Beyond The Sea Blue Light

Divided, We Fail

I lie in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling. Light seeps in from under the door. Letting out a groan, I pull the blankets over my face, rolling over on my side. Oli's already snoring on the other side of the room. I don't know how late it is, but I should try to sleep. Craig's funeral was short, the atmosphere solemn as we said our goodbyes. There were no white stones around, so we had to suffice with a gray one, the granite rough and jagged. The sight of it only sent pangs through me. He told me not to blame myself, but I still do. I can't help it. I'm a shaking mess by the end of the funeral, tears dripping silently down my cheeks. Worst of all, the funeral reminds me of Vic's funeral, the one that we held for him when we assumed that he was gone.

I turn over on my side, trying to get comfortable, but I can't. The floorboards creak as someone walks by.

"How is he?" Frank's quiet voice sounds from the other side of the door. I wonder if he's talking about Awsten or Vic.

"The same." Gerard sounds exhausted. "I wonder if it means that—"

"Don't give up hope," Frank urges. "I know, Gee. But if we give up hope, then what are the rest of them going to do? We have to believe that we will make it, because we will. Everything's going to turn out fine."

"I hope so." I can imagine Gerard flashing Frank a little smile.

"I know so." Frank makes it clear that it's not up for debate. "Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

Silence follows for a while. I start to wonder if Frank and Gerard are still standing there, but the floorboards creak, confirming that they indeed are. I listen to their footsteps fade down the hall before I turn over again, resting my head on my hands. Worries plague my mind, but I push them away, closing my eyes. That can wait for tomorrow.

Unsurprisingly, I dream. It starts out with peaceful darkness, the emptiness of unconsciousness. But I'm yanked into the light soon enough. It's not a clear memory or scene this time, instead, a collection of random images. A young Awsten walking down a hallway, dressed in the familiar blue uniform. Oli kneeling in a gravel pathway, his eyes red and swollen from crying. Vic leaning against the gray wall of the Facility. Young Gerard, his hair dark instead of the red I'm used to seeing, holding a younger Frank as they stand in the center of a concrete-walled room. The images take a turn for the worst as I start to see parts of my own past. My father, standing before me, his face an angry purplish-red. Me, pounding on the door of the closet, screaming. The officers standing in front of the door, holding out a pair of handcuffs as they lead me to the truck, ready to take me away. But mostly, it's the usual images, the usual flashes of the day, the gunshots echoing across the field, and Vic standing there, unmoving as I'm dragged away.

At some point in the middle of the night, I wake with a start. I rub my eyes, yawning as I sit up, freezing when my eyes land on the other bed. Oli's gone. The bed is unmade, the blankets piled up on the side. I frown, glancing around the room. Everything else seems to be in order, but the photograph is missing from the dresser, the picture frame standing there, empty. I try to reason with my worries. He must have just stepped out.

But there's no movement in the house, even as the minutes tick by. I try to fall back asleep, but I can't, my mind wide awake. The minutes turn into hours as I wonder where Oli is. Is he in trouble? I have half a mind to get up and search for him, but the door creaks open before I can.

The hinges squeak as Oli shuts the door quietly. He tiptoes across the room, sparing a glance over at me where I'm lying.

"Where were you?" I whisper.

He jumps, staring at me. "I went on a walk," he says. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah. It's fine though." I stare at him, trying to discern the truth. I know he's lying. It's probably around four in the morning, the sun hasn't risen yet. He's been out for around two hours.

"Go back to sleep," he shifts uncomfortably. "Sorry for waking you."

I hear the blankets rustling as he lies down. Still, I can't shake the uneasy feeling in my stomach. He's lying, I know it, but what is he lying about? Where the hell was he, and why won't he tell me the truth? What does he have to hide?

As I drift off into sleep, I notice that the picture frame is no longer empty, the image of two boys, Oli and Josh there. But it might have been my imagination—they might have been there all along.