Dying Wishes

Hidden. Concealed. Out of sight. Unnoticed. Unknown. Especially the last two. It wasn’t as if he were totally alone, of course. There was always Marko. But nobody knew Marko. Marko was his alone, his only true friend. His fingers tapped one million miles a minute on his side as he lay on his bed, eyes scrutinizing the sickeningly green room. He didn’t understand why anybody would paint any room neon green. It was so headache inducing. Still he dealt with it.
“I don’t like it here.”
His words echoed in the empty room, a small smile crossed his features.
“I know I don’t have to.”
His smile started to fade.
“I don’t want to go outside. Don’t make me. Please.”
He started to pull himself off the bed, rubbing a pale hand over green eyes.
“But it’s raining.”
Got to his feet and headed for the door.
“It’s no fun in the rain.”
He brushed black hair from his eyes and left the room, his black shoes making clicking noises on the tile in the hallway.
“I’ll go downstairs.”
The smile reappeared on pink lips and his hands were stuffed into pockets on blue jeans.
“But Daddy said we’d go to the movies later.”
His smile disappeared completely.
“I don’t want to!”
Stinging tears began to form in his eyes.
“No! Stop it!”
He sank to the floor, his hands holding his head.
“No! I don’t like you! I hate you! Stop!”
“Lucian?” the panic in the voice cut through him, a knife. “Lucian!”
Firm hands took his shoulders and he struggled away. “No! Don’t hurt me! Please!” Tears leaked freely from his eyes as he struggled against the grip.
“Hush, baby,” a voice whispered, hugging the frantic boy against their chest.
“Please…” Lucian whimpered, “Let go. Let go.”
His eyes slipped slowly closed. “Please let go.”
The last thing he felt were soft hands running gently through his hair and the words ‘it’ll be okay’.

Green eyes slid open, oddly calm. He released a long yawn, sitting up. He stretched, limbs thankful for the rest they had been granted. He stared sleepily around the room. “Where am I?” he wondered aloud, another yawn erupting from his lips. Instead of the usual green that he typically woke to, he found himself staring around a bright white room. “If I knew,” he growled sleepily, “I wouldn’t be asking where I was…”
“Lucian?”
He blinked, looked around. In the doorway stood his mother. He stared at her. The light blonde hair, her kind face. But… when had she started looking so old? “Mom,” he smiled widely, showing his teeth.
“Hey baby,” there was relief on her face as she crossed the room, sat on the edge of the bed. “How’s my boy doin’?”
Lucian laughed. “You sound like there’s something wrong Mom.”
Her face was troubled, but she smiled anyways. “There’s nothing wrong baby. Listen, your father and I were thinking. How about we go on a trip?”
His eyes widened. “Where to?”
“We were thinking we’d go visit your brother down in Orlando.”
“That sounds good. Really good. I haven’t seen Braedon in forever!”
His mother’s smile grew, her eyes looked less weary. “Our bus leaves tonight. Your dad packed your stuff already.”
Lucian just kept smiling as she stood and left the room.
He’d forgotten to ask her why he was asleep in what he had finally identified as his brother’s room.

Six and a half hours later, Lucian sat staring out the window on a bus. Beside him sat an old looking woman, with a hideous pink overcoat on. He wrinkled his nose. She smelled of dead cats. “I don’t care,” he muttered lightly, earning a suspicious glance from the blue eyes of the woman. His parents were three seats ahead of him, talking in low voices to each other. “She’s smells like dead cats,” he smiled. The smile was slightly insane. It was a smile worthy, maybe, of Hannibal Lecter. Maybe. He pressed his forehead to the window as the bus began to move. In three hours, maybe less, he’d be able to see his brother. Pale hands gripped denim-covered knees.
He could hardly wait!

“Son. Wake up.”
Lucian’s eyes opened, wide and frantic. “D-dad?” he squeaked. He’d been dreaming, and he had definitely not liked the dream.
“Yeah. Come on Lucian. We’re getting off the bus now. Your mom’s waiting.”
Lucian got out of the seat; slid past the woman he’d sat beside and followed his father off the bus. He stared at his father’s broad back. He couldn’t help but identify everything his father was, that he wasn’t. Dad was broad shouldered. He was small and feminine. Dad had a low, masculine voice. He was sometimes mistaken for a girl when he spoke. Lucian released a low sigh as he followed his parents to a pool of waiting cars.
He scanned them, searching, almost desperately for dark blue car that was his brother’s. Instead, he found the body that marked Braedon’s presence. He took off at a sprint, tackling his brother. “Braedon!” he laughed.
He felt warm, inviting arms close around his shoulders as the taller boy fell to the ground. Lucian fell with him. They sat on the ground, laughing loudly, and earning quizzical stares from random passerby. Their parents walked up, small smiles perched on their lips as the two boys got to their feet.
Braedon hugged Mom, shook hands with Dad. Then, they all loaded into the car. The car was silent all but for the sound of the wind they cut through. Lucian’s eyes registered names of streets as they passed until his brother turned onto South Semoran Boulevard.
“Are we almost there?” he asked, adding in a much softer voice, “I asked. Stop now.”
He heard Braedon’s laugh. “Yeah, we’re almost there. Avalon apartments. I give you permission to yell when you see it.”
A smile crossed Lucian’s lips as he nodded silently. He stared harder at passing complex names. “Found it!” he shouted the minute he saw the name. Suddenly, warm laughing surrounded him. Pleased with himself, he rested his forehead against the window.
He counted the buildings they passed until Braedon stopped the car. Lucian got out, impatient, fingers fidgeting in the pockets of a black track jacket.
Braedon led him upstairs. Apartment 98B. “You mind sleeping on the fold-out?” his brother asked softly. “I’m giving Mom and Dad the guest bed.”
Lucian smiled, nodded. “No problem, B. No problem.”

As he snuggled beneath warm covers and closed his eyes, he listened. Under his breath, he whispered. “Braedon says we’re going to the mall tomorrow.”
A sigh escaped his lips.
“Fashion Square Mall, he said. He said it’s the only mall worth anything here. He said it’s good.”
A frown crossed his features.
“Braedon wouldn’t lie. I know him. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t lie to me, Marko. He wouldn’t lie.”
His fists clenched.
“Shut up. You’re lying. I can… I can trust him…” His sentence ended silently, with the words ‘I think’.

Keep running Lucian. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.
Obedient, he ran. His eyes widened as he ran. It was all burning. The houses, the roads. Everything was burning. “Where am I?” his words were soft, barely audible.
This is where you live Lucian. Beautiful, isn’t it?
“No! It’s not beautiful!” He slowed to a stop, staring around him.
But this is what it’s going to become. You need to get used to it.
“It won’t become like this… Will it?” He bit his lip, uncertain.
Of course it will. People are evil, Lucian. You can’t trust any of them.
“But… I want to trust them…”
No you don’t. They’ll all betray you. There’s nothing you can do. They all hate you. They think you’re worthless.
“They… no… th-they can’t!”
He took a sharp breath. The smoke hurt his lungs, stung his eyes. He could feel the tears begin to surface.
Sure they can, Lucian. They do.
“I don’t want them to hate me Marko… What can I do, Marko? I don’t want to be hated…”
You want to be loved, Lucian? Is that what you really want?
His fists clenched. “I do. I want to be loved.” A hard light entered his eyes.
Are you willing to do absolutely anything to become loved?
He nodded. “Of course!”
Then you need…

He woke to the smell of brewing coffee. Tired, he dragged himself from the couch bed. Heading for the kitchen, his ears registered a conversation being had. He paused, hiding in the doorway.
A voice he recognized as his mother’s was speaking. “I’m worried about him, Braedon. Yesterday, I came home from work and he was curled up in the hallway, screaming at the top of his lungs.”
His father’s started. “I know what you’re talking about Diane. Almost a week ago now, he was on the bathroom floor with cuts all over his knuckles. I don’t have any idea where they came from.”
Lucian bit his lip, eyes widened.
Braedon’s voice spoke. “Sounds like he’s having panic attacks. Have you thought about getting him psychoanalyzed?”
“I don’t know what to do,” the voice broke. It sounded as if his mother was crying. “He’s constantly talking to himself.”
Braedon spoke again. “Grandpa was schizophrenic…” He sounded thoughtful. “Maybe it runs in our family?”
Lucian backed up and went down the hall. His ears burned.
“They think I’m crazy…” he whispered, his eyes wide. He used the wall as a guide. “I’m not.” He felt his eyes sting. “I’m not!” his whisper grew fiercer and he turned the corner into Braedon’s room.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light slowly.
“I’m not crazy!” He shook his head. “You’re lying!” He walked through the room. There was virtually nothing on the floor. Unconsciously, he crossed to the wooden dresser. He scanned the contents on the top of it, eyes landing fondly on the pocketknife Lucian had gotten him for his nineteenth birthday. His hands moved to it, picked it up. He caressed it in his hands.

A precious item.

“I’m not crazy.”
He slipped the knife into his front pocket.
“I’ll prove it.”
He went, calm, into the kitchen and plastered a cheery smile upon his lips. “Morning!” he chuckled. “When are we leaving?”
Braedon smiled at him. The tense air broke. “Soon as you get dressed, kid.”
Lucian nodded and went back to the living room. He dug through his small suitcase, tossing aside a pair of black jeans in favor of a pair of blue Levi’s. He dressed quickly, throwing his track jacket on over a white shirt. He transferred Braedon’s knife from the pocket of his pajama bottoms to the pocket of his jacket, resting a reverent hand over it. “Let’s go!” he shouted.

He stayed silent throughout the ride to the mall. Mom and Dad decided to stay home and meet them later. Lucian kept a smile on his lips until the reached the mall. Braedon parked the car, got out. Lucian followed, an obedient puppy. His lips moving constantly in silent conversation. They walked through the mall, Lucian’s eyes traveling over names of shops. He let out an excited squeal. “Braedon! You didn’t tell me there was an F.Y.E here!”
Braedon laughed. “Sorry. Okay. Lucian, there is an F.Y.E. here, would you like to go?”
Little brother laughed at big brother and ran into the store, eyes marveling the rows of CD’s. Braedon followed Lucian, eyes trained on the younger boys back.
Lucian let his eyes wander over titles, and artists. Soon enough though, he was bored. He turned on his heel and smiled at Braedon. “Let’s leave. This place gets really boring after like, two whole seconds.”
His brother just smiled and shook his head before leading the way out of the store.
Lucian followed, calmly. His fingers still resting on the cold handle of the knife, and, just as suddenly as any other breakdown he’d ever had happened, he panicked. “You’re lying.” he whispered. Braedon glanced at him, curious.
“Lucian?”
Lucian stood still, his hand tightening around the handle of the blade. “Stop,” his voice rose. People passing looked at him, curious, but wary. “You’re lying! Stop!” The tone in his voice grew commanding. He felt a hand on his shoulder, firm. He flinched, removing the knife from his pocket. With ease, he flipped the blade open. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, spinning around. His eyes narrowed on an old man behind him. His eyes were wide, angry. He threatened the white haired old man with the blade. Flecks of spittle flew from his lips as he shouted, “You’re all liars!”
His mind barely processed Braedon’s voice as he heard his brother saying, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “Lucian, drop the knife. It’s okay.”
Little brother’s eyes turned to big brother. “You’re lying!” He felt another hand on his shoulder. Suddenly, there was noise surrounding him. “Stop it! Make it stop!” The anger in his eyes was mixed with another emotion- fear. He was terrified. He whirled around, the blade of the knife coming in contact with the pink flesh of the old man’s throat. Lucian’s eyes caught the trickle of crimson, crawling down the stranger’s throat.
Someone touched his back. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted, “Keep your hands off of me!” Without knowing what happened, he was behind the old man. Somewhere, he heard someone start crying. He pressed the knife harder against the man’s throat. Something of a smile perched on his lips. He enjoyed it.
“Lucian.”
The voice was commanding. His eyes turned to his brother.
“Put the knife down, kid. You don’t want to do this. You’re okay. We’ll get you some help.”
Lucian scowled. “I’m not crazy!” he shouted, “Don’t call me crazy! I’m not!”
He felt the wetness of blood seep around his fingers as the knife pressed deeper into the man’s throat. Mall guards came from everywhere. Everyone was shouting. Crying.
“Son, put the knife down.”
Something clicked behind him. He didn’t turn to see. He pulled the knife sharply towards him. He felt the old man give a shudder and he clenched his fingers in the flannel shirt the man had been wearing. “I did it.” He laughed. “I did it Marko!”
Something loud echoed in his ears.
“M-marko?” He closed his mouth, dropped the man. Let the knife fall from his fingers. “M-marko?” As if in a trance, he touched the side of his head. It was wet. He brought his fingers in front of his eyes. Blood.
“I…I did… I did what you said…Marko…I..I did it…”
He dropped to his knees, eyes staring blankly at Braedon.
“I did it Marko.”
His brother stepped towards him, kneeled beside him, wrapped him in warm arms. “Lucian,” he whispered, shaking his head.
Lucian slumped pitifully against his brother, eyes slipping closed. “I did it Marko… I…”
His voice stopped.
Breathing ceased.
The noise ended.
Braedon rubbed his wet eyes. “Poor kid,” he whispered.

The funeral service for Lucian James Lauder was held two days later. Many hours after the service, Braedon stood over his brother’s grave. The freshly churned dirt gave him a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He bent down, touched the dirt. It sifted through his fingers freely as he stared at the headstone.
“I’ll miss you, baby brother,” he said softly. The words sounded hollow. Bitter wind ripped through him, tearing him down. His closed his eyes, breathed in. It smelled nice, even if it did burn his cheeks unmercifully. He reopened his hazel eyes and stood up, standing straight.
“Braedon?”
He turned at the sound of someone calling his name.
A few feet away his mother stood, her hands in the pockets of her coat.
Braedon smiled at her. He was afraid it looked more like a grimace.
“You okay?” her words sounded forced. Her eyes were tired; a frown was living on her features. The frown had been there for two days straight.
He shrugged, not feeling like lying. “No, not really. I’m not.”
The wrinkles in Mrs. Lauder’s forehead seemed to become more profound. “What can I do to help, baby?”
Braedon shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. They were numbed from the cold. “I watched my brother get shot, Mom. I just need time.”
She nodded, her eyes sympathetic as she turned. “Just call us when you want to come home.”
He offered a barely noticeable nod and turned to look back at the grave. His pocket held the precious item that had been the culprit of his brother’s death. His favorite birthday present. Engraved on the side in curling silver letters were the letters ‘B.L.’
He bent down and used his still stiff fingers to dig a hole in the dirt of Lucian’s grave. It was not deep at all. Maybe two feet long, one foot wide. The hand that rested atop the knife curled around the handle.
Sadly, he brought it from his pocket. He let it fall into the miniature grave and covered it with the dirt that had been piled beside the hole.
“There.”
A strange finality rested in that word. As if by burying the knife, the memory would fade. As he stood back up and turned away from the grave, a sort of weight seemed to lift off his shoulders.
A satisfied smile crossed his lips.
Thunder rolled in the distance and a light, icy cold rain began to fall.
The whispered words he let fall from his lips were carried away by the wind.
“I know.”