Shattered

24: The Shattered Glass

Author's Note: 

Here it is, the final chapter. Nothing after this. No sequel. (So don't get your hopes up.) Just this. I think this is a beautiful chapter. It has been very healing to me. A lot of the topics that came up in this book hit very close to home, and it has been an incredible experience writing this book. It started out with a simple idea that changed into something more beautiful than I could have imagined. This book isn't perfect, but I am proud of the way I wrote it, and in what little time I wrote it. I tied up all the loose ends, and everything is resolved. It's over. And I'm exceptionally happy that I completed this wonderful work of fiction.

So here, at 12:15 AM on the nineteenth day of March in the year of 2012, I present to you, the final chapter of Shattered.

  It was early December, and the snow was shoveled into dirty piles in the side yards in the city of Cleveland. The fresh, frosty atmosphere was welcome to the people, who had grown tired of the muggy autumn. Around the city, people seemed to be happy.

  Perhaps the happiest of them all was a young boy named Bahlim. He paced back and forth anxiously in the living room of Mrs. Thompson's apartment. It was perhaps the most important day of his life, and also the most nerve-wracking. He had dreamed of it since he had first come to cleveland, but since it arrived he was feeling regretful.

  The worst part about being adopted, was that he was going to have to leave his best friend. He had grown so close to Bradley Worthington, that he almost considered him a father. They shared a special relationship that could only be defined when people saw them together. It was an unlikely brotherhood that they shared.

  "Quit pacing," said Mrs. Thompson, as she entered the room, peering through her horn-rimmed glasses.

  Bahlim gulped, and reluctantly sat on the edge of the sofa. 

  "Are you all packed?" she asked of the boy; sitting down in front of the computer. Her tone indicated what little interest she had in what was going on, and she did not even hear when he responded with an exhausted "Yes."

  As the old woman's fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard, Bahlim quietly stood and walked toward her.

  "Mrs. Thompson? If I could, could I go and see Mr. Worthington?" he asked, rocking back and forth on his heels and toes.

  Mrs. Thompson's wrinkled face remained still for a moment, with her eyes fixated on the computer screen. "Yes," she said firmly.

  Bahlim bolted toward the door, and closed it loudly behind him. He skipped off down the hallway, his feet thumping quietly on the beautiful red carpeting. Excitedly, he slid to a stop in front of the steel elevator, and clicked the up button with his finger, as his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth.

  Tapping his foot with impatience, Bahlim waited a few minutes before the large doors opened, revealing an empty elevator. He stepped into it, a look of confusion on his face, before he remembered it was some sort of Holiday, and the elevator man was off duty. 

  Feeling incredibly grown-up, he pressed the button that would take him to the penthouse, and jumped around gleefully, just because he could. Since Mrs. Thompson's apartment was on the second floor, it was a long and pleasurable trip, until at last, out of breath, he stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway.

  After knocking eagerly, the door was opened, and Bradley smiled, inviting him into the apartment.

  "It's a big day," said Bradley, closing the door, as Bahlim entered. "How are you feeling?"

  "Quite excellent, but also sad," said Bahlim, his smile fading into solemnity. "I'm going to miss a lot about Cleveland."

  Bradley bent down, becoming eye-level with the boy. "You're going to love Virginia," he said kindly. "It's a really cool place."