To The Grave

Chapter 12. Winona. Day 60.

I grabbed my backpack from the back seat of the car, following my brother into a building. The sun was setting quickly, as we moved inside the old office building.

Ferris stopped just inside the front doors. He clapped his hands together, listening for any noise inside. I quickly followed him in further, holding my knife close to my chest. He pushed open a door, revealing a large room with a desk. He set his backpack down, pushing the desk towards the front of the room.

My tired and hungry family family walked into the room, it growing smaller with every body entering. "My tummy hurts." I whispered.

Marty reached into his pocket, pulling out a candy bar. He carefully passed it to me, trying to make sure no one else saw. I wrapped my sore fingers around it pulling the wrapper open quietly. I broke off a piece, feeling the chocolate melt between my fingers. I set the small piece on his knee, catching a quick smile flash across his face.

"How do we cook food in an office?" Molly pushed the words out, looking around.

Marty stood up, pushing the candy into his mouth. He walked across the room, finding a metal trashcan and some paperwork. He tossed the two together, pushing open a window as far as it'd go.

He started a small contained fire, setting a can our mom had brought in, on a small metal decorative plate against the top. The flames passed through the gaps in the metal, warming the can.

My sister and mom sat close to the fire, feeling it's weak warmth. Ferris sat against the wall, his large jacket, keeping him warm. Randall sat on top of the desk, looking at a picture frame from the desk.

I remained by my sister, watching everyone cope differently. Marty looked around the room, for more supplies. He tore the drawers of the desk open, pulling a few things out, quickly shoving them in his bag. He stood up again, leaving the room.

"Marty, where are you going?" My mom shouted after him, not bothering to get up to look for him.

My dad grabbed the warm can, cringing in pain as he set it on the carpet. He grabbed a spoon from my mom, stirring the can. He handed it to Molly allowing her to take a few bites before passing it on to me.

My dad, passed the can back to Ferris, mumbling something about not being hungry and to wait for Marty to eat first.

"Martin left, he doesn't get to eat." Ferris muttered, setting the almost empty can down in front of Randall's desk.

My dad stood up, pulling Ferris off the ground. "You don't get to decide who lives and who dies, who eats and who doesn't deserve it, not when it comes to your siblings."

Ferris' body was pressed against the wall, our dad's fist was tangled in the collar of his shirt. "Daniel! Let go of him." Mom shouted. He let go, walking out of the small room.

Ferris collapsed to the ground, sitting down quietly. Silence overwhelmed all of us remaining in the room. He returned quickly, his arms full of neatly folded blankets.

My dad passed out the blankets, letting all of us settle in. I laid down beside my sister and my mom, feeling my mom curl into my dad's arms. The air remained quiet, only the rustling of Ferris struggling to get comfortable. A soft snores erupted into the room. I sat awake, leaning against the wall, watching the fire burn out.

I sat in the waiting room, beside my brother. He sat quietly, only the distressed sound of his breathing leaving him. My mom's head rested in my dad's lap, his fingers tangled in her hair, both of them asleep. Molly and Slater whispered quietly near the coffee maker.

A nurse walked out of some doors, turning towards Ferris. She waved for him to come talk to her. He stood up, walking slowly towards her.

Her long brown hair moved as she spoke. She shook her head, pointing behind her. Ferris rushed back to me, grabbing my arm and dragging me through the doors with the nurse. She pushed open a door, looking around before rushing us in.

"He's sedated," She whispered. I looked at the body in the bed. The disheveled reddish hair and white bandages wrapped around his wrist. Padded handcuffs chained him to the bed. "He has to stay in Psych for three days, or until we don't think he's a threat to himself."

The door opened, Marty walking and sitting down between me and his best friend. I sat still, watching as he tore through his backpack, pulling out a small bottle.

He tilted it back, taking a large gulp. He shook his head, breathing heavily, before taking another drink. "Are you drinking, right now?" Randall asked, rolling over, pulling his blanket up.

"What's it matter if I am?" Marty pushed the words out, taking another drink.

Randall sighed, sitting up. "I guess, maybe because your little sister is watching you get drunk." I turned, pressing my head against the wall, pretending quickly to be asleep.