The Aftermath

It took me a while to actually localise Gerard when I finally pulled myself together to fly up to his window. He was in his bedroom, flat on his stomach on the bed, unmoving.

I watched him in wonder unable to understand. I knew for a fact that he had slept the night before. Through the night, even. I smiled slightly at the memory then caught myself.

“Just like that?” I muttered to myself.

My bad mood seemed to have evaporated as soon as I started watching Gerard. This was what I was meant to do; stay close and keep watch, I was sure. And for now it was just what I would do. For now it would be enough.

As ridiculously happy, as I had been unreasonably distraught before, I settled on the windowsill. I made myself comfortable as I prepared to watch my brother for however much of his day, he was planning on spending like that. Lying face down on his bed. Lying very still, face down on his bed.

Unmoving.

I could feel my breath growing notably shallower. Why was he lying on his bed in the middle of the afternoon when I knew damn well that he had slept through the night? Why was he not moving?

Biting my bottom lip, I raised my hand to knock on the glass. I told myself not to expect anything; no reaction was not necessarily bad news. Actually, it was to be expected. Holding on tightly to that thought, I let my knuckles connect with the glass.

Knock, once. No reaction.

Knock, twice. Harder now.

Knock, thrice. Seriously scared.

I stopped. No matter what I told myself, the lack of reaction was definitely freaking me out. Maybe Gerard actually could not hear me. It was really very likely. But still, what if something was wrong? Something could be wrong.

It looked as though something was wrong.

Hissing, I knocked hard on the glass once more, truly not expecting a reaction this time, before taking off. I tried the windows I could access. The kitchen window first, the one furthest from the bedroom. It was shut securely.

Next, I took the living room window, the one I had gone through the night before and a few hours earlier, this morning. It, too, was closed and I grinned bitterly at myself as I felt my anxiety spike. If I had not hurried out, I would definitely have been trapped in there. Oh, how I wished I was trapped in there!

Without any other options I returned to the bedroom window to watch my brother's still form. Pressing my face and ear against the window glass I tried to make out any little movement, any sort of sound. There was nothing.

Placing my hand against the window, too, I traced my fingers against it, as though my subconsciousness wanted to dig through the glass.

“Gerard,” I whispered, not knowing what to do, “please, Gee...”

Pushing harder against the glass, I whimpered. If I had ever wanted to be able to get to my brother, now was it. I wanted to go in there. I needed to go in there. Pressing my eyes shut, I wished to go in there.

I was still stuck out on the windowsill.

“Gerard,” I whispered again.

Drawing in a ragged breath, the first tear slipped down my cheek.

I did not remember the last time I had wept. Maybe it was the night I died. I thought so. I was almost sure I had not cried after I died. As the tear left my cheek and fell onto my hand, it distracted me, momentarily showing all the colours of the rainbow as the light from my skin reflected.

I choked back a sob before returning my gaze to the bedroom.

Maybe a dozen inches from my face was my brother's, staring straight back at me.

“Gerard?” I gasped, then bit my lip tentatively adding, “You still don't see me, do you?”

Try as I might, I could not excuse the lack of reaction with the glass obscuring the sound of my voice. And I hated the fact. Hated it with a passion.

Gerard took a few steps back as my light flared up with my anger. Immediately, I made an effort to calm down. As my light died down Gerard returned to the window, hesitantly. I looked at him as we were separated by only a few inches and thin glass.

He looked older than I remembered, I realised. I suspected it did not have nearly as much to do with the years that had passed, as it did with the strain they had placed on him. In spite of watching him so closely all the time, I had not realised before.

I sighed and tried to force my light to an even lower state, before reaching my hand forward to press it against the class. He did not jerk away, but there was no real possibility of my touching him, anyway.

With a sigh I could see but not hear my brother raised his hand too, to press it against the glass. To my surprise, a very heart-aching surprise at that, he placed it just opposite to mine. Had the glass been as intangible as it was invisible, our hands could have touched.

I sobbed again, feeling another tear slide slowly down my face.

On the other side of the window Gerard pressed his forehead to the glass. I mirrored his movement, imagining I was really resting my forehead on his.

I remembered a situation like that once. I remembered how my heart had beaten; vividly, violently. How it had taken my breath away.

My wings ached along with my heart, as I cried.