Chapter 28—The Funeral
It was cold. So much had happened since that Friday night. I'll admit, some good, but so much lost. I was still struggling to get over the fact that I had killed my very own mother. I actually killed her.
It was early. Before sunrise. Five, maybe four. I had specifically asked that it be before sunlight. Had it been day, then I might have felt like this was my happily ever after. It was not. It was anything but. I didn't want anybody to die because of me.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Sarah. She held her baby in her other arm. The little girl was the reason that it had taken so long. My mother was almost sorted with, when Sarah went into labour. That but a spin on things, or so I'm told. That morning was dreadful. In one end of the hospital Alex was dying and in the other Sarah was giving birth to his daughter. It tore me up inside to know that not only would he not be there for the birth, or the child's life at all. And it was all my fault.
Sarah gave me a small smile. I smiled back, feeling twice as sorry for her as she should have been for me. The death had brought us closer. I had spent every second I could by Alex's side, but when Sarah got closer she sent out for me to come. I still didn't see the reason why. In fact, it killed me to leave Alex's side, but, I was sure, it killed him to be so far away from her. So, I did. For Alex. In that lonely morning Sarah and I became closer than I had ever been to a girl—ironically—before.
She held out the baby so that I could see her. She had wrapped her up in a little white blanket to keep her warm in the cold morning air. She was an adorable little thing, really. Her little arms flailed when she saw me, and Sarah tucked them back into the blanket to keep them warm.
She would be a good mum. She was strong, now. She would stay at ours with the baby, living in Alex's room, though. She'd dress her little girl up, sing her songs, help her with her homework. Little by little she had grown more responsible over the pregnancy, but after the night my mother died, well, she dropped her act of careless flirting and knuckled down to look after her baby. I admired her for doing so.
At least, I thought, my mother wouldn't come after her. The baby, I mean. My greatest fear was that, once done with me, my mother would have found another little girl to terrorise. No girl was safe. But they all were now. My mother was dead.
I killed her.
"You alright?" a voice said quietly from behind my back. I would never forget that voice. William's voice. He had barely slept since I shot my mother. Not in mourning. For me. He had stayed by my side almost solidly for a week now. He took the place of Alex and himself, and refused to admit he was suffering from it. Though the dark circles under his eyes made me even feel guiltier than I was for murdering my own mother. I would never deny that he was the best boyfriend a girl could ask for. And I was lucky to have him. Even if I wasn't a lucky person.
"Yeah," I smiled. It wasn't exactly a forced smile, but I was hardly laughing my head off. I guess, it was the thought that he cared that made me smile, rather than because I was happy.
"She's gone now," he reminded me, quietly, a smile of his own hesitating at the corners of his mouth. "You don't have to be afraid anymore." He pulled me into a hug. I didn't know if it was for cold or for comfort, but right at that moment, it was just what I needed. Just what Alex would do.
But I killed her, I wanted to whisper. I didn't though. I knew what William thought about that. He said it wasn't my fault. I was deluded at the time, he said, and natural instinct took over. Add up the amount of times she'd tried to kill me and I was innocent. Beyond innocent, he says. It wasn't my fault that I was successful. I smiled at the memory. He had taken it so seriously that he barely realised what he was saying.
"You're gonna die old, Sophie," he whispered. I could fell his Adams apple moving by cheek. It was as if he had a lump in throat. "You're gonna see the world, have kids, be a great mum, tell the world about your father and have the happily ever after you deserve, you hear me?" He seemed even closer to tears now, as he ran his fingers through my hair. I never thought about how my mother getting so close might have affected him. "You're headed for great things, Sophie Carter. I can feel it." And with those few words, he gave me something I realised I never really had. A dream. I never planned to do anything but die by the hands of my mother. I had always assumed that it was the way I would go. I thought that dreams would only make it harder to leave.
But now was different. I did want to see the world. I did want to have kids, and raise them well, and sing them to sleep, and kiss them goodnight. I did want to do great things. And I would. I could feel it too.
I pulled out of the hug to look at him. His eyes—blue eyes—were filled with truth. He believed in me. And before I knew what I was doing I kissed him, like it was the first time, with my fingers running through his soft, brown curls. Just as I had always wanted to. William ended the kiss when he saw the coffin being brought to the graveyard.
Nobody cried. Not even me. It was a young death, but tears would do nothing. I felt William squeeze my hand as soil was slowly cast over the coffin. I filled my face with no expression, not sadness, nor happiness, nor anger. I just watched emptily.
Eventually the body was buried. The few people that attended the funeral started to drift to their cars, but I stayed there, watching. Was this really the end? The end of an age. The Sophie that I used to be. Happy Sophie, despite what had been forced through.
I stood there for a long time. At first William stood there with me, but I guess he figured I needed a moment alone, as he soon walked over the car park to wait for me. After a while even the cars left. I didn't know after how much time that was, but it was a long time. By the time they left I couldn't feel my toes, and I stood there for a long time after that.
"It's cold," he said. Not William. Alex. He was supposed to be on bed-rest.
"I know. I just can't believe she's finally dead," I admitted sheepishly. She had been after me for as long as I could remember. I'd always been terrified when I thought I'd caught her in the corner of my eye. Or even a shadow.
"Relax. This is the best thing that's ever happened to you," he smiled. And, I guess it was. In fact, despite that Friday night, it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Sarah had finally had the baby, William had proved to be the best guy a girl could ask for, my mother was out of my life, and Alex lived.
The baby—that's what kept him alive. What my mother did to him only put him in a coma, but even the doctors thought he was going to die. They didn't expect him to wake up. But when the baby was born, at twenty-three past ten, so was Alex. Reborn from death or simply woken, he lived.
And when he woke up, he chose the baby's name with his first word. The nurse came running from one end of the hospital to the other to come and tell me he was awake, and Sarah to name the baby. But when she got there the baby was born. A little girl. Six pounds, five ounces.
Baby Hope.
And so, that is the end of the first story I have ever completed. Ever. I thank you for reading it to the end. And beg that, even if you didn't review once through reading it, you review just this once now. All in all I have to say, pretty damn good for a 13-yea-old.