in order to be a kidnapper and murderer. Two can play at that game. I didn't care what I had to go through, I was going to kill him. His fatal mistake was messing with me.

Before the firetrucks, ambulance, and police could reach the house, I limped off in the direction that Christopher drove off to with Ryan, tied up and frightened in the backseat. He had tried to warn me, and  he saw the horror that went down. God, he looked terrible too. That one second I had looked at him, I knew that he had lived through hell. "Don't worry, Ryan. I'll find you" I said, coughing from the smoke I had previously inhaled.

I hid behind some trees on the side of the road as blurs of red and blue lights sped past me, their loud sirens most likely waking the whole neighborhood. A small part of me hoped that she wasn't gone. But I made sure not to get my hopes up. Either way, he was going to pay for what he has done to me, Leslie, and Ryan.

My leg throbbed exceedingly, and when I had put my hand on it, I could feel the blood gushing from the wound. I took off my sweater and wrapped it around my leg, pushing down to stop the bleeding. More firetrucks zoomed past me to aid with the fire. The ambulance that had been at the scene had took off, speeding in the direction of the hospital with their sirens on. Was she actually alive? Was she dying? Was she going to be okay? All I wanted to do is hold her hand in mine, hug her and never let go. I wanted to kiss her and tell her that she is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I couldn't foil my plan though. They had to not find me. I was going to disappear from society, just like that. In a wild and unexpected explosion, at the hands of Christopher Walker. I would live in the shadows now, run in the dark, stay hidden in the day. Nothing will be able to limit me, for I was the danger now.

I walked further in the woods before laying down behind a huge tree. Wounded, shivering, and broken, I said "Come and get me, Christopher, before I get to you first."

I held Leslie's flower close to my face, twirling it like I had done earlier. I remembered her graceful smile as she pinned it to her hair. I pulled out the Polaroid photograph of her. These two items were the only things I had left of my true love. My only love. I shouldn't had ran off to the house. I should have called the police, or went secretly when I knew she wasn't around. I could have lied to her, taken her home, and then went to the house. But beating myself up was just making it all worse, it was too late now for that. I took out Ryan's notebook from my back pocket, I kept it with me always. Opening to the page with the song I had sung to Leslie the other day, the one that Ryan had previously showed me, I laid the flower down. Then I pressed shut on the notebook to preserve the flower. I closed my eyes and somehow managed to fall asleep while the thoughts of selfishness and worthlessness pounded in my head.

***

I had awoken at the crack of dawn. My body was achy from sleeping on the ground. It was probably something I would have to get used to though.

Dusting off the dirt, I walked up to somebody's porch, stealing their morning newspaper. I ran back to my hidden spot in the woods, opening up the paper to see the headline.

"Sixteen year old male considered dead, and a sixteen year old female in critical condition after fatal explosion at an abandoned house."

She was alive. Oh thank god. But it was critical condition, that was not good. She can pull out of it though, right? I kept reading on. "The female was rushed to Children's Hospital Los Angeles."

That was all the information I needed. Staying off the road, I made my way to the hospital. I hid in the woods until I had hit the more populated area, then I just kept my head down low, acting normal, and speed walking. Luckily it was so early that nobody was outside.

When I got to the hospital, I slid myself in one of the chairs in the waiting room. I didn't want to bring any attention to myself. I just sat there, twiddling with my thumbs. There was two double doors that led to a long hallway, and next to it was a soda machine. I saw a doctor walking towards the doors from down the hall, so I got up, walked over to the soda machine, and reached into my pockets, pretending to get money. When he walked out the double doors, I slid in, the receptionist too piled up in paperwork to notice. I found the critical care unit, and I peaked through windows, looking for her. There was so many windows, and I thought I would never find her. But when I did, I wished that she had just died instantly from the explosion.

I looked at the bumps under her hospital blanket, where her legs would have been. Both were gone. They must have been blown off. Then I saw her right hand was missing. She had an eye bandage over her left eye, and I figured that was a goner too. But worst of all, she had burns all over. Her face, her arms, her hand. Her hair was shredded and dirty. Gashes on her face were bloodied. But she was still my beautiful girl, and I would love her, no matter what she looked like. I would be there for her. Maybe I'll just give up on the being dead thing and just be in her life.

"Look what he has done to you, Leslie." I gently held her hand, leaning in before I kissed it. "I'm so sorry. You didn't deserve this, none of it. I should have never brought you into this mess, I should have just kept trying to get rid of you that one day at the lunch table. I shouldn't have sucked you into my mess. This should be me, torn to pieces by him, not you. But no matter what, I'll always be with you, because I love you Leslie."

That's when she started flat-lining. Her heart had stopped, it was barely beating before, but those were her very last moments alive.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, and I was pushed out of the room, nobody questioning who I was.

Leslie had died on April 18th at 5:34 am, just a mere two days from Easter. What a tragically delicate thing life is. One minute you're posing for a Polaroid photo, the next you are killed by a lunatic.