I'm Crossing The Ocean || Mullette

Chapter Twenty-Three: We're All Due For A Good Cry

Lafayette|First Person

I drop my arm from Erica's shoulders when we reach my street, mostly because my wrist is getting sweaty pressed up against her neck. She doesn't seem to care though, because she takes it upon herself to grab my hand and continue our walk that way. I'll have to admit, I'm not used to having friends as touchy as she is. I guess it's part of the bond that comes with being so close with a girl. Not even John would hug me until I was leaving for France. 

We're laughing about something she'd  said as we round the corner up the walk to the front door. I have to release her hand to find my keys in my pocket. My grandfather is home, but he's always paranoid someone will walk in and rob him so he keeps the doors locked at all hours. I learned after the first few times not to bother knocking to get him to let me in. He's usually wrapped up in some activity or another, so to avoid upsetting him I've learned to always remember my keys. 

I unlock the door and push it open, stepping aside to let Erica in before me. She's still laughing lightly, a bright smile on her face as she makes her way inside. I follow after her, closing the door behind me. She pauses to look around the living space of my childhood home. 

It's a little cluttered, the way it's always been. There's stacks of old magazines and books on the bottom of the side and coffee tables in the living room, and a brightly patterned quilt or crocheted blanket on both the couch and the armchair. The dining room is pretty neat, just a newspaper on the table and a box of my grandmother's shoes on one of the chairs, ready to be taken down to the thrift store. 

Erica looks back at me, her smile still present but more out of genuine happiness rather than amusement. "I like it," she comments. "It's very cozy," she nods to herself and then to me. I can't help but smile back at her. It's been so long since I've felt really happy in this house- probably since Hercules was here, and that was more bitter sweet than really enjoyable. 

"Thanks," I tell her, moving to stand next to her now. She puts her arm around my shoulders and leans against me. 

"Where's your grandfather? I can't wait to meet him," she giggles a little and looks around again. I gesture past the dining room where the kitchen is. My guess is that he's in there searching for something for dinner. I'll probably just order a pizza for Erica and I later tonight, so I'm not too worried about finding something in our limited stock of food. 

"Probably in the kitchen," I shrug as best as I can with her arm around my shoulder and start toward the aforementioned room. She drops her arm and just trails after me. I can feel her looking over my shoulder, looking around at the rest of the house and for my grandfather. 

I make my way around the dining table, narrowly squeezing between the wall and the chairs. Erica hangs back as I come up beside the opening in the wall leading to the kitchen. 

"Grand-père?" I call before I can look around the corner. "There's someone I want you to- oh my god," is as far as I get into my sentence before I see him. My hands come up to cover my mouth in shock, my heart beginning to pound in my chest as I take in the scene.

My grandfather, my only remaining family, is sprawled out in the middle of the kitchen floor. His arms are splayed out to either side of him, one wrist in an unnatural position that makes my knees weak. They completely give out when I notice the blood pooling by his head. A sizable red puddle spreading from his face that is pressed into the tiles. 

A strangled sob escapes my mouth from behind my hands and my chest convulses painfully. I barely even register the sound as I start to crawl toward him, careful to avoid the blood and his limbs. I start to hoist his upper body into my lap when I notice Erica out of the corner of my eye. I can see her lips moving, though my eyes have begun to blur with tears and I can't understand what she's saying due to the ringing in my ears. 

I look back to my grandfather, trying to turn his body so I can see where the blood is coming from his face, but failing miserably. My hands are trembling too much to be of any use and my fingers have begun to slip on his shoulders that have become covered with his blood. 

I can hear another sob leave my throat, and slowly, the ringing fades from my ears enough to pick up Erica's frantic voice. 

"Yeah, he's face down...uh-huh, that's the address," she mumbling into her phone, turned away from where I'm sitting. "No, we haven't checked his pulse," she mutters and my heart pangs in fear as I turn back to my grandfather hastily. I hadn't even thought to check for a heartbeat or breathing. 

I take his non-injured wrist between my slippery fingers and start to feel for a pulse, desperately pressing against his cold skin when I can't find it right away. I gasp when I do. It's not very strong, but it's there, present and keeping him alive. 

"He's still breathing," I rasp out to my friend who looks back, concern and fear written all over her furrowed brows. I can feel the tears running off my chin, but my hands are now covered in my grandfather's blood so I can't wipe them away. 

I can hear sirens somewhere nearby and I pray that they're for us and not for some other tragically hurt neighbor of mine. 

Erica leaves the kitchen and I can hear her opening the front door to let someone in, quickly directing them to the kitchen. Relief fills my veins and for a moment my heart starts to slow just slightly. The medics are here. They'll take my grandfather to the hospital and make him better. He'll be smiling and eating week old pasta again in no time. 

The panic only returns when I'm pulled up to my feet by a large man while another takes my place kneeling beside my grandfather. They talk in hurried French, rambling off medical terms I don't understand while I am pushed out of the kitchen by a third medic speaking into a walkie-talkie. 

I try to fight my way back in, but I can feel Erica's thin arms wrestling me back from around my waist. She tows me out the front door and lets me collapse in the grass in the yard. 

"Let them do their job, Laf," she begs me, tears threatening to spill over her eyes. My chest starts to heave as I stare up the emotions written on her face. She looks terrified. I'm not sure if it's because of what we both witnessed in the kitchen or if she's genuinely scared of what I'm going to do. 

But all I have the energy for is crying. I sob heavily, my whole body shaking with the violent noises. I bring my knees up to my chest and try to hold myself together by wrapping my arms around them. Erica sinks to the ground next to me, and her arms wrap around me. 

I'm gasping for air when I see the stretcher roll through the front door, and then back out with a covered mass strapped on top of it. My face starts to go numb from the lack of air and I have to bury my face in my knees. I vaguely feel Erica let go and stand to go speak to one of the medics. 

I'm crying too hard to follow the conversation, but I pick up a few words that make my heart sink to my stomach. 

"His will...a foster home...the funeral home..." 

It goes on for what feels like an eternity until I finally start to fade away from the nightmare that is my reality now, drifting off into a sleep filled with all my demons telling me that everything is my fault. And after a while I start to agree with them.  

Hey, yeah, so I screwed up my hand so typing isn't the easiest, but I am determined to keep working on this. School starts in a few days for me so I'm going to try to stockpile a few chapters and finish this thing.
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