EPISODE 17 - THE END
Nothing bad’s happened yet, I know that, I can feel it. Not now, when I finally remember, when I finally know what I’m doing.
I still can’t believe it’s Nathaniel. I know that I wanted our paths to cross again, to have another chance of getting to know him, but that is not what I meant. I imagined we would meet under more friendly circumstances, maybe he would come and visit me in my new summer job, that’d be funny. This is not funny. Never in a million years did I want it to get so complicated. Trying not to blush when I see him would be a big enough problem for me. Or trying not to melt under his touch. Not this!
And he has to be okay, he just has to. If something has happened to him, I… I could never forgive myself. I can prevent this, and I could have prevented it sooner. If only I… Oh, why did I have to forget? And if I hadn’t been refraining looking for answers at the beginning maybe I would have already figured it all out somehow? Now I kind of wish I really could travel back in time.
Despite Bobbie having Nicole already filled in on the story through the phone, she still seems to be pretty confused when we finally meet her at the lake fifteen minutes later. I don’t blame her, I was listening to Bobbie’s explanation with half an ear and if I were her, I wouldn’t have understood most of it, either. But I don’t have the strength to tell the story again because I’m too worried and have a huge lump to my throat. She’ll have to fill in the gaps herself.
We head straight to the grave. Well, not grave, it’s not a grave, yet. But the clock is ticking and Nathaniel’s brother already had plenty of time to act. Maybe I should have called the police. I wouldn’t have to tell them about what happened those two weeks ago, I wouldn’t do that to Nathaniel, because as messed up as it all was, I understand why he did what he did. I just don’t know how dangerous it might get and I’m worried that we should have thought about getting some help.
But it’s too late for that, now. The wind is strong and as we enter the forest the trees seem to be hurrying us up. The branches wave theatrically pointing to the putative crime scene while we follow an angry song of the wind bells. We take the shortcut and the bushes cut through my skin but that’s the fastest way to get there, so I ignore the pain.
We’re a hundred feet away, but I can’t see anyone. Is that good news or bad news? It could mean that nothing’s happened yet, but it could also mean that it’s already over.
We’re fifty feet away and I want to scream, cry, and laugh at the same time. In my head, I do it.
We get there, and I clench my fists, ready for Daniel to come out nowhere, to attack us all like one death isn’t enough for him. But that doesn’t happen. The scene is surprisingly calm and for a second I cool down a bit as well. It definitely doesn’t look like a crime scene. Looking around I remember everything so vividly now, that I can almost feel the pain. I look at the ground, at the place where I lied, helplessly waiting for it to end. I turn around to where the pile of dirt I mistook as a body that night should be, only to see that it’s not there.
No, it can’t be! I can't be too late! You can’t be dead! But I look down at the hole that is now fully covered by soil and I feel completely defeated. It looks freshly done.
I look around for the shovel, hoping that he left it here after he was done with Nathaniel, but not wanting to waste any more time I give up and start digging into the soil with my hands. Bobbie and Nicole join me a moment later and judging by their faces they’re both as horrified as I am. But there is no hesitation.
With each handful of dirt I remove I feel less and less present. Like I’m looking at myself from above. That’s my way of running away. Nicole is screaming something at me but it sounds muffled and I can’t understand her, and I’m too ashamed to look up and face her. Well, you were right! Happy? From the beginning you wanted me to find out and for so long I would just tell you that I didn’t care, that it’s not my responsibility and I was mad at you for not letting me move on. But you were right, as always.
I’m here Nathaniel. I’m sorry I’m too late. I should have been there for you like you were there for me. But I wasn’t because I was stubborn and selfish. Even though I couldn’t remember, I knew someone was in danger, and I didn’t care. For a long time, I cared only about my own feelings and my own trauma, and when I finally took more interest in someone other than myself, it turns out it was too late.
I didn’t have a chance to tell you I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. You did what you thought was right, and that’s okay because you helped me the best you could. And I’m fine. I’m fine, and you are not. And that’s on me.
I don’t know when I stopped digging, but it must have been a while because when I open my eyes I see Bobbie and Nicole looking down at something in awe.
“Ian, look!” Bobbie says as he struggles to pull something heavy out of the pit. A large wooden storage chest with dozens of raggedy superhero stickers on it. It looks very old. It’s signed at the top with child’s handwriting – Belongs to Daniel Blake. He’s hesitant to open it, scared of finding a dismembered body, so I draw the chest closer to me and open it myself.
“There’s just a bunch of random stuff in here.”
“What? What do you mean?” They sound relieved and confused, and I… I don’t know how I feel because I don’t know what to make out of it.
Old toys, a couple of stuffed animals, some drawings, and at the top of that pile, a picture of a family. I examine the picture for a while, while Nicole is going through the rest of the stuff. A normal, happy family, one might think. A father playing LEGO with his son, smiling from ear to ear, and a mother nurturing a baby in her arms. They are lucky to have loving parents like that, one might think. But by looking at that picture, one could not tell the loving parents are about to leave and never come back. So when I look at their smiling faces I don’t see joy, I see giving up on their own children. There’s no love in that picture and no kid deserves that.
“I don’t understand.” I look down into the pit and... there’s nothing there. “Where’s Nathaniel? He… he didn’t bury him in here? But I remember him saying… That means we still have time! We have to go to the cabin.” They don’t say anything and think I can’t see them exchanging looks. “You’re still on board, right?” I ask.
“Yes, of course we are,” Nicole quickly said defensively. “We’re just… Maybe you got it wrong, Ian? Maybe you’ve…”
“What? Overreacted? I’m not wrong, Nicole. I know what I’ve heard, cause unlike you, I was there. And God, I wish you were right, cause no one in this world wants him to be safe more than I do. But I’m not wrong, and we have to hurry.”
Of course, I want them to be right, and once more for it to be just a big misunderstanding. I want to be the fool again, who got it all wrong like he always does. I want Nicole to say “I told you so” with her cocky tone of voice. I want it to be over and rest.
I’m out of breath when we finally reach the cabin. The car is parked outside, and the gateway is slightly ajar. It looks like someone’s inside. We walk into the yard and I can’t tell if what I’m feeling is a sense of calm, or if my legs suddenly felt weak. For some reason, the cabin seems to be welcoming us inside. The lawn is perfectly mowed, a couple of apples are lying under the apple tree, waiting to be picked up, and pushed by the wind the rocking chair is swaying peacefully on the porch.
I stick my ear to the door before knocking and try to listen to what’s going on inside, but I hear nothing. Maybe it’s already over? Nathaniel’s lying on the floor, drowning in his own blood and his brother hovering above him, figuring out how to dispose of the body. Or maybe he already took care of that too? I’m not nervous anymore, maybe because I’m totally resigned. While running here, to the cabin, I kind of started accepting that I’m too late and that I failed and that it’s just the way it is. So with my emotions contained I knock on the door three times and just wait for whatever happens.
But half a minute has passed and no one opens the door. Well, the car is here, so even if they’re not inside, they can’t be far. But I give the knocking another try and the moment my knuckles touch the wood, it disappears from my reach and at the door, with a soft pressure mark on a cheek, like he has just woken up from sleep, stands Nathaniel, alive.
“Ian?” he says while rubbing his eyes trying to fully wake up. My throat feels tight and I fail my attempt to answer. “You got my letter,” his voice is shaky and I open my mouth to tell him that he doesn’t have to worry about me going to the police and that I have something important to tell him, but he stops me and continues. “Please, before you say anything, I just want to tell you that I’m sorry, for what Daniel did to you, and for… for what I did. And that you have no idea how happy it makes me to know that you’re okay.” I think he noticed tears coming to my eyes, because he pauses for a second, and adds “Because you are okay, Ian, aren’t you?”
“More than ever,” I want to say, but I didn’t come here to cry, so I just say “I’m okay. Is… is your brother home? I need to talk to you about something.”
The already subtle smile, now, fades completely out of his face. He lowers his head and clears his throat. “He, um, he’s not going to be here for a while. So, do you want to come in?”
I turn around to Bobbie and Nicole to ask if they could give us a minute alone, but before I say anything, they tell me not to worry and to call them whenever I need them.
Not until he opens the door wider for me and exposes his body to sunlight do I notice how worn out he really looks. His face is unhealthily pale and skinnier than the last time I saw it. He gestures me to follow him into the living room and I notice that his left forearm is still encased in a cast. Somehow it makes me feel guilty. Here I am, perfectly fine like nothing ever happened, and he, a person who did the best he could to help me is suffering the most. And he doesn’t deserve any of that.
Inside, the cabin looks even bigger than from the outside. It resembles more a wooden house than a hidden hat in the middle of the forest. Every furniture in here looks handmade, everything in here looks like it has a story to tell. The dark wood makes this place warm and welcoming. It makes you feel like you’re home, even if you’re here for the first time. I look at the embellished with photos fireplace and wish it were winter-time right now, just to see it burn.
“You wanted to tell me something,” Nathaniel says after we both sit down at the table. “Ian, if it’s about you going to the police…”
“It’s not about that,” I cut him off in mid-sentence. “Look, I… I think your brother’s trying to hurt you. That night I walked over to him because, well, you know, he was very angry and it seemed like he was yelling at someone. He kept saying that he was going to kill you, Nathaniel. It came to me when I read your letter this morning and I was worried that… I might have been too late.” I try to explain to him what happened that day before he arrived, but he doesn’t respond to anything I say and the silence between us starts making me uncomfortable. “And where is your brother, anyway?” I ask him a question, so it’s his turn to talk.
“Daniel is sick, Ian. It’s difficult for him to control his emotions. That night he was angry at me because I lied to him about something very important. And I think he had the right to get angry at me. I certainly don’t blame him for that. Sometimes it is challenging, it’s true, but one thing I can promise, and it’s that Daniel would never hurt me.”
“He was digging your grave, Nathaniel…”
“And judging by your dirty hands you went to visit it right before you came here, didn’t you? Well, then you would know that he wasn’t trying to burry me, but simply his memories of his parents. After reading all those emails between me and our parents he realized that they were never planning on coming back, or even on paying a simple visit. He gathered all the things that reminded him of them and went to bury them. And he never meant to hurt you, either. I know it’s not an excuse, but he didn’t know what he was doing.”
I lean my forehead against the table and shield my face with my arms so that he doesn’t see my eyes getting watery. “Where is he now? Is he okay?”
“He decided to go back to the hospital. He said this time he’s not coming back until he knows he’s ready. But I believe in him and I know he’s going to be back in no time.” His unsure tone of voice doesn’t match those words. I have an urge to grab his hand and to comfort him, but I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. We don’t know each other, after all. Not really. “He waited for me to come back to bury those things together, and to say goodbye. He left a few hours ago. He wanted me to give you something. I haven’t sent it, yet, so I might as well give it to you now.”
He brings me an envelope from the kitchen. It’s addressed to me. Daniel’s handwriting isn’t as neat as his brother’s, but still better than most people’s I know. In the letter, he apologizes for hurting me over and over, but… I don’t think I’m mad at him. I don’t think that I ever was. If anything, I feel sorry for him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to not be able to control my own anger. It’s a dangerous burden to have. He finished his letter by saying “Nothing will ever excuse me for the pain I have caused you and my brother and I know the fact that the villain got away with it unscratched is the biggest injustice of all. I just hope that one day there will be a way for me to atone.”
That is right. You got away with it unscratched…
“Nathaniel, can I ask you something? Not once did I hit your brother back that night. So he didn’t bleed… and I didn’t bleed either. And yet, there was blood all over me. Who’s was it?”
For a second he seems very confused and looks like he really struggles to remember when in my opinion it should be pretty memorable when someone bleeds this much. But a subtle sigh escapes his mouth before he says “Come on, I’ll show you something.”
I follow him upstairs, to the room behind the navy blue door. The delicate smell of paint greets me immediately after I follow him inside. The room isn’t big, but because there is no furniture whatsoever, it seems to be more spacious than it actually is. Dozens of paintings lying around, leaning against the walls. Some of the smaller once are displayed on top of the once that are covered by white fabric.
“I like to paint,” he says. “I always have. It helps me organize my thoughts. Whenever I’m stressed about something or just simply want to relax, I come here and paint the things that bring a smile to my face and the things I find… beautiful. It’s a good way of reminding yourself that even if something goes down the wrong path from time to time, there are still plenty of things that are worth persevering.” We walk up to the easel standing beside the window. In the middle of the canvas, a thick layer of orange paint forming a sphere, surrounded by even a thicker layer of red smears of paint. Random handprints all over the painting.
“It was supposed to be the Sun,” he says. “I know, abstract paintings aren’t my thing, I guess. I knocked over the easel when the paint was still wet and the canvas fell straight on me. Then I noticed that Daniel was gone and… you know the rest. I didn’t have time to wash it off. So… you weren’t covered with anybody’s blood. It was just paint I smudged you with while trying to get you into my car.”
“You know, it amazes me how all of it seems so obvious once I know it. But I didn’t know almost any of it until today. Until I read your letter, I couldn’t remember. It’s shocking to me that to know my own story I needed other people to tell it for me. Because when I tried doing it on my own I was an inch close to losing my mind. You know, when I woke up at the hospital I was convinced that I traveled back in time to fulfill some sort of mission, and that’s embarrassing and I don’t know why I’m telling you that.” This makes him laugh so hard that I instantly turn red. But I don’t care. I’m just glad to hear that beautiful sound.
He wants to know all about the last two weeks of my life, so we spend a while on what turned out to be a very engaging conversation about my struggles. I’m being more dramatic than I should be, just to make him laugh again.
“Well, I should get going. My friends are going to be worried.” I walk over to the door but before I grab the doorknob, a familiar picture catches my eye on the wall on my right. A painting of Martha’s ice-cream truck and a guy, who looks a lot like me, inside of it. Is that me? Did he paint me? I mean, I can see that he did, but why?
“Do you like it?” he asks when he notices me staring at it. I do like it, but I don’t know what to tell him, or how to tell him because for some reason I forgot how to speak.
I clear my throat and say “So, those ice-cream cones must have been pretty good if they made you smile so much that you decided to paint them, haha.”
He gets a little closer to me. “Well, yes, and no,” he says. “Something else on that painting used to make my smile every time I saw it.” He seems embarrassed but gets another bit closer.
“Used to?” I ask, and I catch myself staring at his lips. I feel weak in my knees. God, how does he do it? Is it his voice? His skin? Is it those eyes that seem to be looking into my soul? What is it about him, that makes me grow flowers between my ribs? Does he feel the same way about me or am I reading the signs wrong, again? I never truly believed I would meet him ever again, and yet here we are, only inches apart. I thought I would be nervous but it feels natural, like its meant to be. Would it feel natural if he didn’t feel the same way?
I slowly lean my face closer to his, and I can feel him doing the same, but before our lips could meet, Nathaniel pressures his cast against my body and hisses in pain. I step back and try to come back to reality.
“Are you okay?” He doesn’t respond, but the way he twists his face tells me he’s hurting. I try to comfort him, but how do you comfort somebody with an aching, broken bone? For a while, we both don’t know what to say. “I’m sorry about your arm.” I manage to break the silence. “Did dr. Gramm tell you how long will it take to heal?”
“It has broken in four different places so… it will take a while. But I don’t complain. It could have been a lot worse.” He looks up at me and adds “Do you want to sign it? The cast, I mean…”
“Sure,” I say. He grins and hands me a marker. God, I would kill for that silly grin. “What should I write?” I ask him.
He hesitates for a second and smirks. “You never gave me the note,” he says.
“What note?”
“The one you wanted to give me the next time you saw me. Well, now’s the next time you see me.” Noo, he remembers! He bursts out laughing at the sight of my frightened face. He’s talking about the note with my number on it that I wanted to give a year ago the next time he would buy ice cream from me. And the only way he would know about it is because I told him that when we were still in the hospital. But if he remembers that, then…
“Oh my God, what else do you remember?” I ask him, still horrified.
“Not a lot, unfortunately. Judging by your face you must have said some hilarious stuff.” He pauses for a moment and adds “I remember you said something about liking me...”
No! He remembers the worst part! I try to play it cool but I know it’s far too late for that. I lost my dignity when I was talking to him at that hospital like he was my Sleeping Beauty.
“Well, do you still feel that way?” He’s not laughing anymore. If anything, he sounds sincere, kind of making me feel like I can trust him. Like he won’t make fun of me for that.
“Yes,” I reply, weirdly confident. “The first time I laid my eyes on you, you made my heart skip a beat. And when I woke up at the hospital and saw you, a year later, I realized those feelings have never passed. I would randomly catch myself thinking about you, wondering what you might be doing at that moment, hoping maybe someday our paths would cross again. And I can’t say this is what I imagined it would be like, but they did cross, didn’t they?” I pause, hoping he wants to say something, too. Was he thinking about me, too, sometimes?
I keep looking at him, waiting for his reaction, to ignore it, to laugh it off, anything. But he doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he nods his head and says very seriously “Well, I’m happy to hear that.” He is? He points to the marker in my hand and holds up his broken arm and I write the exact same words that the original note said.
I like you. And then I write down my number.
July 29 (TWO WEEKS LATER)
I chose not to look for any job this year and spend the rest of the summer chilling. No sense of responsibility whatsoever. Feels nice. It’s not like I don’t do anything at all, I do plenty of things. They’re just things that don’t bring me any income. Well, I’ll be regretting that decision later.
The other day I went to visit the homeless lady who had helped me, to properly thank her this time. Her name is Mrs. Mary. She told me that afternoon she was about to have a job interview as a florist since that used to be her passion before her life got a bit… complicated. I offered to pay for her haircut and some new clothes as a thank you, and I’m glad she took my help. It wasn’t much, but after that little makeover, we were both pretty sure she was going to get the job. And she called me today with good news. She was delighted.
I haven’t told my parents about what had really happened, yet, and I’m not sure I will. I just don’t feel the need to do it. And they seem not to care, which works for me because I basically live with Bobbie now. In the last two weeks, I slept in my room maybe three times. He and Nicole made me promise that I would never try to think on my own ever again. I was a little offended, but we all know I’m not the most independent guy.
And when it comes to Nathaniel… well, I don’t know, are we a thing, now? No, I wouldn’t call it a thing, I don’t think we’re there, yet. To be honest, I don’t know where we are, but I think it’s going somewhere. We did have our first kiss, and it was… let’s just say it was quite nice.
He’s not going to Australia this year. He still can’t fully wrap his head around those recent events and he said he wouldn’t have enjoyed it. “Next year will be the year,” he said. Well, I want him to be okay and to make peace with it, cause that’s the only thing we can do, but I’m happy he’s staying. I’m not letting him go anytime soon this time.
Not for the third time.