Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

IX - The Day I Died (1 of 2)

--XIII--

Dark.

I couldn't move. I couldn't feel. But I knew I was still there sinking in the middle of the pool.

How long has it been? One? Two? Ten long minutes?

I couldn't really tell.

Every agonizing minute was dampening what little sliver of hope was left in me. Sadness filled my consciousness. And hopelessness. Until I realized that I couldn't cry either.

Why won't anyone see me? Why won't anyone save me? Carter? Lindsay?

Vincent?! You said you would come back.

My mind cried out, called out to them incessantly. But no one seemed to have heard me. I repeated their names over and over again. But my memory was starting to fail me. One by one, the faces, the memories drifted far away from me, somewhere I couldn't seem to reach them.

I was still sinking with nothing to see but black nothingness. There was no hope. The seconds kept ticking and I knew that with each passing one, the chance of me being saved was getting close to nothing.

I was stuck there in silence until my body finally floated to the surface. That would mean only one thing. I was dead.

I caught distant voices though I could not remember whose.

"Too late—"

"—CPR!"

"No use—"

"No! It can't be!"

The voice choked a cry, a little bit clearer now.

Wait. I know that voice. I remember that voice. What's his name?

The memories now were getting darker, harder to see. It was even harder remembering his face, but once I did—the blond hair, the deep blue eyes, the insecure smile, the thick Wayfarer glasses— the name came back to me.

Carter!

My unheard voice kept calling even though I knew they would never hear me.

"—couldn't save her."

"—not your fault."

Another familiar voice. I thought I heard her voice before.

Lindsay!

She was okay. It made me glad. But I couldn't smile. I couldn't laugh with her. Not anymore. I didn't even have the chance to say how sorry I was.

But I'm here! I'm still here, I protested.

No. I'm dead. Another part of me argued.

So it was true that even when one dies, hearing would be the last sense to go.

There was another voice, clearer than all the others and not distant at all as though he was speaking right to my ears.

"Let me see her!" The voice seemed to be struggling, like he was being restrained by other people. "I can still—" he started to say before his presence reached closer to me.

I could feel him unlike the other voices.

He touched my cheek where I recalled having a tiny gash from the explosion. He touched my hand.

I wanted to see him but my eyes wouldn't open. My consciousness struggled to break free from whatever prevented me from moving but it seemed impossible. Hopelessness overwhelmed me.