Sequel: Requiem of Revenge ›
When Three Becomes Two
Acknowledgement
Mike's PoV
Billie pressed a hand to the door and walked in, myself following close behind. And then, laying under so many blankets, was Tre.
He looked surreal. Tre was as pale as the sheets he was under, countless tubes snaking from his body into varied machinery. His hands lay at his sides. Blood was everywhere, still caked on his face and arms, and puddles lay on the bedsheets. And as for his face…it was unbearable to see.
All the light and life in his face was gone. Even at his most solemn moments in life, or when he slept, Tre was never completely emotionless. There was never a time that the ghost of a smile couldn’t be found on his face…until now. It was hideously wrong to look at, to see that. Worst of all, his eyes were still open, and their warm blue had changed into nothing more than chips of ice. And because of all that, he didn’t look peaceful in death.
Billie and I hurried to our friend’s side. I leaned over and felt Tre’s hand.
It was shockingly cold. As cold as a snowdrift. And as cold as his eyes.
It was at that moment that I know Tre Cool was dead. Dead in every sense of that horrible word. I’d seen dead bodies before, but they always looked like they were asleep, not completely lost, still there. But not my friend. Not with his icy eyes, cold hands, and lifeless face.
I finally gave up with trying to hold back the cascade of emotion I’d fought against ever since the phone call. And I finally cried, as did Billie. I hardly noticed as a nurse pulled up two chairs and ushered us into them, then left the room.
I just couldn’t believe what had happened. I’d already lost so much—my original mother, my stepsister, my stepfather, and another friend so close to me he was like a brother. And it really did feel like just then, when Jason died. Except then I never saw the body until the funeral. This was different. I could see that he was completely dead, destroyed, not yet dressed, neatened, preserved and stuffed in a wooden box.
Tears still streaming down my face, I turned away from the bed. Sweat beaded my face, although it was cold in the room, and I was trembling from shock. I couldn’t bear to see the body, but I felt that I had to. There he was, the friend I’d practically lived with ever since our teenage days. The guy I’d poured my soul out to all these years, and he did the same thing for me. But fate didn’t care how much you loved somebody, it would steal them from you just the same.
After what felt like a day, although it was probably just ten minutes, Billie finally spoke, still gazing at Tre’s face.
“We need to call our families.” I nodded numbly and got up, taking the wireless phone from its spot on the nightstand and began to dial Anastasia’s number. This was going to be painful.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” She sounded cheerful. It sounded so wrong in the place we were in. “Hi Brittney, this is Mike…I called you because…well, right now Billie and I are in the hospital.”
“WHAT? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Billie is too. But Tre…He…he was in a car accident, and…well…”
“Oh. Oh, my God. I’ll come with Stella, first flight out of Oaktown tomorrow, okay?”
“All right. Bye.”
I turned off the phone and put my head in my hands. I hadn’t actually seen my ex-wife in a while, although we were still friends. I wondered how Stella would react…She’d always liked Tre, she would miss him a lot. She thought he was the funniest thing in the world…
Was…
My grief overwhelmed me again as Billie took the phone from me. I listened halfheartedly as I heard him do a similar phone call with Adrienne. They were coming tomorrow as well. And that night, after sitting with Tre’s body until we were forced out of the hospital, we drove back to the hotel.
I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just lay in bed, thinking. Thinking about how much Tre’s death had caused. And I let myself be immersed by the pain. It hurt so much to lose someone you loved, someone you loved so much it hurt to be separated from them. And knowing that Tre was no longer with us, never would be again, was as devastating a blow as having a bullet shot through my chest, making me want to scream from the agony.
I knew that the wound never would heal, either. Not unless Tre came back, not unless the color came back to his face, his hands moved, his eyes sparkled again with mischief. But it wouldn’t. And that wound, as I soon found out, was only going to hurt worse as it healed.
Billie pressed a hand to the door and walked in, myself following close behind. And then, laying under so many blankets, was Tre.
He looked surreal. Tre was as pale as the sheets he was under, countless tubes snaking from his body into varied machinery. His hands lay at his sides. Blood was everywhere, still caked on his face and arms, and puddles lay on the bedsheets. And as for his face…it was unbearable to see.
All the light and life in his face was gone. Even at his most solemn moments in life, or when he slept, Tre was never completely emotionless. There was never a time that the ghost of a smile couldn’t be found on his face…until now. It was hideously wrong to look at, to see that. Worst of all, his eyes were still open, and their warm blue had changed into nothing more than chips of ice. And because of all that, he didn’t look peaceful in death.
Billie and I hurried to our friend’s side. I leaned over and felt Tre’s hand.
It was shockingly cold. As cold as a snowdrift. And as cold as his eyes.
It was at that moment that I know Tre Cool was dead. Dead in every sense of that horrible word. I’d seen dead bodies before, but they always looked like they were asleep, not completely lost, still there. But not my friend. Not with his icy eyes, cold hands, and lifeless face.
I finally gave up with trying to hold back the cascade of emotion I’d fought against ever since the phone call. And I finally cried, as did Billie. I hardly noticed as a nurse pulled up two chairs and ushered us into them, then left the room.
I just couldn’t believe what had happened. I’d already lost so much—my original mother, my stepsister, my stepfather, and another friend so close to me he was like a brother. And it really did feel like just then, when Jason died. Except then I never saw the body until the funeral. This was different. I could see that he was completely dead, destroyed, not yet dressed, neatened, preserved and stuffed in a wooden box.
Tears still streaming down my face, I turned away from the bed. Sweat beaded my face, although it was cold in the room, and I was trembling from shock. I couldn’t bear to see the body, but I felt that I had to. There he was, the friend I’d practically lived with ever since our teenage days. The guy I’d poured my soul out to all these years, and he did the same thing for me. But fate didn’t care how much you loved somebody, it would steal them from you just the same.
After what felt like a day, although it was probably just ten minutes, Billie finally spoke, still gazing at Tre’s face.
“We need to call our families.” I nodded numbly and got up, taking the wireless phone from its spot on the nightstand and began to dial Anastasia’s number. This was going to be painful.
She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” She sounded cheerful. It sounded so wrong in the place we were in. “Hi Brittney, this is Mike…I called you because…well, right now Billie and I are in the hospital.”
“WHAT? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Billie is too. But Tre…He…he was in a car accident, and…well…”
“Oh. Oh, my God. I’ll come with Stella, first flight out of Oaktown tomorrow, okay?”
“All right. Bye.”
I turned off the phone and put my head in my hands. I hadn’t actually seen my ex-wife in a while, although we were still friends. I wondered how Stella would react…She’d always liked Tre, she would miss him a lot. She thought he was the funniest thing in the world…
Was…
My grief overwhelmed me again as Billie took the phone from me. I listened halfheartedly as I heard him do a similar phone call with Adrienne. They were coming tomorrow as well. And that night, after sitting with Tre’s body until we were forced out of the hospital, we drove back to the hotel.
I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just lay in bed, thinking. Thinking about how much Tre’s death had caused. And I let myself be immersed by the pain. It hurt so much to lose someone you loved, someone you loved so much it hurt to be separated from them. And knowing that Tre was no longer with us, never would be again, was as devastating a blow as having a bullet shot through my chest, making me want to scream from the agony.
I knew that the wound never would heal, either. Not unless Tre came back, not unless the color came back to his face, his hands moved, his eyes sparkled again with mischief. But it wouldn’t. And that wound, as I soon found out, was only going to hurt worse as it healed.