Volume V: The Tragic End of Treason

Chapter 24. Drowning in Denial

Good Mourning, Tragedy.

            I don’t remember sleeping, but you have to be asleep in order to wake up. I was in my own apartment, in my own bed. The obituaries were taken off the wall; they were neatly packed in a box on the floor.

            Had I imagined it? Was I insane? What next?

            “It’s real Dean. All of it.”

            “I don’t understand,” I muttered.

            “Would it make any difference if you did?” Syn asked honestly.

            “I want the truth.”

            “Why?”

            “I deserve answers!”

            “Curious reply,” she smiled, “If you could justify such absurdity, I might just consider it.”

            “Your family started this. Through years, generations - your family loaded the gun that shot us all. All those names and faces...gone. And for what?”

            “Justice.”

            “What justice? How is anyone free or better from this? How?”

            “Contrary to popular belief, you can’t choose who you love. Family especially so.”

            “So, how the hell did this begin?”

            “Why should I tell you?”

            “Everybody’s got a story to tell. Everyone wants to be heard.” Pause. “The mute especially.”

            “Perhaps,” she sighed. “The boy’s learned something after all.”

            “Look at that; I catch on fast.”

            “Eh, that’s pushing it.” Smile just enough, establish a feeling of comfort and trust...and keep going. The fiction we live, explained live. The map laid on the table for all to see.

            “There was a pair awhile back. My family had good relations with both sides. But they couldn’t see one another. So my family intervened. We’ve been “intervening” for decades now. I’m sick of playing referee.”

            “You’re avoiding the truth.”

            “Yes, us females are like that.” She sat at the edge of the bed.

            “Christ.”

            “He’s got nothing to do with it.”

            “Point?”

            “The two kids. My bedtime story. I slept to their tragedy.” Her shoulders heaved up and down, releasing tension and defeat. “They were young. Naturally, it was a gang issue. In order to have calm streets, there must be gangs to enforce the law. Cops were sick of the usual games, laws were getting tougher. Something had to happen.”

            “Why? Why did your family step up?”

            “Because one of the pair was ours.”

            “And the other?”

            “Merrick or Ransom - take your pick, I don’t remember. One way or another, there needed to be some kind of unifying force. My family has a very high suicide rate. So the kids staged their own deaths. My family was notorious for storytellers. We told a fairy tale once upon a time. And that fairy tale was Endless.”