Chapter Text
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April 1999
The trees looked like they were swimming, growing hazier by the second against the warm sky. Kicked up winds blew back the pine needles of the surrounding Ponderosa trees and gave off an eerie rustle, frightening a family of mourning doves from their nest. That's the last thing Dylan remembered hearing before he sank to the grass, the soft coo of the dove's song ringing in his ears. He gazed up at the setting sun, the clouds bursting with contrasting shades of brilliant yellow, orange, coral, and violet. He became attracted to a particular cloud, one that was shaped like a hand or a claw, he decided. He watched it float as the sky grew darker by the minute, the steady breeze billowing past his body as he lay there, seemingly lost.
But he was anything but lost. He'd hiked this trail with his father millions upon millions of times. It was his escape, his getaway from the lights of the city, the bustle of the suburbs. He felt comfortably hidden, nestled away deeply in the gorge, totally engrossed in the foothills and the canyons that lay betwixt his hometown and the park. It was an easy hike, too, but nonetheless long in distance. One that his father was able to handle until his more recent surgeries. After a full two hours of wandering, Dylan had made it to the other side of the loop, having passed by several hikers, some with large dogs on leashes.
The spring colors of early April threatened to break through past the remnants of winter. His swift hideaway from civilization brought Dylan to a lonely valley, embellished with rock formations and a few abandoned wooden picnic tables. He recalled hiking here in earlier years, celebrating elementary school birthday parties at these very same picnic tables. In middle school, there had been mountain bike racing through this valley and later horseback riding when relatives came to visit.
The mild hills and the occasional rock climbs held a special place in his heart, from childhood to now. No, he was not lost. From where he lay now, it was a 30-minute walk back to Plymouth Creek and the trail was clearly marked, though he knew the way blindfolded. When he was younger, his fear of rattlesnakes made him wary of climbing the rocks or riding his bike along the gravel, but not so much anymore. It wasn't that his fear had gone away, but more like he simply didn't care.
As he lay there, eyelids heavy, the rocks began to swim alongside the trees, followed by the clouds and the birds. Soon the entire world was melting together in a puddle of colors hurdling toward him like a vortex, and he closed his eyes in surrender, accepting the earth's encapsulation of his soul.
"I'm sure he's fine, Susan," Dylan's 52-year-old father mumbled from the passenger seat as his wife increased her grip on the steering wheel. He ran a shaky hand through his salt and pepper hair, gazing out the passenger side window with tired blue eyes.
"Oh, he's fine, I'm sure," Sue replied with a sharp edge to her voice, her eyes glued to the road. "I am not fine. I'm panicking, Tom. Are you fine?"
"Sue, he wouldn't—"
"Just stop, just..." Her voice softened as she pressed down harder on the accelerator. "Just stop, just stop, please."
Her husband clicked his seat belt into place as she turned down a dark and winding path off Deer Creek Canyon Road. 20-year-old Byron sat uncomfortably in the back-middle seat without a safety belt, anxiously leaning forward to see out the windshield despite how cramped his long legs were in his mother's black Honda Civic.
As the car turned into the parking lot of Bluffs Regional Park, the headlights met a frightened family of deer who scampered off into the darkness beyond the beam of artificial light. As the two emerged from the car, Byron staying behind, Tom flicked on the flashlight he'd found in the garage, which proved ultimately useless against the quickly darkening sky. It didn't brighten anything past two feet.
"How do you know he's out here?" Tom asked as his wife took the flashlight from his hands and began charging ahead onto the trail loop.
"I think he comes here a lot," she replied, not bothering to turn around. The woman looked years younger than 50, jogging up the uneven trail without falter or lack of stamina. She waved the flashlight around frantically as Tom struggled to catch up to her, favoring his right knee.
Just then the halo of light caught a glimpse of a hand on one of the picnic tables. An left hand, palm up, fingers bending rhythmically. She brought the flashlight back, illuminating the lanky outline of her youngest boy sprawled out on the table, gazing up at the sky.
"Dylan," she whispered, followed by a sigh as she drifted closer to her son. He was laughing, a muffled and careless laugh, his eyes closed.
"Dylan." Sue drew closer to her boy, bending down once she reached him. "Dylan," she repeated a little louder, firmness to her voice. She bent the flashlight toward his face as he squinted at the brightness, a dazed but easy smile on his face. Her breath caught in the back of her throat when she realized he had been crying, the stained tear trails along his cheeks shimmering under the flashlight's beam.
"Mom," he greeted her before closing his eyes again, his giddy chuckling persistent, like a five-year-old who'd been caught coloring on the walls. Something was not right.
Sue lifted the light, so it was off his face. She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Come on," she said gently, her voice devoid of the sternness it held before. There were a lot of things she wanted to say in that moment, but she resigned herself to a deep breath. Steadily, she reached out her hand for him to take as he opened his bloodshot eyes again with another senseless string of laughter.
"Come on, let's go home," she said, keeping her demeanor calm as Dylan took her hand and she fought to pull him up. Dylan staggered to his feet, swaying considerably, and Tom grabbed his arm to steady him as they walked back to the car.
Tom nudged Dylan into the backseat where Byron had scooted over, helping his brother strap in. After their parents followed, Tom looked back at Dylan who had his head against the window, his fingers resting against the door handle.
"Did you lock the doors?" Tom asked Sue who looked back and quickly switched on the child-proof locks in the back.
Dylan heard the swift click of the door lock, sighed dramatically, and began tracing designs on the window with his index finger. He turned his head slightly and seemed to notice Byron for the first time. With a glower, he spat in annoyance, "What are you doing here? It's not Christmas."
"Settle down," Tom said from the front as the car sped off.
The house tucked into the foothills was still and quiet an hour later. Sue stood in the kitchen, making herself and Tom a cup of tea, her hand uneasily shaking as she poured the contents from the kettle. Trying to calm herself, she dropped a tablet of Tylenol in her own to help with a headache, placing the orange pill bottle onto the countertop. She carried both mugs to the table where Tom and Byron sat in silence, staring out the darkened window.
"Are you sure you don't want anything?" She asked Byron.
"No thanks," he replied, his voice quieter than the upbeat tone he usually had.
The upstairs bathroom door closed, breaking the silence in the house, and Dylan could be heard clunking down the stairs. He appeared moments later in the kitchen entryway, shaggy hair freshly washed, wearing a clean pair of pajama pants and a Colorado Rockies sweatshirt. It wasn't clear if he'd sobered up.
"Dad, I know I messed up," Dylan said, his words slightly slurred, as he quickly shuffled over to where his father sat, giving the man a half-hearted shoulder pat before sitting down next to him. "That's the last time I'll ever drink, I promise."
Tom sighed, awkwardly squeezing Dylan's hand and looking away. Sue rested her back against the countertop, catching her husband's gaze for a moment and then glancing at the floor as she paced.
"Look, kiddo, we were worried about you. You scared us a little," Tom said in a much calmer voice than expected as he put a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "I just don't understand what you thought you were accomplishing with such an exercise."
Sue set down her coffee cup. "Who knows what could've happened? You didn't tell us where you would be. And then we find you alone and intoxicated on a trail."
Byron stared down at the placemat. Tom raised a hand to ease her rising anger, though it did little to help. "Sue."
"It's like we don't even know you anymore. What if a park ranger had found you instead? You just got off diversion and now you're a minor caught with alcohol. How would that look? You can't keep making these bad decisions, Dylan, these poor judgments," Sue said, coming around the other side of the counter, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
Dylan slowly stood from his chair, the legs scraping back against the wood. "I know, and I'm sorry. It was just one drink, Mom," Dylan said, knowing full well it had been more than one. "How come when I mess up it's a big deal, but when he does, nothing happens?" He turned to stare at his brother, his blue eyes darkening with accusation. "You don't even know half the things he's done."
Byron lifted his gaze to his younger brother in stunned silence, looking confused and panicked all at the same time. "Dylan, I—"
"You want me to tell her?" Dylan gave an exhausted laugh and turned back to his droopy eyes to meet his mother's alarmed ones. "You think I'm the one you don't know?"
Sue looked from Dylan to Byron and back to Dylan. "What? What are you talking about? What else don't I know?"
"Okay, one problem at a time," Tom said in a desperate attempt to keep order before all hell broke loose.
"Tom, please!" Sue snapped placing her hands on the sides of her head.
Her husband closed his mouth, taking off his Einstein-like glasses and rubbing his hands over his face. "Byron, what is he talking about? Did you give him the alcohol, son?"
Byron sighed, rolling his eyes angrily. "Of course, automatically it's all my fault, right? Because he's the good one, and I'm the disappointment."
"That's not what I said," Tom interrupted. "I'm just asking a question."
"No, I didn't give him alcohol," Byron replied firmly, holding up his hands. "I didn't give him anything. I don't even know what he's talking about. He's clearly still drunk." He glared at Dylan, tilting his head pleadingly, and Dylan seemed to clam up.
The younger Klebold stared down at the table, his chest moving up and down as he took heavy breaths. "It wasn't Byron's vodka."
Sue and Tom exchanged a glance, knowing there was something between their two sons that was being kept from them. "I think it's time that both of you started to be more honest with us," Sue said, trying to collect her thoughts. "I had a feeling this wasn't an isolated incident on your part." She looked at Dylan, shaking her head. "I went through this with your brother, and I am not going through this all over again with you."
"What, are you going to kick me out, too?"
Sue stood there shocked at Dylan's words, and Tom stood up so abruptly that one of the cats flew out from under the table in distress.
"We were worried about you," Sue exhaled, trying to curb the intensity in the room. "We are still worried."
Dylan looked from his Dad to Byron, an unrecognizable expression of cynicism on his face. "Don't worry. You can't overdose on marijuana," he said, giving his brother a knowing look. "But you can on other things, right Byron? Plenty of other drugs out there to almost die from."
Tom and Sue stood in stunned silence, frantically trying to interpret the secrets behind his statement. Byron chewed on his lip, quietly fuming. "Okay, okay," he mumbled to himself as he stared at the floor, raising his eyebrows and nodding. "You know what, you are so screwed up for trying to hide your problems behind mine. You're so screwed up! You're proving how much help you actually need by dragging me down with you."
Dylan glared at him. "When did you start caring about what I need?"
Byron rolled his eyes, an incredulous smile on his face. "You're right, Dylan, I don't give a shit about you, clearly."
"Byron," Sue interrupted, shaking her head but her sons only seemed to get more heated.
"You don't give a shit about anything. Ever," Dylan growled.
Byron nodded. "Sure."
"Both of you, enough," Sue held up her hands, getting ignored again.
Dylan kept his stare fixed on his brother. "All those conferences with your teachers that mom and dad had to go to, that they made me go to, because you weren't going to school? When you were high every goddamn day because you didn't care about my life or how it was effected by your choices!"
Byron breathed out a cynical laugh, his hands clenching and un-clenching.
Dylan crossed his arms. "Are you even aware that some people would give everything in the world not to give a shit? To be ignorant like you? To not feel constantly?"
"God, this is so melodramatic," Byron shook his head. "Reality sucks, Dylan, okay? Wake up."
In a split second, Sue watched Dylan lunge at Byron, and then in the next instant Tom had hurried over to grab Dylan. The eldest Klebold fought to pull his sons apart. "Dad, let go of me! Please! You're hurting my arm!" Dylan frantically tried to move from Tom's grip, Byron's shirt sleeve still balled in his hand as Tom held his arms. "Dad, let go!"
Byron held up his hands. "Just let him go!" Byron urged his father while Sue stood there, mouth agape as she backed away.
"Stop it, all of you, enough!" She yelled, causing the family cats to peek out from where they were hiding behind the door. Dylan broke free, slamming against the table and rubbing his left bicep where Tom had grabbed him.
"Take a breath," Byron tried to ease his brother but Dylan was seething too much to listen.
"Don't tell me what to do."
Tom wiped his sweaty forehead. "Leave your brother alone. He's just trying to help."
"Since when is he the responsible one?" Dylan growled.
Tom crossed his arms as Sue closed her eyes tiredly. "Since a few hours ago when we found you intoxicated on a dark trail with no one knowing where you were!" Tom yelled, getting in his youngest son's face having finally lost it. "Why are you trying to minimize what you did?"
"Because I'm getting treated like a criminal for a little alcohol! Byron can get away with all kinds of stuff, but when I fuck up, it's the end of the world!"
Tom slammed his hands angrily against the table. "Byron has come a long way since—"
"He's a fucking addict!" Dylan exploded, pointing a finger sharply at his older brother.
The three Klebolds stood in absolute silence as Dylan caught his breath, the room spinning madly and the world stopping all at the same time.
Byron gathered his jacket, throwing it on in a hurry. "Fuck you, man, just... fuck you." He grumbled with narrowed eyes at his younger brother. He made his way to the front door without another word, slamming it behind him.
Sue watched him go, too shocked to move, looking as though she wanted to say something to him but stopped herself. With both his parents' gaze on the door, Dylan began to slink toward the stairs.
"You don't care," Dylan said in a more subdued tone. "You don't care at all. We're fucked up, and you don't even care."
Sue was still speechless, so Tom spoke, calmer than he'd been. "Dylan, stop, we are not done talking."
"I'm done." Dylan was already half-way up the stairs as Tom hurried toward him.
"Dylan, get back here at once! We are going to talk about this!"
"Tom, let him go," Sue said quietly before Dylan's bedroom door slammed.
Tom looked dumbly at the floor, clutching the back of a chair while he caught his breath. He turned to glance at his wife, who was breathing heavily and holding a hand to her heart. She covered her mouth with a dishrag, slinking onto the floor and sitting against the cabinets.
Tom sank into a chair, putting his head in his hands. "What just happened," he muttered.
"I don't know," Sue replied flatly with a half shrug.
"Why..."
"I don't know."
Tom stood up finally and walked to Sue, helping her up and steadying her. "Susie," he said, taking his wife into his arms and hugging her close. "Breathe," he kept repeating, trying to leave any sense of hysteria out of his voice. "Just breathe."
Sue let him hold her for a minute and then broke away as tears threatened to pour down her cheeks. She stared with frightened eyes at the place where her sons had stood. Her once perfect, sweet, gentle little boys were now gone. Little did either of them know, this was simply the calm before the storm.