Loving Mr. Daniels (2 page)

“
Shut up
!” I screamed, feeling the idea of my kid brother dying sink into my head. I grew haunted with a chill and an unearthly fear of the unknown. “You’re not going to die, Jace. Just shut the hell up.”

He sobbed and whined from the pain, a deep sound of lost and confusion filling his tears. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.”

I eyed him and sighed heavily. My hand landed on his back. “It’s okay,” I lied.

I’d gotten away from his trouble. I’d focused on my music. I’d focused on school. I was in college, one year out of making something of myself. Yet instead of preparing for my exam in a few hours, I would be bandaging up Jace. Perfect.

He fiddled with his fingers, looking down to the floor. “I don’t want to mess with this stuff anymore, Danny. And I’ve been thinking.” He looked up to me before his gaze faltered and fell again. “Maybe I can get back in the band.”

“Jace,” I warned.

“I know, I know. I’ve screwed up—”

“Fucked up,” I corrected.

“Yeah, right. But you know. The only time I’d been happy after Sarah…” He flinched at his own words. His troubled spirit shifted in the seat. I frowned. “The only time I’d been happy since that day was when I was on stage with you guys.”

My stomach flipped, and I didn’t reply to his comment. I changed the topic. “We should get you to the hospital.”

His eye widened and he shook his head back and forth. “No. No hospitals,” he said.

“Why?”

He paused and shrugged. “The cops might get ahold of me…”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are the cops after you, Jace?”

He nodded.

I cursed.

So he wasn’t only running from people on the streets, but he was also running from those who locked up the people on the streets. I wished this would’ve surprised me.

“What did you do?” I asked, annoyed.

“It doesn’t matter.” I gave him a cold look and he sighed. “It wasn’t my fault, Danny. I swear it wasn’t. Look. A few weeks ago, Red wanted me to move a car. I didn’t know what the fuck was in it.”

“You moved drugs?”

“I didn’t know! I swear to God I didn’t know!”

What the hell was he talking about? Had he thought he was moving fucking candy canes?

He continued. “Anyway, the cops got ahold of the vehicle when I pulled into a gas station to fill up. By the time I walked out of the station, the car was surrounded. One cop saw me walking quickly away from the car and yelled at me to stop, but I didn’t. I ran. Turned out us running track in high school paid off.” He snickered.

“Oh this is funny? You think it’s funny?” I asked, my blood boiling. “Because I am having a fucking ball here, Jace!” He lowered his head. I sighed. “Where am I taking you?”

“Take me to Mom and Dad’s,” he said.

“You’re kidding, right? Mom hasn’t seen you in a year and the first place you want to go is there? Beat up and bloody? Are you trying to kill her? And you know Dad’s health is bad…”

“Please, Danny,” he whined.

“Mom takes her morning walks by the dock around this time…” I warned.

He sniffled and ran his fingers under his nose. “I’ll just wait in the boat shed and get cleaned up.” He paused and turned to the passenger’s side window. “I’ll get cleaned up,” he whispered again.

Like I hadn’t heard that before.

It took us twenty minutes to get to our parents’ house. They lived on a lake a few miles out of Edgewood, Wisconsin. Dad had promised Mom a lake house some day, and it had only been a few years ago that he was able to buy her this place. It was a fixer-upper, but it was their fixer-upper.

I parked the car behind the shed. Dad’s boat rested inside, waiting for winter to pass. Jace sighed and thanked me for bringing him. We headed inside the shed, the morning light shining through the windows.

I moved over to the boat and climbed inside, grabbing some towels from below deck. When I came back up, I saw Jace sitting and looking down at his cut.

“It isn’t too deep,” he said, pressing the palm of his hand on it. I pulled out a pocket knife, ripped one of the towels, and pressed it against his wound. Jace glanced at the blade and closed his eyes. “Dad gave you his knife?”

I stared at the metal in my grip and closed it, sliding it back into my pocket. “Borrowed it.”

“Dad wouldn’t let me touch the thing.”

My eyes fell to his cut. “I wonder why.”

Before he could reply, a shriek was heard from near the dock. “What the hell…” I muttered before rushing outside with a limping Jace following close behind. “Mom!” I shouted, seeing her being pulled by a stranger in a red hoodie with a gun pointed toward her back.

“How did they find us?” Jace muttered to himself.

I looked back to my brother, confused. “You know him?!” I asked, disgusted.

And pissed off.

And scared.

Mostly scared.

The stranger glared up to see Jace and me, and I could’ve sworn he smirked.

He smirked before the gun was fired.

And he ran as Mom fell down.

Jace’s voice rocketed through the sky. His sounds were thick, filled with anger and fear as he charged to Mom’s side, but I beat him there.

“Mom, mom. You’re okay.” I turned to my brother and shoved him hard. “Call 911.”

He stood over us, tears streaming down his face from his bloodshot eyes. “Danny, she’s not… She’s not…” His words were fumbling, and I hated him for thinking exactly what I was thinking.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my cell phone, and shoved it into his hands. “Call!” I ordered, holding Mom in my arms.

I looked up toward the house and saw Dad’s face the moment he realized what had happened. The moment he realized that he had, in fact, heard a gun and that his wife was, in fact, lying motionless. His body was pretty broken down from his health, but he was running our way.

“Yes, hi. Our mom…
She’s been shot
!” Just hearing the words fly from Jace’s lips made my own tears shed.

My fingers ran through Mom’s hair and I hugged her body as Dad rushed over to us. “No…no…no…” he muttered, falling to the ground.

I held on tighter. Holding on to both him and her. She looked at me with her blue eyes, begging for answers to the unknown questions. “You’re okay. You’re okay,” I whispered against Mom’s ear.

I was lying to her, and I was lying to myself. I knew that she wasn’t going to make it. Something inside me kept telling me that it was too late and there was no hope. Yet I couldn’t stop saying it, I couldn’t stop thinking it. And I couldn’t stop crying.

You’re okay.

~ Present Day ~

Death isn’t frightening, it isn’t a curse.

I just fucking wish that it would’ve taken me first.

~ Romeo’s Quest

I sat on the pew in the far back. I hated funerals, but then again, I believed it would be weird if I loved them. I wondered if there were people who did love those kinds of things. People who showed up just to breathe in all of the sadness as a sick form of entertainment. You know what they say—you can’t spell funeral without fun.

I’m okay.

Whenever people walked by me, they took that breath of hesitation, thinking that they were, in fact, staring at Gabby. “I’m not her,” I whispered to them before they would frown and keep moving. “I’m not her,” I muttered to myself, shifting around on the wooden pew.

I was sick when I was younger, in and out of the hospital from ages four to six. I guess there was a hole in my heart. After too many surgeries and too many prayers, I was able to go on to live a normal life. Mom had thought I was going to die back then, and I couldn’t help but think that she was disappointed that Gabby was the one gone now, not me.

She’d started drinking again after she found out Gabby was sick. She had done her best to hide it, but one time I’d checked on her in her bedroom. She was crying and shaking in her bed. When I climbed next to her to hold her, I smelled the whiskey on her breath.

Mom had never been good with hard situations, and alcohol was always the way she dealt with her issues. It hadn’t made for the best outcome when Gabby and I had to go stay with our grandpa during her rehab visits. After her last one, she’d promised to put the bottle down forever.

Mom sat in the front row with her boyfriend, Jeremy—the only person who was able to make sure she was getting dressed every day. We hadn’t spoken much since Gabby went all selfish—dying and stuff. She’d always liked Gabby more. It wasn’t a secret. Gabby had been into the things Mom was into, like makeup and reality television. They’d always laughed with each other and would have a ton of fun while I sat in the room on the couch reading my books.

I knew parents always said they didn’t have favorites, but how could they not? Sometimes they got a kid who was so much like them that they swore God had made them in his own image. That’s what Gabby had been to mom. But other times, you got a kid who read the dictionary for fun because, “Words are cool.”

Guess who that was?

She loved me enough, but she sure as hell didn’t like me. I was okay with it, because I loved her enough for both of us.

Jeremy was a decent man, and I secretly wondered if he would ever be able to bring back the mom I had before Gabby had been ill. The mom who used to smile. The mom who could stomach to look my way. The mom who loved me but didn’t very much like me. I really missed that mom.

Chipping away at the black nail polish on my fingers, I sighed. The priest kept talking about Gabby as if he’d known her. He hadn’t known her. We’d never gone to church, so the fact that we were in one right now was a bit dramatic. Mom always said that the church was inside us and that you could find God through anything, so there was no reason to go to a building every Sunday. I thought that was just her way of saying, “I’m sleeping in on Sundays.”

There was no way I could stay inside the church for a second longer. For a place of prayer and faith, it sure held a feeling of suffocation. 

I turned my head to the church doors as my ears were hit with another hymn.
Ohmygosh.
How many hymns are there?!
Pushing myself up from the pew, I walked outside, feeling the summer heat slap my skin. It was hotter than the previous years. A few specks of sweat started rolling from my forehead before I even reached the steps. Tugging on the black dress I was obligated to wear, I tried not to teeter around on the unfamiliar height of my heels.

Some people would probably think it was weird that I was wearing the dress that my dead sister had picked out. But that was Gabby. She’d always been a bit morbid like that, talking about her death before it had even arrived, before she had even been sick, and wishing me to look my best at her funeral. The dress was a little too small for me around the waistline, yet I didn’t complain. Who was there to complain to anyway?

Sitting on the top step of the church, I rested my elbows against the sides of my body, tucking them in so I could feel a slight bit of pain from the pressure I was applying. Funerals were boring. I watched an ant scatter across the top step, looking to be dazed and confused, running back and forth, left and right, up and down.