Chapter Text
It was a crisp night in Los Angeles, in a neighborhood that hugged the west border of Echo Park. One of the nicer areas, decorated sparsely by large houses surrounded by even larger plots of green, open land. This is where Athena Grant and Bobby Nash’s house was planted, a sturdy, oak-hued structure complete with a garden and a back lawn overhung with golden string lights. The house and yard were full, now, and music bounced and caused the walls to vibrate, a low hum that usually signaled a party.
In the kitchen, Bobby pulled a freshly chilled cake from the fridge, and set it on the wooden counter. Earlier, he’d written “Happy Birthday Athena!” in a blueberry-blue icing on the face of the cake. Harry and May had worked on an edible badge, crafted from a vanilla wafer, buttermilk icing, and food coloring. It was carefully placed in the center of the cake. “How old should the cake say you are?” he’d asked her the night before. It was a running joke between the two that no one was to know her actual age. “Surprise me,” she’d said before placing a kiss on his left cheek. Of course, he’d chosen a Two and a Nine candle. He considered reversing them for the humor of it. This moment, however, was less humorous and more tense.
Athena and May were in the middle of their third argument this week. This wasn’t entirely a surprise; May would soon be faced with choosing a college to attend. The two, of course, were in a disagreement on which college that would be. May was more fond of art schools, film schools in particular. Athena was more supportive of practical, world renowned schools like UCLA or USC. Bobby had yet side with either of the women. He left the bickering to them. Of course, both sides had their benefits. May hadn’t saved a dime for college, and didn’t really have a career plan other than that she wanted to be a writer. This was Athena’s argument.
“Imagine what would’ve happened if Agatha Christie's mom wasn’t supportive of her dream?”
“Agatha Christie?”
“Virginia Wolff. Jane Austen.”
“I think if their mothers had told them to create a plan, save up for their career… I mean aren’t writers notoriously depressed?”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“I just think you’d benefit from thinking about it more. Taking some time to make a plan. Is that crazy?”
“But I’ve thought about it! I know what I want. This is what I want.”
Of course, they had to be fairly quiet so as to not disturb the party guests, but Bobby was cornered, so there was no escaping the frequent, biting banter between the two. There was nothing like a fight between mother and daughter. He’d seen it in glimpses with Brooke and Marcy. Nothing like this, though.
“I mean, what did you want to be, mom? Did you want to be a cop?”
“You know that I wanted to be a lawyer. You know that.”
“Girls,” said Bobby, lighting the two and the nine on the cake, attempting to put out the fire between Athena and May. “Cake’s ready.”
“Bobby! What did you want to be as a kid? And did anyone tell you that you couldn’t?”
Bobby set the cake back down and backed away.
“You know, this cake could actually do for a few more minutes in the fridge.”
Athena gave him a look of disappointment, chocolate-cherry lips pressed tightly together.
“The cake is ready, Bobby.”
“Aw man, cake is ready?”
This was Buck, who had strayed from the group of party guests he’d been chatting with. Eddie and Chim were nearby, both perking up at the idea of dessert.
“I call the badge.”
“You most certainly do not,” said Athena. “It’s mine.”
“Buck, since Bobby wont answer this for me,” pressed May, “tell me. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
Buck thought for a moment, letting out a grated “uhhhhh” sound out between his teeth and his tongue. May rolled her eyes. “You’re no help. Chimney!”
Chim looked up, his mouth and hands full of M&Ms fresh from the snack table. He attempted to mutter something, but couldn’t between the crunch of chocolate and flavored yellow, orange and red candy enamel. May let out a sigh. “Eddie.”
Eddie crossed his arms and thought, his biceps spread out against his chest.
“I always wanted to help people, I guess. Did I know I wanted to be a fireman? I mean, every kid wants to be a fireman. But as an actual career goal, no. So I decided to be there for my country, and then for my kid. Eventually I decided to be what I am now, but it took some time.”
“Why don’t we just go ahead and eat, yeah? We can talk about this later.”
May and Athena both sunk a few inches, temporarily defeated.
“Fine.” Athena eyed Buck, eyes squinted and dominating. “But I get the badge.”
~9-1-1~
Evan Buckley was hardly a frequent drinker, but when he did drink, he couldn’t hold it well. Three beers in at the party, Buck had gotten terribly flirtatious with several guests and had to be escorted home by Maddie. He was now on his couch in the loft, tucked in under several quilted blankets. Maddie gave him a cup of coffee and scooted his legs off the end of the couch so she could sit. He promptly set his legs on top of her knees.
“You got really randy at the party. You never drink that much.”
“I was having a crisis.”
Maddie laughed. “A crisis?”
“Maddie?”
“Yeah?”
“Maddie? What did you want to be when you were a kid?”
“You knew me when I was a kid, Buck. I wanted to be a nurse.”
He kicked her, gently, eyebrow raised and head cocked.
“Okay, fine. I didn’t always want to be a nurse.”
“You didn’t.”
“I thought I wanted to be a teacher. It always seemed like an… non-invasive way to help people.”
“Mmm.”
“You thought you were going to be an actor.”
Maddie turned to him, and saw the sadness in his eyes. “Hey. What is it?”
“You never saw me perform. I was good. Gavroche, you know, in Les Mis?”
“You never told me.”
“You left me- you left the year before. Remember the community theater on Hatchstone?”
“I do.”
“I was really good.” He closed his eyes and let out a breath through his nose.
“But don’t feel bad. Mom and dad didn’t see it either.”
Buck curled up a little tighter against the pillow, then, hugging it unconsciously. Maddie smiled, sadly, and nudged his leg. He didn’t stir. She let out a shallow breath and whispered an inaudible apology as Buck’s breathing settled into the smooth rhythm of rest.
_____
Addison Miller had always been fond of the spotlight. It seemed to be made, just for her, graced her cheekbones softly and illuminated her beauty in a way most others could only dream of. Yes, the spotlight did, indeed love her. The stage, however, did not. She often got lost in the vast expanse of a stage. She was clumsy, which, for the dancer she was, was not a good thing. Although she could draw attention, and draw it well, it was never for the right reasons. This was the primary reason in which she was entirely shocked and thrilled to be chosen for the leading soloist in the Turning Pointe Dance Studios Annual Ballet Showcase. If you’d asked Addison why she was chosen, she would tell you it was for her natural beauty and graceful talent. If you’d asked her teacher, one-time Emmy Award winning choreographer Mary De-Amato, she would tell you that Addison was chosen solely because the preferred soloist in the class had come down with a crippling case of mono, and Addison just so happened to be the only other person obsessed with the solo piece enough to know every single step in perfect order. Unfortunately, knowing the steps did not mean she was a good, or even mediocre dancer, so when Lily Winterstone, Mary’s protege and good friend offered to fill in for the role, last minute in Addison’s place, Mary could not help but to agree. Addison, for obvious reasons, was not satisfied with this last-minute adjustment.
It was the beginning of a rehearsal, and the mid-sized group of slender, beautiful dancers were stretching against the wooden bars placed against each wall-sized mirror. It had come to the portion of one stretch where the dancers were assigned partner stretches. By a matter of fate, Addison and Lily had been partnered up. This exercise was to demonstrate trust to help each respective partner reach and extend beyond their limits of flexibility.
Addison was in the midst of an extended leg behind stretch, tensed beyond all measure as Lily attempted to aid her in pushing her thigh towards the small of her back. Addison was insistent on refusing Lily the satisfaction of helping her. Lily, intent on aiding Addison, continued to push against the back of the slender, aggravated woman’s thigh. It was only when she heard a meaty THUK that she realized her error.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“I think I ripped her leg out of the socket!”
The shredded screams of a woman in the background of the call instinctively made Maddie pull away from the computer, forgetting that the call was in a headpiece.
“I’m sorry ma’am, can you repeat that? Did you say you ripped your leg out of its socket?”
“Not my leg! Addison’s!”
"You did this on purpose, you little bitch!” Addison yelped in the background.
“I didn’t!” Lily whined in return. Then, to Maddie: “Please send someone.”
_____
“Artist’s aggression. Saw it once.”
“In the one play you’ve ever been in?” Chim remarked, leaning back against his seat.
Buck rolled his eyes.
“No, actually. When I was five, I scribbled all over Maddie’s coloring book. She tried to stab me with a crayon.”
“Jesus.”
“It was a really nice coloring book.”
As the 118 came to a stop out front of the Turning Pointe Dance Studio, the sun was beginning to set against the Hollywood Hills, orange light framing perfect slices of mountain and dancing palming trees. Were it not for Addison’s yelps of pain from within the building, this would be a beautiful sight. There was something about the sound of agony that stained the beauty of nature.
The dance studio was adjacent to a rec center, a tin olive-colored building with reflective walls that sent shreds of heat and light into the eyes of those that entered it. Hen and Chim shielded their eyes as they approached the door. Buck was distracted by the name of the studio, printed in bold, white letters on the side of the building. He turned to Eddie.
“Turning Pointe. Get it? That’s clever.”
Eddie laughed. “Sure.”
The entrance of the studio was lined with uninjured dancers, packing up their shoes in delicate drawstring bags, lacing up grungy tennis shoes in stark contrast with the pearlescent tights that they were still wearing. Hen had to maneuver between them, leading the way for the rest of the team.
Across the partition, the studio was lined with pale hardwood floors and walls of mirrors. A woman, likely the teacher, was leaning against a sound system, texting someone. Another woman, presumably Addison, lay by the bars, holding on to her hip and groaning. Lily was standing, waiting for help to arrive.
“Thank the FUCKING Lord. What took so goddamn long? I’m dying.”
“I don’t think you are,” noted Chim, kneeling next to Addison and examining her hip. “But I’m sure you’re in pain.”
Upon initial examination, Chimney found no signs of dislocation or fracture, although she was certainly tender and in extreme discomfort. “Looks like a sprain, Addison. You’re gonna need to rest it, but you’ll be just fine.”
“I don’t care!” said Addison, shooting Lily a death glare. “I want that bitch in jail.”
“I didn’t mean to, okay? I was trying to help you stretch.” Lily looked to Chimney and shook her head. “She was as stiff as a board. I was just trying to help her loosen up.”
“Hen, why don’t we get her some paracetamol.”
“What’s that? Is that morphine? I want a morphin.”
Hen chuckled. “It’s tylenol.”
Later, as Addison was lifted on a back board past Mary De-Amato, she paused and caught the teacher by the shirt. “Since Lily purposefully tried to ruin my career, can I have my role back?”
Mary cringed unconsciously.
“You likely won’t want to be dancing any time soon.” said Chim, looking first to Addison, then to Mary. “But with rest and care, you’ll be back to your old self within a few months.”
“A few months?” gasped Addison. She looked to Lily, across the room, nostrils flaring. “I’m going to press legal charges, I hope you know. You won't be able to steal anymore solos in jail!”
_____
The day had been relatively short, not terribly busy nor eventful. This was the kind of day that Maddie often wished for when all hell would break loose, but when she was actually on the receiving end of that desk, receiving boring, easy-to-handle calls, she felt restless and her mind would wander. Tension built up throughout the day was leaving her in music. The radio was playing some pop song that was far too overplayed and overrated, and Maddie was belting out the lyrics, unrestrained. The night was still, and the wind had died down, streets strangely empty for traditional LA traffic.
It wasn’t that she wished for an emergency or some disaster to make her day more entertaining. But it still did bother her, the aspect of being an operator that separates her from her days as a nurse. There was something far more satisfying about saving someone in person, treating them and seeing the results before her very eyes. She did love her job, she just got bored sometimes. Of course, she would never admit this to anyone, save, perhaps, Chimney or Buck. She knew wishing for the excitement of something real was somewhat cynical and even morbid. It was a part of herself she wasn’t quite fond of, the part of her that got tired of normality. So, when she happened to notice a silver car parked on the side of the road, and she saw the man collapsed inside, she instantly regretted her boredom.
Maddie pulled up behind the car, a sedan with the license plate “SGRDDDY”, and approached the driver’s side window. The man inside was turning blue, flopped over on his side with his head on the passenger's seat. She knocked on the window, with the hope that he was simply sleeping. “Sir? Can you hear me sir?”
He could not. His right hand was lying limp on his chest, and she wondered if he’d had a heart attack. At the moment, it didn’t matter, but she had to find a way to open the door to get to him. If luck were on their side, the door would be unlocked, but after a quick attempt at the handle, she knew it wasn’t an option. Maddie pulled her phone from her pocket and dialled a number with which she’d become quite familiar.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” A familiar voice. It instantly calmed her.
“Hey, Josh, it’s Maddie. There’s a man on the side of the road, I think he had a heart attack. I’m gonna have to break his window to get to him.”
“Maddie, is there any other way to get to him?”
“Doors are locked.”
“Okay. Can you tell if he’s breathing?”
“It doesn’t look like it, but I can’t tell.”
“Where are you, Maddie?”
She looked round for any street signs, and had to squint to see them clearly. “Vermont and Colden. Side of the road. I’m gonna break the window now.”
Maddie held the phone between her shoulder and her jaw as she searched for a rock to break the window. She found one, a mid-sized rock with a jagged edge. She had no idea how much force she would have to use to break the glass, and slightly underestimated. The blow left a crack in the window but nothing much. The second time, she went too hard and her arm went through the window. A few shards cut her arm, but not too deeply. She reached over the sil and popped the lock before opening the door.
As soon as it was open, she leaned in over the seat and felt for the man’s pulse. Nothing. He wasn’t breathing, either.
“I’m gonna start CPR.”
“Okay Maddie. Help is on the way.”
Maddie hadn’t done compressions in forever, and was surprised at how hard it was. The man was barrel chested, a fairly wide-boned person with a rigid sternum. She’d forgotten the feat that CPR elicited in her, the worry that she would break ribs and damage the person further. Thirty compressions and two rescue breaths. Repeat. She was sweating by the time she heard the sirens in the distance, out of breath and panicked.
As she breathed into his lungs, she wondered who he was, what his name was, and where he was headed to that night. Would he ever arrive? Maddie didn’t know this man, what had happened to him, or what had led him here, but she had invested all she could in his survival and didn’t want to see him die.
She’d lost track of how long she’d been doing this. It couldn’t have been terribly long, as the ambulance was still somewhat in the distance. It was when the flashing lights graced her skin and illuminated the path ahead that the man sucked in a raspy breath, completely on his own. Maddie fell back against the driver’s seat, gasping as the man shifted his head and coughed. Color rushed back into his face. Tears filled Maddie’s eyes as she grabbed his hand and held it tightly, blood from the shallow cuts in her arm running down her skin and on to his.
“You’re going to be okay, sir. You’re going to be okay.”
_____
“My girlfriend is a bad-ass,” said Chim, smiling as he poured the two of them a glass of wine. “That’s hot.”
“No,” Maddie laughed, “I’m not a badass, I was just happy to help.”
“Guy has two kids, just so you know. You got him home to them. You’ve got to be at least a little bit proud of yourself.”
Maddie shrugged. “You would’ve done the same thing. But it did feel good. Actually being there, seeing him. I missed that.”
“You still miss nursing?” Chim asked, stealing a forkful of spaghetti from the pan.
“Yeah. I mean, I know that I’m making a difference in my job, of course I am. But of course I miss being there, fixing things in person. But at the same time… not knowing if he was going to make it… I mean, Chim, if things had gone differently, I would’ve been devastated. I guess that's kind of a blessing, being on the other side of things. You don’t have to see when things go south.”
“Well,” noted Chim, “I’m just glad that things went the way they did. You deserve a win.”
Maddie smiled. “I do, don’t I?” she laughed.
“So, the whole, saving people, fixing things in person thing- is that what made you want to be a nurse in the first place?”
Maddie considered this. “No, I mean, it’s not that I didn’t have a plan. But I guess the plan wasn’t always nursing. I honestly thought I would be a teacher.”
“So why didn’t you go into that instead?”
Maddie scooped the remaining spaghetti into a tupperware pan and clicked the blue lid around the edge. “I mean, it was nothing. Just… our parents were really strict in raising us to be just like them, I guess?” she took a sip of her wine and swished it on her tongue. “Like, for me, I would talk about what I wanted to be and my mom would be like, here, check out this anatomy book, all casually like she wasn’t pointedly trying to make me change my career path. Did you ever have one of those plastic half-bodies, where you’d remove the organs and then put them back in the right spaces?”
Chimney looked at her, blank faced.
“No? Okay. She would give those to me and be like, Maddie, find where the liver goes. Anyway. It eventually worked on me. I stopped going after what I wanted to go after. Except for Doug. Funny enough, even though he was a surgeon, he worked in the same hospital as her, even, that was one thing mom didn’t approve of. She never liked him. Neither did anyone else in my family. So I guess that was my way of rebelling. Buck… went another way.”
“You mean having sex with everything in sight?”
Maddie laughed and rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I mean, at least for a while. He used to fight a lot with other kids when he was younger. He was impulsive. And yeah, he slept around a lot. We all had our ways of coping. My dad drank a lot, you know? Especially after our mom died. And he wasn’t so much violent as… he just had repressed anger. He could get really mean, and would say terrible things to us. I wouldn’t know most of that, though. I left when Buck was a teenager. I worry about him.”
“Your dad, or Buck?”
“Buck. Both, I guess, but Buck. He just… he used to be a really creative kid. Like, yeah, he was your traditionally angsty teenage boy, and like I said, he’d get in to fights and fuck everybody in town, but he also was sensitive, an sweet, and was into all these artsy things.”
“Like Theater.”
“Like theater. Grant it, he was only in one play, but he wanted to be in more. I never saw it. Our parents didn’t either. Mom was gone, by then and dad, he just didn’t really think it was a masculine thing to do. He was really old fashioned, probably still is. I just know that there’s a lot of stuff that Buck was into, wanted to be a part of, and pushed away because he was told it wasn’t okay, or that it made him weird. I know he loves what he does now and obviously I’m proud of him. He’s proud of himself, too, finds purpose in what he’s doing. But every now and then I do wonder what he would’ve been if we grew up under different circumstances.”
Chimney swallowed and took a swig of wine. “Well that’s…”
“A lot.” Maddie added, sighing. “I hadn’t thought of all that in a while.”
“I’m sorry,” began Chimney, worried he had overstepped, but Maddie stopped him.
“Don’t be. It’s nothing I haven’t talked about before.”
_____
Mackenzie Williams was an icon of the West Los Angeles Community Theater in her own right. She’d been a chorus member in various musicals since the age of seven, and in the eleven years since had blossomed into a beautiful young singer, a ginger haired, curvy woman with a smattering of freckles and bright green eyes stained with a hint of blue and gold. Her voice was clear and warm, and what it lacked in power, it made up for in tone. She’d become familiar with where to place her lips in distance from the microphone, and how to hold herself for the best vocal outcome. As they did most times she would perform, nerves flooded her system and caused her knees to wobble, just slightly. To be fair, this was only a rehearsal, the actual talent show wouldn’t take place till seven that night.
The other contestants of the show sat in the audience, ready to assess her talent and compare it to their own. Mackenzie knew the drill. She’d been through this enough times to know that their support and applause was simply a cover for one of two things: fear of defeat, or relief for her weakness. The click-click of her heels echoed as she made her way to the microphone in the center of the stage. She stood, settling in the warmth of the spotlight. It was harsh and blinding, and Mackenzie had to gaze at the back row of seats so as not to squint. She took a deep breath as her backing track started. She readied her throat for the first note of her song, a slight clench of the muscle, her vocal cords colliding.
Yet, instead of a song, the first thing to leave Mackenzie’s mouth was a spray of blood, which coated the round head of the microphone, as well as the contestants in the front row.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“Send somebody, please! My daughter is drowning in her own blood!”
_____
“She didn’t even get the first word out of the song- I Will Always Love You, by Whitney Houston. She usually sounds like an angel. She just started coughing out blood, and a lot of it.”
Bobby led the way, just in tow of a skinny man in a cardigan and a pair of wire-framed glasses. “It got all over everybody.” The rest, starting with Hen and ending with Eddie, followed.
Mackenzie’s mother, Debra, was kneeling beside her, digging aggressively across the top of her tongue. “Ma’am,” said Hen, working her way around Bobby, “what are you doing?”
Debra stopped scraping her daughter’s throat, tears streaming down her face. “I thought maybe she had a clot or something! I’m just trying to help.”
Buck cocked his head and looked to Chimney. “I did cough up blood with my embolism. Could be, couldn’t it?”
Chimney shook his head. “Could be, but, ma’am, can you please stop that?” Debra had since resumed shoveling around in Mackenzie’s mouth. The mother held her blood coated hands up and backed away as Chimney and Hen approached Mackenzie, who was turning blue.
“I just don’t get it! She was singing fine at the neighborhood barbecue yesterday. We were celebrating, she just got into Julliard.” Debra sobbed, hovering over Chim and Hen. “Like an angel.”
Chim froze and thought for a moment. “Did you say barbecue?”
“No, Julliard.”
“You said you went to a barbecue.”
“Oh. Yeah, the whole neighborhood got together.”
Chim nodded and pulled Mackenzie’s mouth slightly open. She was losing consciousness, and her jaw fell slack.
“What are you doing?” pried Hen as Chim slid his finger and his thumb over the curve of Mackenzie’s tongue.
“Ma’am, where did you hold the barbecue?”
“My house.”
“Did you use a grill?”
“Well, yeah.”
Chim gripped something deep in Mackenzie’s throat, and slowly slid it out. He kept one finger on the hole the object left in its absence. “You happen to clean it with a metal brush?”
He held up a silver, blood coated bristle in the light.
“I did, but how did that get inside her?”
More blood spurted from Mackenzie’s throat, and she began to breathe again, raspy and wet.
Hen patted the girl’s chest and sighed with relief.
“Same way the food did. Probably got lodged in her throat when she started singing.”
“Do you think she’ll still be able to perform in the talent show?” asked the skinny man with the glasses. “She’s our best performer,”
“When is the show?” asked Bobby, watching as Mackenzie was wheeled away to the ambulance by Chim and Hen.
“Tonight.”
Bobby blinked twice, confused as to how this was even a question. “Does she look like she’s going to be able to perform tonight?” he asked, genuinely amused. The skinny man shifted his legs. “How should I know?”
Buck stared at a cork board pinned up with flyers of audition notices, some already passed, some yet to come. He was focused on the one for Les Miserables. He couldn’t help but smile, just the slightest bit. He looked over his shoulder to ensure that no one could see him, and he took the flyer.
Eddie caught him doing it, but decided not to say anything.
_____
It was time for family dinner, a feast of burgers freshly prepared by Bobby. It was mid-evening, and the sun was getting low in the sky. The smell of seared meat and the fresh bite of salad and vinaigrette filled the air.
Eddie, at Buck’s side, decided to ask about the flyer.
“You thinking of auditioning for Les Mis?”
He’d only meant Buck to hear, but of course the others had, and they began to start in on him. Buck shot him a look, but laughed it off.
“Wait, wait. You’re auditioning for… what? A musical?” This was Hen, mid bite of her burger.
“No, I just-”
“I just can’t picture you singing.” Chimney added, laughing.
“I don’t. I didn’t. I was in Les Mis when I was a kid. I didn’t sing, though, I just acted.”
“But isn’t Les Mis an operetta? It’s all singing.” remarked Chim. The rest laughed. Eddie felt terrible for bringing it up, but Chim was right. It was fairly humorous.
“That’s beside the point,” Buck defended. “Besides, I was just playing around. I’m probably not going to do anything with it.”
“You should,” said Eddie. “We’d all come see it.”
“Do you think your schedule would allow it?” Asked Bobby, attempting to stick up for Buck, but unfortunately adding to the reasons why auditioning would be pointless.
“No, definitely not.”
Eddie noticed the slight downward twinge of Buck’s lips, and regretted saying anything.
Just seconds later, the bell began to ring, and the 118 shoved their plates away, stood, and prepared to head off.
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“I’m at an Angry Orchid concert, and the ceiling is glowing.”
“I’m sorry, did you say the ceiling is glowing?”
“The walls too.”
Maddie squinted, suspicious.
“The walls are glowing?
“No, they’re wiggling. Are walls supposed to wiggle? I don’t think they are.”
_____
When the 118 arrived on the scene, the walls were not, in fact, wiggling, nor was the ceiling luminescent. Yet, a good majority of the Arngry Orchid concert attendees believed that they were. The first six or seven rows of people crowded around the small stage were wobbling, almost in unison, like a human wave of intoxication. This was a sight the team had seen- or more so, experienced- before.
“Ohhh, they’re here,” said one woman, swaying from side to side. “But why are they floating and purple?”
“Uh, Bobby,” said Buck, a half-smirk on his lips. “This look familiar to you?”
“Unfortunately, it does.” agreed Bobby.
“Miss, did you take anything?”
“I took my antidepressant,” she said, swiveling her head in a circle. “Last night.”
Bobby nodded. “Did anyone else take anything?”
The crowd shook their heads, nearly at the same time.
“I think they were dosed. Chim, Hen, go assess those most affected. Eddie, Buck, start asking around about anything they may have collectively shared.”
“What about drinks, food,” Said Buck,
“Cigarettes, tablets, anything?” finished Eddie.
They were speaking to the man who made the call, one Gerald Sittal. He wore a sweater with purposefully-cut holes in it, tight, dark skinny jeans, and had a mole on his chin. He thought for a moment.
“They sold snacks at the concessions. But I didn’t get any.”
Chim shone a light in his eyes, and Gerald squinted.
“How did you do that?” he asked, gripping the light and snatching it from Chimney stealthily.
“Give me that back,” commanded Chim, as Gerald examined the light.
“Pupils are dilated. Could be a dozen things.”
“Are you sure you didn’t have anything? No one passed around any type of snack or anything?”
Gerald began to shine the light in Chimney’s eyes. “Fascinating.”
“Yeah, could be a dozen things, but I’m pretty sure we’ve seen this before.” Eddie smirked, crossing his arms. “I just don’t know how they were dosed.”
“You think it’s LSD?”
“It’s a little premature, but it could be,”
Chimney snatched the light back and shook his head at Gerald.
“When did your symptoms start?”
“What?” Gerald was staring off in space.
“When did the walls start glowing?”
“After the steam started. Right after the show… can you stop spinning?”
“I’m not spinning,” said Chimney, “but you are. Let’s sit you down.”
The sound of crashing abruptly interrupted their conversation, somewhere backstage. Footsteps clattered, and a woman appeared from behind the curtain. “Someone help!” she screamed. “Alan’s having a seizure!”
Alan, as it turned out, was Angry Orchid’s drummer. He smelled of alcohol and marijuana, but not overpoweringly so. His mop of dyed red hair waved and rippled as his head and body writhed against the floor, and he was biting his bottom lip so hard he’d drawn blood.
He was not, in fact, having a seizure, although it certainly looked like it.
This, Chimney and Hen discovered upon closer inspection. Alan was conscious, just trembling, almost violently, on the floor.
“Alan?” said Hen, approaching him carefully. “Can you stop biting your lip for me?”
“Why aren’t you helping him?” pleaded the woman who had called them in. “He’s dying!”
“He isn’t. I think he’s just having a bad trip.”
“He’s turning green!”
Hen looked from the girl, to Alan, to the girl again. “He’s really… not.”
Alan released his lower lip from the grip of his front teeth, and took a deep breath. Chimney paused, cocked his head. “A man out there said the hallucinations started after the steam started. You maybe think he was talking about a smoke machine?”
“We have those,” said the woman, still at a decibel intolerable for human ears.
“If it were LCD, it would make sense. Smoke machines are really just steam machines, can carry all kinds of waterborne illnesses- if it were administered in liquid form, and the steam dispensed throughout the crowd…” Hen trailed off.
“Who had access to the smoke machines?” Asked Chimney.
“I… I think Kirstie? She’s our new stage hand. Old lady. Really weird.”
“Is she still here?”
“Should be. I would check the back room.”
Upon finding Kirstie, a discovery was made: Kirstie was not Kirstie at all, but Sandy, the very same doser of the 118 the year prior.
“Sandy, genuinely, how the hell are you already out?”
Sandy, of course, could not answer properly, as she was tripping absolute balls, not in a back room, but on the toilet, rocking back and forth and weeping joyously. Needless to say, it was a sight the team would not soon forget. Of course, she was eventually able to give a statement that went, in similar words, as follows:
“Everyone deserves a chance to relax. I saw no better a time than when a crowd is filled with music and light and laughter. I got out late last year on probation, and my fine was paid off by a group of Acid-Legalization-Protesters. This is one of many mistakes I will learn from, and am so, terribly sorry.”
This statement was delivered via Youtube video, beginning with a sigh. The thumbnail was of her over-dramatically crying, titled: My Apology *Emotional* . Sandy was now serving a fifteen year sentence.
Although the Angry Orchid concert was eventful for more reasons than one, save Alan’s lower lip, those affected made it out unscathed.
That is, aside from Sandy, who remained certifiably insane and in a semi-permanent state of Acid-Induced psychosis.
When asked why she would make the same ‘mistake’ twice, Bobby simply answered that some people were doomed to repeat their errors and get stuck in the past.
_____
On the subject of being stuck, Evan Buckley had not intended to become enthralled and obsessed with a memory that had little to no importance or impact on him presently, yet, here he was, digging through his closet like a maniac in search of salvaging a piece of his past. Upon request, Maddie was with him, sitting on the edge of his bed.
“What are we looking for, again?” She asked, bored out of her skull, but moreover concerned for her brother. She tapped her ankle absentmindedly against the frame of the bed.
“The camera. My camera, my old one.”
“From when you were like twelve? I thought that thing was destroyed like ten years ago.”
“I mean, it was, but the SD card wasn’t.”
“Why would you keep it?”
“For the same reason anyone keeps a camera, Mads. Memories.”
“Since when did you become such a sentimental softie?”
“I don’t know. Like, two years ago. Catch up.”
Maddie smiled softly. “Is this about the play again?”
Buck sighed and sunk out of the closet, lips pressed together. “C’mon, Maddie. It’s just… it’s on my mind.”
“You just get obsessive, you know? About… well, about a lot of things. And then when it doesn’t turn out the way you want it to, you get really down. I’m just worried.”
“And I just…” Buck gestured, frustrated. “I just want to find this one peice of my life from back then, okay? I never let myself think of that time. I never go back to that place, but… this is something I actually want to remember. Even if you, or dad, or even mom wasn’t there. You know who was, though? Do you remember our english teacher, Mrs. Wilson?”
Maddie shifted, raising her eyebrows. “You’re deflecting. I guess I don’t get it. You tried to sue the city to get your job back. That’s what’s important to you. Right? You said it’s what gave you purpose.”
“It does.”
“Then why are you so hyper focused on this, Buck?”
“Because I want to remember who I was!” Buck swallowed, his throat feeling tight. “I want to remember, because for like, twelve years, I’ve been someone that I knew would be acceptable. Someone who everyone else would be okay with. But back then… I was just… what I was. I could just be me, and that was okay, even if no one liked it, or approved of it. And yeah, I feel like I’m finding my way back to who I’m meant to be, but I just feel like finding the evidence of who I was … will help me find out who I am .”
The tension eased from him, and he looked up at Maddie earnestly. “But it doesn’t matter. I’ve been looking for like an hour, and it’s not here. So… it’s whatever.”
“No,” said Maddie, after a moment of thought. “If it’s not here, it’s somewhere.”
Buck opened his eyes and tilted his head. “You don’t mean-”
“We go to dad’s house.”
“Maddie…”
“I know. But if we go together, we’ll be fine. And if he doesn’t have it, he doesn’t have it, and that’s that. And if he does…”
“You’d really go with me?”
Maddie smiled. “Always.”
_____
Savannah Louise Marsh woke up this Thursday morning in a spectacular mood. Although the Super 8 mattress was just as unnaturally stiff as it had been for the past month she had been sleeping on it, it felt softer this morning, more welcoming in the light of developing opportunities. Savannah took great care to brush her hair out of her eyes, wetting down every stray hair so it would stay put, neatly tucked under her Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf cap. She chose a teal button up shirt with sleeves that went to her elbows, and a pair of blue jeans. She hadn’t dressed up, not this fully, in a long while. Even longer had it been since she’d carefully applied makeup, applied false lashes, and smiled at her reflection.
Today was bound to be a great one. It was time to give Ramona a call. She would be so happy to hear the cheer in Savannah’s voice. Sav sat on the edge of the bed as she pressed Ramona’s contact and the phone chirped as she waited. In the meantime, she laced up her new, and terribly uncomfortable non-slip shoes.
“Sav! Hey gorgeous.”
“Hey! Just thought I’d let you know I’m about to head off to work.”
“First da-a-y! I’m so happy for you.”
“Me too! I mean, after a little while I’ll be able to put a deposit down on my own place, you know? And I won't ask you to buy me dinner anymore.”
“Oh, don’t even. If I could, you know I’d do more.”
“Trust me,” said Savannah, standing and crossing to the door, “you’ve done absolutely enough. I just… I honestly didn’t know if I’d make it through this, and I feel like I am this time. Thank you for just being there.”
“I really wish I could’ve been there more!”
Savannah could hear the tears in her sister’s voice, and she had to swallow so as not to cry as well. “I love you. I’m so excited. Wish me luck!”
“I don’t want to jinx it!” laughed Ramona. “You’ve done this all on your own. I’m so proud of you.”
“I’m not gonna lie,” Savannah smiled as she exited the motel and stepped out over the sidewalk and into the street. “I’m proud of me too. I just can’t wait to-”
Savannah was rudely cut off as a 317 Metro Bus collided with her, first at her hip, then at her ribs and neck, sending her flying through the air and over the hood of another car onto the street. Her phone flew, too, from her hand as she was hit and through the open window of a Taxi Cab, finally meeting at the side of one Al Murdock’s right cheekbone, which promptly shattered.
Savannah’s first thought was that she should be in pain. Why wasn’t she in pain?
“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“My bus just hit a woman. I don’t… I don’t think she’s going to be okay.”
Oh, thought Savannah. I see. She couldn’t move, not from the position she was in. Arms and legs splayed in awkward angles. At least she was in one piece. No pain, no discomfort. Savannah took a deep breath and decided to pray.
I haven’t been very good about talking to you, I guess. I have no idea who you are, or what you’re like, or if you really can unconditionally love. But I hope that you can and you do. I hope you’ll take me, because I’m not ready to become nothing and disappear. Thank you for making me feel at peace today. It wasn’t long but it was a good last day. I will see you soon.
She could hear movement around her, sobs from some and gasps from others. Her eyes opened, slowly, and she gazed at the sky. Overcast. She imagined herself being pulled to the beautiful elsewhere through spotted tufts of wandering clouds.
Footsteps neared Savannah, and she turned her head just slightly. As she did, a tear spilled from her left eye and down across her ear and into her hair. It was man- several men. She couldn’t help to stare at one man, who’s warm features culminated to an incredibly handsome face, brown eyes just as saddened at the sight of her as anyone in her family would’ve been. Behind him, an Asian man with spiked, well styled hair, who’s swift stride was almost feline, quickly followed in suit. They wore paramedic gear, and both toted bags containing medical supplies in them.
Savannah took a sharp breath as the first man knelt beside her. He really was beautiful, and for a moment, she wondered if this was Jesus. No… she wasn’t so far gone. Not yet.
“Hey there, ma’am. Can you hear me?”
It took Savannah a moment, but she gradually built up the strength to nod her head and utter a quiet, yes.
“Good, good. My name’s Eddie. What’s yours?”
The Asian man- his name tag dubbed him “Han.” Han . He shone a light in her eyes. Savannah took a breath, flinched. The other man. Eddie. Diaz .
“Diaz.”
“What’s that?”
“My name… is Savannah.”
“Hi Savannah. Can you tell me, are you feeling any pain?”
“Nothing. That’s bad, isn’t it?”
Eddie shot an almost imperceptible look at Han.”
Han loaded a needle with what Savannah assumed was some form of pain medication, and administered it to her. She wanted to tell him to stop, that she wasn’t hurting, but it did cause her to flood with relief, like the first few moments of drifting into the shallow pool of sleep. She relaxed against the pavement, a more comfortable bed than her own in the hotel. She could fall asleep now.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
Savannah didn’t know what she looked like, but based on the warmth against her skull, thigh, and hip, she’d bled a good amount. This didn’t feel like the kind of injury one could walk away from.
Eddie hesitated.
“Will you hold my hand. It’s okay if I am, I just want to know.”
The man sighed and took her hand. She felt his clasp around hers, the weight of his palm, the speed of his pulse. She could feel his pain, as if it were her own.
After a moment, he nodded with wet eyes and whispered a solemn, “Yes.”
“Okay,” she whispered back, and tears ran down the sides of her face.
“Can you tell my sister something?”
“Of course.”
“Can you tell her- her name is Ramona- tell Ramona that I love her, and that this wasn’t her fault. I was on the phone with her. I wasn’t distracted by her. It was supposed to be my first day. Am I wearing my hat?”
Eddie laughed a pained laugh and nodded.
“I was on the way there, and I was excited, but this was not her fault. She needs to know that, okay? And I-” Savannah began to cry and had to shape her words around a mouth that wanted to sob but couldn’t. “Tell her that I was happy in my last moments, and that I felt safe.” She gripped Eddie’s hand back, then, as tight as she could manage. “And that I’m not scared, even if I really am. Promise me you’ll tell her that.”
“I will,” said Eddie, who at this point, clearly wanted to cry as well, but held whatever emotions he had over the situation at bay for the sake of comforting her. “I do. I promise.”
Savannah took a deep breath. “Why am I not dead yet?”
“Shock is pretty powerful,” he answered, and Savannah wondered what, exactly, was killing her, but she spared him of answering that question.
“Do you know anyone?” Savannah asked, nodding at the sky. “Anyone dead?”
“My wife,” admitted Eddie. “Sha-” he inhaled sharply, “Shannon. She died last year. Would you- would you mind-”
“I’ll give her,” Savannah breathed, deeply, feeling her heart slow more than it probably should. “I’ll give her a great big hug for you.”
Eddie closed his eyes, a look of sadness and peace settling on his face.
“Eddie,” said Han, setting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s gone.”
Savannah was gone for thirty-six minutes by the time Eddie fully realized he would have to cease compressions. The woman’s body had been crushed beyond repair, too many compound fractures to count across her limbs. Her hand had crunched when he’d held it, and compressions themself felt out of place on her already shattered ribs. How she had survived as long as she did, neither of them would know.
Eddie eventually came to a stop, compressions slowing and ending, a deep exhale as he leaned against his knees. He wanted to cry, but didn’t, would save it for privacy as he did on most days like this. He swallowed his sadness, nodded, and stood. The sun began to shine in a thinner stretch of clouds, and for a moment, Eddie wondered if that’s what heaven welcoming her soul would look like.
_____
Evan Buckley Sr.’s residence was a two-story San Diego home with an extended garage, a heavily windowed grey house that was once the Buckley family home. In the years since the absence of Maddie and Buck, the garden out front lining the fence had become rather overpopulated with weeds. As they gathered the strength to walk up the path to the front steps, Buck glanced at the dying flowers once vibrant and bright, and feared what could lay before them inside. The last time he’d seen his father… he didn’t want to think about it. Not now, anyways.
“You ready?” Maddie asked, at his side out front the dark blue door. Blurry shapes passed by the diamond shaped window, filtered with the yellow light against white walls.
“Only one way to find out,” Buck admitted, knocking on the door after a moment of hesitation. The blurry shape in the window turned, and Buck thought he could see the vague shape of a bobbed haircut bounce around shoulders. Before the door had even opened, he knew the person inside was not his father. He would’ve turned and ran if he’d had time.
The door was opened by a middle aged woman with a greying blonde bob. She looked quite a bit like his late mother, actually, aside from a few misplaced fine lines that Amy Buckley never had.
“Uh, hello. Hi. Does Evan- does Evan Buckley still live here?”
“Oh, Evan. My husband. I think he just got out of the shower, I can call him down if you’d like.”
“Your husband?” Buck asked, a sudden burst of anxiety in his chest. His father had remarried? Why hadn’t he told them, why hadn’t he called?
“I can go get him. Who should I say is asking for him?”
Buck tightened his lips and clenched his jaw. “Evan Buckley Jr.… Tell him it’s his son.”
Maddie sat at the dining table across from her father’s husband, a short, curvy woman named Jane. Each had a glass of wine in hand, and from the couch at the opposite side of the room, Buck wondered if his father had also been drinking, if that habit had recurred.
Buck wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but the seat across from his father, who wore a plush robe over a polo and a pair of khaki shorts. His slippers left a trail of dust and crumbs on the fabric of the suede couch.
“Well,” Evan Sr. said after a long, uncomfortable moment. In the years since he’d seen him, his father had grown rather leathery, and his voice had taken on a gravely tone. Probably due to the smoking, although Buck hoped he’d quit long ago. “It’s been a while.”
“Sure has,” said Buck, studying Jane. “So, uh, when did that happen?” He nodded towards the woman, trying not to betray any hurt in his eyes.
“Five years ago. We got married at a chapel in San Francisco, a very quiet ceremony. Only a few friends.”
“No family?”
Evan Sr. chuckled throatily. The sound oddly made Buck sick to his stomach. This whole encounter was dizzying.
“Some family. Hers.”
“Obviously.”
“So I see we’re not trying to be pleasant.”
“Why should I be pleasant with you?” scoffed Buck, trying not to raise his voice so as not to disturb Maddie and Jane. “Give me a reason, dad. One reason, and I’ll play nice.”
“I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re the ones who left me alone. I was the one, stuck here, in this house-”
“This house and its ten foot ceilings and pool in the backyard? That’s had to have been tragic for you.”
“Empty is what it was. Until her. She’s a good one, you know. Despite whatever you may think.”
Buck ran a hand over his face, exasperated. “I don’t have a problem with Jane. I don’t even know her. I don’t know you, either. That’s my problem. I don’t know you. You didn’t even invite me to your damn wedding, dad.”
“What address could I have sent that to? You left too, Evan.”
“You left a lot sooner. Me and Maddie, we had to find a way to take care of ourselves when you checked out. And we were way too young to have to do that. I mean, you made me feel like I couldn’t survive, or that I didn’t even have a purpose if I wasn’t saving people. You know why? Do you know how many times we tried to save you? Does she?”
“I’ve been clean for ten years. And I’m sorry you had to do that, I am, but I refuse to take all responsibility in something you had equal parts in causing. You’re right, I mentally checked out. Sure I did. But I checked back in,” he swallowed, the thick sound as wet and slow as pouring caramel. “And you could’ve been around to see that. Clearly, you don’t give a shit about that, though, so I’m gonna guess you’re not here to make amends.”
Maddie shot him a cautious look across the room, and he had to look away. Buck didn’t want to confront how successful this trip was thus far just yet.
“I came to get my old camera,” said Buck, clearing his throat. “You know where that is?”
Evan Sr. slowly nodded. “Sure. Just gimme a sick.”
As the older man stood, he let out a sound like creaking wood, and rubbed the small of his back. Buck watched as he crossed down the hall. When he didn’t make a turn into Buck’s old room, and instead headed towards the staircase and began a slow ascent up the stairs, Buck decided to follow.
The man was certainly slower than he once was in his prime, but his prime hadn’t lasted a very long time anyway, given how he’d watered it down with liquor and anger and a bitterness towards his dead wife. He groaned, just slightly, each step he took, and was out of breath by the time he reached the top.
Buck followed quietly, hoping that his father wouldn’t notice. When he reached the second floor, he watched his father shuffle to his bedroom, the one he shared with Buck’s mother. He could almost see her, in the darker corners of the room, a glimmering shadow.
Evan Sr. opened the top drawer of his wardrobe and pulled out a small shoebox. Buck’s brow furrowed. “I’m not stupid, you know.” he turned, a sly squint and quirk of the lips. “I see you.”
Buck sighed through his nose and smiled, just slightly.
“You… happen to find it in there?”
“Right here,” said Evan Sr., holding a small, relatively faded blue video camera. “Got a couple nicks and scratches, but it’s fully charged, so, whatever you want to do, have at it.” His father slowly made his way to Buck and set the camera in his open palm.
“Wait, you charged it?” asked Buck, weighing the small camera in his hand as his father started to descend the stairs once more. “Why?”
“There's some good stuff on there. Didn’t want to lose it.” admitted Evan Sr., who briefly turned his head and caught Buck in the eye. “Some good stuff.”
_____
“Tell her that I was happy in my last moments, and that I felt safe.”
Eddie would make good on his promise, over the phone, unfortunately. When he’d delivered the news to Ramona, she’d wept inconsolably on the other line, and Eddie had to stand there, complete and composed. It was a flaw in the system of saving others, the forced ability of turning off your emotions so you can comfort others and be there for them when they need him the most. It had been two hours, now, since the call had ended, and he still wasn’t over it. He could not unsee Savannah’s face, the color of her skin changing from pink to white, blood dripping from her ears, pooling around the fracture in her skull. She may have been in one piece but logically shouldn’t have been.
He hadn’t expected for this to affect him so deeply, but he couldn’t help but draw the similarities between her and Shannon. They looked considerably alike, and died in relatively similar ways. Eddie was terribly glad that Shannon had been spared of the extent and severity of Savannah’s injuries. On his call with Ramona, she had told her stories of her sister and the events of her life the past months.. Savannah had been living in a motel for several months after she’d been laid off from her job and subsequently evicted. She’d finally gotten another job and was on her way to her first training session.
“She was so excited,” Ramona had sobbed. “I’m glad she was so happy when she died, I just wish she hadn’t.”
This hadn’t been his first loss, not in his life or on the team. There had been many a face frozen in his mind, but the love in Savannah’s eyes for her sister, the spark of light in the green of her eyes as she spoke her last message to the world, would be locked in the back of his head for the rest of his life.
Two hours since the call, two hours since he’d arrived home in the truck, parked out front, and turned off the engine.
It was a windy evening, and the windows were open, so he was only moderately hot. Not enough so, however, to cause him to sweat, so he assumed whatever was dripping down his face had to be tears. He wasn’t intentionally crying, but most tough days where this happened, he simply seemed to spill over, a leaky faucet in place of a waterfall.
It wasn’t until he heard the sound of scuffling footsteps on the driveway that he wiped his face and steadied his breath. It was Carla, who paused outside the car door with her hands on her hips.
“I was just… coming in.”
“No you weren’t,” she smiled, shaking her head. “I saw the truck pull in hours ago. Wanted to give you some time. You doing okay?”
“I’m doing just fine.”
“You know- I’ve known you long enough to know that’s not true.”
Eddie chuckled a sad laugh and sniffled.
“Tough day. I just needed a minute.”
“You know you don’t have to hide it from him, you know. Chris can take it.”
“Take what?”
Carla shot him a look as if you say, you know .
“I think it would be worthwhile for him to see you being vulnerable. A boy needs that in his life, someone to reassure him that it’s okay to cry or be upset.”
“He knows that.” said Eddie, wiping his face.
“He doesn’t need anything more to stress over.”
“Well,” said Carla, shaking her hand in the air. “Whatever you say. You take all the time you need. We’ll be inside.”
_____
Tonight, Buck was alone. Maddie had a date with Chimney, and Buck had assured her he’d be fine by himself. Truthfully, Buck despised being alone, it made him feel sick to his stomach. On the upside, it gave him time to watch the contents of the video camera. He’d inserted the SD card into his laptop, and was surprised with the sheer quantity of footage that had been stored over the years.
He clicked on the first video.
The video camera, which had been a hand-me-down gift for Buck when he was eleven. Before him, the camera had belonged to his father. This was the first voice he heard on the video.
“Look at you, all cute and round,” said Evan Sr. Amy did a small twirl, her pregnant belly filling out a loose, beachy dress. They were in Malibu, and based on photographs Buck had seen from this time, the baby in her belly was Buck himself. “You and Evan junior. On the way, not too long now.” Amy laughed, the kind of laugh where a person tips over and holds their chest. She had a lovely, unrestrained laugh. The video ended there, frozen on a frame of her smiling face.
Buck felt tears welling in his eyes. He hadn’t seen his mother in so long. He clicked the right arrow to get to the next video. This next video was of an infant Buck, who stretched his tiny pink arms out against his mother’s chest. He’d only been born several hours before.
“Welcome to the world Evan Buckley. Look at you. Look at you.”
There were several more videos, mostly short, sweet updates on the family.
Then:
“Put the camera down, Evan, please.” Amy held her hands up over her face, and her bald head was visible above her finger tips. “I don’t want to look back and remember this, do you?”
“I do.”
“Why? Look at me!” she pulled her hands away, revealing just how pale she had gotten. She looked almost extra-terrestrial without her eyebrows and eyelashes. The whites of her eyes were red and watery.
“You look beautiful, just like you look everyday, and yes, I want to remember this, cause when all of this gets better, I want to remember how humbled we got, and how much we once took for granted, cause I love you, and you are always gonna be beautiful to me.”
The short, sad video ended abruptly. There was no ‘after it gets better’ for his mother. Amy Buckley died only a few months later, after she couldn’t stop vomiting up blood. Buck had been at school at the time.
Buck wiped his eyes and debated continuing through the footage on the SD card. He took a deep breath and pressed on. This was a video of Buck and Maddie, running around in the back yard with the dog. Willy. A yellow lab. Buck laughed and felt a tear fall down the side of his nose. He never knew his father had been recording that day.
After many, many more forgotten videos, Buck reached the recording of his play. It had been taped by one of his teachers, who had taken pity on him after the loss of his mother. The filming style lacked the care his father had put into his own, and was in a place where the stage was neither in focus or well-exposed, a tall man in the seat in front of her blocking the view.
This play was not who he was. It did not sum up the person he’d been. It was one space in time, an escape from the hardships at home. He was doing perfectly fine- perhaps, struggling a bit with who he was, but being a firefighter, that was who he was meant to be. So what if his father had influenced that path? For years, he’d loathed the fact that the two shared a name, but as he sat here now, he realized that despite the pain he had caused him, he was grateful to have made it out the other side, and he was doing the best he could.
Evan Buckley was imperfect, just as the Evan Buckley before him had been and still was. But it was time to move on. He didn’t need to stay stuck in the past anymore. In that moment, he felt the resentment leave him, for his father, for Abby, for Maddie, and for anyone else he’d felt abandoned by. He was not under his father’s thumb anymore. He wasn’t some captured moment, some video, some part he played in the past. He could freely be whoever he wanted to be.
It was time to discover exactly who that was.
_____
We all play a part, a role in the dreams we hope to achieve. We don our costumes and feel invincible when we are playing a part, because that way, the person that we truly are on the inside is never touched, hurt, or abandoned. But at some point, the costume comes off, and we are left naked and vulnerable when it feels as if the entire world is watching. It’s a struggle, to unlace those shoes, to peel off those gloves, to take off that mask. But eventually, we all must.
Eddie knew it was time to put the shield and the cape away, to be less of a fireman and more of a father. It’s what Chris needed. Chris was sitting on the couch, watching cartoons, when Eddie came inside.
“Hey buddy!” smiled Eddie, circling the couch and scooping Christopher up into his arms. “I missed you today.”
“I missed you too,” said Christopher, laughing. “Did you get hurt?”
Eddie’s brow knit and he pulled away. “No, no, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’ve got blood on your face.”
Eddie felt on the side of his temple, at which Chris was pointing, and wiped the skin. Crusted, dried blood- Savannah’s- must’ve gotten on him at some point.
“Oh, that’s not blood. Just dirt or something.”
Chris didn’t buy it, but he leaned against his father’s shoulder.
“Why were you… gone so late today.”
Eddie sighed. He didn’t want to have to tell him. Chris didn’t need to hear of the traumas of the day, the pain he tried so deeply to bottle inside.
“Do you remember the night,” began Eddie, who sat beside Christopher on the couch and squeezed his shoulder, “when you had one surgery after another? You were only five. It’s the night I got you your teddy bear. That was a pretty bad day, wouldn’t you say?”
“I got pudding, so at least there was that.” giggled Christopher.
“Yeah, well,” Eddie laughed, “I had a bad day today. Kind of like that.”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
Eddie sighed.
“A nice young lady. She was very kind. When things like that happen- when you see things like that happen…” he swallowed, and had to clear his throat before finishing, “It hurts you too.”
Chris reached out and brushed his father’s cheek, catching an unguarded tear as it fell with his palm. “I don’t like it when you’re sad,” said Chris, cupping Eddie’s face. “It makes me sad, too.”
“I know buddy. I’m gonna try and just get past it. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Chris leaned against Eddie’s chest and looked up at his father.
“We could invite… Buck over. And we could make dinner and play video games.”
“Yeah?” said Eddie, who’s sad eyes had lifted slightly, perking up at the sound of that.
“You’re always happy,” said Christopher, taking a breath. “When Buck is here.”
Eddie smiled and nodded, squeezing Chris with a hug.
“That’s very true. How about we call him?”