SECOND DRAFT: Hard Bank Left

46

"No!" Krys screamed in desperation. "No!" She tried to push past him. What did she think she was going to do? Put his body back together? Uncrush him? Or was it more that she needed to see it with her own eyes to believe it? Graham wouldn't put the last one past her. Too often in her life had people died only return alive and kicking.

"He can't be dead," she wailed, her voice cracking, and then, quieter, "He can't be. I have to see him. You have to let me see him."

His hands found her shoulders, holding her steady, pushing her back. "Krys, you don't want to see this..."

"He's my... he's my..."

Her friend? Her little brother? She ignored him much of the time. He hardly had an impact on her life.

"...My responsibility."

"Your responsibility? I don't see how."

Krys shuffled uncomfortably under the weight of Graham's grip. He adjusted, moving his hands to her upper arms, still holding her there without so much force. She looked at him, her face contorted with something akin to being on the verge of tears.

"I kept him alive after Maggie died."

"Maggie?"

"His girlfriend."

That was enough for him to understand: the weight of someone else's life. He might react the same way if it were Krys instead of Jarreth.

"We've carried the weight of her life since we brought her back from London," whispered the little voice in his ear. "Not that we bore it unwillingly. It's just..."

She belongs to us, he thought. She's our responsibility.

"Don't look at me like that."

Graham shook his head. "Like what?"

"Like you owe me something."

"What does that even mean?"

Krys inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly. Graham released her as she nodded. "Nevermind. Let's... Let's just move on."

"Can you handle this?"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine." And she certainly wasn't. Everything about her face read as sheer terror, her wide eyes, the turn of her mouth, the clench of her jaw, and the tightness in her shoulders.

"I can't do anything about this. I can mourn later. Let's move on."

Graham agreed. She could mourn later. That didn't stop him from worrying about her. He nodded, letting her go, and she pushed past him, her shoulder catching against his. Barely through the door, she made eye contact with Cadence, still standing, speechless, his back against a row of lockers. They shared the same wide-eyed stare of disbelief and pain. Krys' feet faltered. Graham caught her around the waist, and stepped back, pulling her into the room, holding her steady, keeping her facing the wall.

"I told you."

Her voice cracked. "Fuck you, Graham." She put her hand against the wall, looking as though she were about to vomit.

He refused to let go, not until he was satisfied that she was steady. Ve entered the room after them, seemingly unphased by the fragments of metal and concrete and tile and body scattered around the far end of the room.

"What a mess," she mused.

"Yes, a mess," Graham could not have been more dismissive. "Take Cadence and follow Mizella. We need to take Ero out."

"Right away, love," she sang. Turning with a spring in her step, she grabbed Cadence's elbow. "Come along deary, we have work to do."

Cadence stumbled backwards and turned as Ve guided him out. The two of them moved toward the long hallway on the other side of the demolished locker room. Celeste burst into the room, shrieked. Some version of panic ran over her: quickened breath, horror on her face, one hand clutched to her chest, the other covered her mouth. She looked so much like Krys in that moment.