Fix My Feet When They're Stumblin'

Chapter 13

     With nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company, Ronnie found himself dwelling endlessly on the conversation he and Brandon had had the night before, a dark cloud of shame and remorse looming over him. The moments when Brandon had shied away from his touch replayed again and again in his head, breaking his heart anew every time.

     He was afraid of me, that's...Jesus, I fucked up. In nearly two decades of ups and downs in their friendship, Brandon had never, ever reacted to him that way, and the hardest part was that Ronnie knew he had unquestionably deserved it. There was no excuse for how he had acted, no matter how tired and stressed he had been. Brandon had pushed his body past its limits so that he could return and make sure he was okay, even as his own body was breaking down...and I yelled at him for it, I never even said thank you... some friend I am.

     Even if he spent the rest of his life working to make it up to Brandon, Ronnie knew he could never apologize enough for how he had treated his best friend at his most vulnerable. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Ronnie realized that he could at least start trying today. He decided that Brandon had rested long enough - it was poor repayment for the hell he had gone through, but it was time to wake him up. Gently, he shook Brandon's uninjured shoulder.

     "Hey, sleeping beauty, time to get up."

     No response. Okay, he could be louder, no problem.

     "BRANDON, YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE! WAKE UP!"

     Once again, nothing. Fighting his growing anxiety, Ronnie shook Brandon's shoulder again, a bit more roughly.

     "Brandon? God, please wake up."

     Absolutely no reaction. Maybe...hating himself for what he was about to do, he raised his hand and slapped his friend's bruised cheek. Not even the tiniest twitch in response, but the horrible crack of the moment of impact echoed relentlessly in his heart, and hot tears sprang to his eyes.

     "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry! God, Bran, please wake up. I promise I'll never hurt you again, I swear," Ronnie whispered, clutching Brandon's fragile hand desperately in his own. Gasping raggedly for breath, he could hardly see through the tears, now coming fast and dripping into his lap, falling onto Brandon's unresponsive face.

     "I'm sorry I'm such a shitty friend, I'm - I'm sorry I let you go fucking kill yourself on this fucking mountain for me and I'm so so fucking s-s-sorry all I did was yell at you when you spent fucking hours trying to drag your d-dead ass back to me. I'm SORRY, okay, j-just fucking WAKE UP!" Ronnie was screaming at him now, tripping tearfully over his words and shaking Brandon's shoulder insistently.

     And then the raging fire left him as quickly as it had come, and he seemed to wilt against the cliff, a flower fading without sunlight. Ronnie tenderly stroked Brandon's face and gently traced the cheekbone he had just slapped, the warm, pale skin covered in bruises and tears that were not his own, and whimpered, "No...pl-please - please just fucking wake up, Brandon, please...you gotta - you gotta go home, you gotta go be a dad, you gotta keep annoying the shit out of everyone...you gotta help Tana, what's she gonna do without you, huh? What am I s'posed to tell her? And your kids? Please, please just don't fucking do this to me, Bran, you're my best friend, man...m-my brother, I can't do this without you."

     Brandon's eyes remained closed, his body perfectly motionless in Ronnie's lap save for the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

     Ronnie buried his face in his hands and wept.

- - - - -

     The Fontaine conference room was a hive of activity, people clustered around small tables having whispered conversations while the endless supply of emergency responders came and went and the police radios crackled to life intermittently, bringing infinite reports of "Mountain cleared, nothing found, sir."

     Suddenly the police chief started, nearly spilling his coffee onto the fire chief seated next to him in his haste to scramble for a radio. "What was that, Officer Rawlins? Repeat."

     "Sir, I've found a black backpack sitting on the cliff up here, a mountain on the southwest side. It's mostly empty, just some Gatorade and a red sweatshirt inside...but it's got 'B. Flowers' on it in silver Sharpie, sir. I'll send my coordinates. And, uh...there's a rock down the cliff that looks to have blood on it, sir, but no body anywhere."

     From her table by the window, sitting with Olivia and her boys, Tana covered her face with her hands. The room was nearly silent now, except for the radio transmissions.

     "I'm going to proceed up the mountain, sir, I've sent coordinates."

     "Copy that, Rawlins. I want all available units to head for those coordinates."

- - - - -

     Ronnie was jolted out of his sad reverie by an unexpected sound - hooves clattering over rocky ground. "Oh my God - here! OVER HERE! WE NEED HELP!"

     "Ronnie Vannucci and Brandon Flowers?" A man called, a bit of a Southern drawl evident in his voice.

     "God, yes - please, my friend, he's hurt, please - " Ronnie could feel tears filling his eyes, a lump in his throat again.

     Rounding the corner of the mountainside, a sandy-haired man in a black police uniform astride a sure-footed mule was the sweetest thing Ronnie had ever seen.

     "Officer Rawlins," the man introduced himself, touching his own chest. "We've been looking for you boys all night, glad we finally found you," he said as he dismounted the mule and hurried toward Ronnie, leaving the animal's reins dangling freely.

     "God, I've never been happier to see anyone in my life," Ronnie admitted, wiping his eyes with a shaking hand. "Um, I broke my ankle yesterday down the mountain a ways and Brandon helped me come up here, there was a rock over there that I was sitting on, and his phone wouldn't work when he tried to call for help so he went to go get mine from the cliff, it fell out of my pocket when I tripped, and...um...I guess he fell down the cliff trying to get the phone, and his head..."

     "Ah, yup, I saw his backpack and the rock he hit his head on a little while ago," Officer Rawlins murmured, looking closely at Brandon's head wound, feeling carefully around the gash with his fingers, and glancing uneasily at the bone protruding from his shoulder. "Ohh...but how did he get all the way back up here?"

     "He walked," answered Ronnie grimly, running a hand through his hair. "I don't really know much more, he...he wasn't really in any condition to talk when he showed up last night. He couldn't say much - I mean, he was talking, but it was really slow, and only like two word sentences, but he was walking, just really unsteady, tripping - he was talking...but - but now he won't wake up. I tried to make him stay awake but I couldn't, and now he won't wake up." Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he forced the words out, a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Oh, Bran, what have I done to you?

     "Alright, son, it's alright, we'll get some help," Officer Rawlins assured Ronnie, squeezing his shoulder as he stepped away and reached for the radio at his waist. "I'm just gonna call into the chief and get a chopper out he - "

     Ronnie's heart stopped. "No! No, no, no, no, please, you can't - Brandon, he's - he's got this thing about flying, he's terrified, he sees a psychiatrist and takes pills and everything and if - if he wakes up in the air, after everything...it'll - please, you can't, please!"

     "Okay, okay, calm down," the officer soothed, hands in the air to stave off Ronnie's panicked outburst. "I don't know if there's another safe way to move someone with head trauma like that, but I'll check in with the boss. Just hang on."

     He walked back toward his mule, out of Ronnie's earshot, and Ronnie stared after him, his heart pounding nervously against his ribs. He had been cradling Brandon's limp hand ever since he had tried to wake him, and he squeezed it gently, whispering, "It's gonna be okay, B. I promise."