Sequel: Requiem of Revenge ›
When Three Becomes Two
Aftermath
Billie’s PoV
I was in the hospital for several weeks following the run-in with Marcus. Mike did not fare much better than me.
As it turned out, I’d been beaten up and bruised horribly. I was grimly informed by a white-clad doctor that I’d gotten numerous bruises scattered on my body, scrapes on my side, and a bullet wound straight through the chest. It had missed my aorta by mere millimeters. Had the gun been tilted even an eighth of an inch in either direction, I would have bled to death and that would have been the end of it.
This was not the case. Nevertheless, it took a lot of uncomfortable surgeries and slow x-rays to get me back in health.
As I have said, Mike was in a similar condition. He’d received a concussion dead on the center of his forehead, a crushed skull, bruises that turned his back completely purple, and sections of his spine were fractured. Even after leaving the hospital, he’d be in a wheelchair for a while—a reminder of what we had gone through.
After being brought to the hospital, we were able to tell the story. Granted, we did lie a little. But that was only for the sake of our families—if the authorities ever found out, our would-be-killer would end up being charged with hate crime rather than attempted murder.
Marcus was arrested about four days after Mike and I had been in the hospital. Apparently the police had caught him robbing a store (probably for food) and had realized he fit the description we’d given.
In the end, he got sentenced to prison for nine years, charged with attempted murder and battery. It was a major sigh of relief for us.
But despite this good news, we weren’t completely happy. Mike had told me that while I was unconscious, Tre had somehow talked to him and said he could visit with the help of an Ouija board. For one thing, we didn’t have the board, and you can’t go out to the nearest Wal-Mart and buy anything when you’re recovering from a gunshot wound that barely scraped past your vitals.
For another thing, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. Despite having had witnessed a ghost about half a dozen times and having a message through a dream sent to me by said ghost, there was always a part of me that doubted it, no matter how desperately I wanted to believe.
It was on a bright and cold December morning that Mike and I were finally released from the hospital. He was on a wheelchair; I was hobbling on crutches. Both of our families crammed into a single van and drove off with us, zipping through the traffic.
I stared out the window at the shrinking hospital. It was rather ironic, really. All three of us had entered that hospital near death. Two of us left it alive, but just barely. The remaining one…
But there was still hope. Perhaps, in a few hours, I’d get to see that remaining one again.
Perhaps.
Two men—one with fair hair, the other with inky black— kneeled in front of the Ouija board. Reaching out a shaking hand, the black-haired one spelled upon the ghastly device, F-R-A-N-K-E-D-W-I-N-W-R-I-G-H-T-I-I-I. And then they waited in the dark silence.
Minutes crept past. Both friends’ hearts began to sink. What if—what if it didn’t work?—
And still more time passed.
The minutes swept into hours, but no one appeared. The room remained cold and lonely as it had been when the two had stepped inside.
Until…
“Billie? Mike?”
The two spun around. Before you could blink, a cold gust of air blew lightly upon them—someone’s breath. There were shouts of shock, then of cheer, echoing throughout the tiny room.
Within moments, the wheelchair and crutches lying upon the floor were forgotten. The three embraced in a hug, all almost crying in relief, the bittersweet sorrow of grief erased.
They were a swirl of bodies as they clinched tightly together. Blond and black hair blended together, almost impossible to tell apart.
But somewhere in that mix, somewhere, if one looked closely, there was also a flash of brown.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: In case you're wondering, no, this isn't the end of the story. But the next chapter will be, so get your tissue boxes ready. :)
I was in the hospital for several weeks following the run-in with Marcus. Mike did not fare much better than me.
As it turned out, I’d been beaten up and bruised horribly. I was grimly informed by a white-clad doctor that I’d gotten numerous bruises scattered on my body, scrapes on my side, and a bullet wound straight through the chest. It had missed my aorta by mere millimeters. Had the gun been tilted even an eighth of an inch in either direction, I would have bled to death and that would have been the end of it.
This was not the case. Nevertheless, it took a lot of uncomfortable surgeries and slow x-rays to get me back in health.
As I have said, Mike was in a similar condition. He’d received a concussion dead on the center of his forehead, a crushed skull, bruises that turned his back completely purple, and sections of his spine were fractured. Even after leaving the hospital, he’d be in a wheelchair for a while—a reminder of what we had gone through.
After being brought to the hospital, we were able to tell the story. Granted, we did lie a little. But that was only for the sake of our families—if the authorities ever found out, our would-be-killer would end up being charged with hate crime rather than attempted murder.
Marcus was arrested about four days after Mike and I had been in the hospital. Apparently the police had caught him robbing a store (probably for food) and had realized he fit the description we’d given.
In the end, he got sentenced to prison for nine years, charged with attempted murder and battery. It was a major sigh of relief for us.
But despite this good news, we weren’t completely happy. Mike had told me that while I was unconscious, Tre had somehow talked to him and said he could visit with the help of an Ouija board. For one thing, we didn’t have the board, and you can’t go out to the nearest Wal-Mart and buy anything when you’re recovering from a gunshot wound that barely scraped past your vitals.
For another thing, I wasn’t sure whether or not to believe him. Despite having had witnessed a ghost about half a dozen times and having a message through a dream sent to me by said ghost, there was always a part of me that doubted it, no matter how desperately I wanted to believe.
It was on a bright and cold December morning that Mike and I were finally released from the hospital. He was on a wheelchair; I was hobbling on crutches. Both of our families crammed into a single van and drove off with us, zipping through the traffic.
I stared out the window at the shrinking hospital. It was rather ironic, really. All three of us had entered that hospital near death. Two of us left it alive, but just barely. The remaining one…
But there was still hope. Perhaps, in a few hours, I’d get to see that remaining one again.
Perhaps.
Two men—one with fair hair, the other with inky black— kneeled in front of the Ouija board. Reaching out a shaking hand, the black-haired one spelled upon the ghastly device, F-R-A-N-K-E-D-W-I-N-W-R-I-G-H-T-I-I-I. And then they waited in the dark silence.
Minutes crept past. Both friends’ hearts began to sink. What if—what if it didn’t work?—
And still more time passed.
The minutes swept into hours, but no one appeared. The room remained cold and lonely as it had been when the two had stepped inside.
Until…
“Billie? Mike?”
The two spun around. Before you could blink, a cold gust of air blew lightly upon them—someone’s breath. There were shouts of shock, then of cheer, echoing throughout the tiny room.
Within moments, the wheelchair and crutches lying upon the floor were forgotten. The three embraced in a hug, all almost crying in relief, the bittersweet sorrow of grief erased.
They were a swirl of bodies as they clinched tightly together. Blond and black hair blended together, almost impossible to tell apart.
But somewhere in that mix, somewhere, if one looked closely, there was also a flash of brown.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: In case you're wondering, no, this isn't the end of the story. But the next chapter will be, so get your tissue boxes ready. :)