Life Support #wattys2015

Chapter 5: Isaac

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Isaac’s sister, Nellie, commented.

He glared at her. She still held the gun in her hand, but it was loose now; she had given up. Her long finger was poised on the trigger, but if she twitched, it would only hurt their wooden floor.

Isaac didn’t rebut her comment, only continued to stare at the spot where the dead girl had been. He wanted to call out to her, but he didn’t even know her name. He wished he did. He hadn’t known her long, but he had to thank her. He also wanted to know who she was, how she died, what her favorite color was—he’d ignored her before, and he needed to make up for that behavior.

“If there’s one thing I learned about the dead, it’s that they don’t come back,” Nellie noted, her chin up and caramel eyes meeting his. Her posture screamed challenge, with her shoulders back and chest puffed out. 

In a brotherly way, he took the bait. “I came back.”

“For how long? A minute? An hour? Then you’re gone again for years,” she tossed her black hair over her shoulder, “That doesn’t count.” She glanced down, shoulders sagging, as if the fury of her own words hurt her as more than it hurt him. Isaac tried not to look at the bags under her eyes or the way she was always bouncing her knee. He tapped his own fingers on the counter, then stopped, the noise irritating even him.

He got up and walked to the spot the girl had been. There wasn’t any indication that her feet had ever touched the floor. He sighed, looking at his sister, but didn’t say anything. What was there to say? She glanced at him, too, and their looks—their slightly raised eyebrows, drawn lips, the glimmers in their eyes—communicated all they needed to know. I’m sorry, Isaac’s look said. Nellie’s look echoed it.

“Please—“ Isaac started, then stopped. He wrapped his hands around his sister’s wrist and freed the gun from her hand. She let him, watching. He clicked the safety on and put the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

“I wasn’t actually going to do it,” she whispered.

“I think—you -- you would’ve, if she hadn’t talked you down. I hurt you that bad, huh?”

She shrugged, “But that girl’s right. I do want to see the world,” her knee stopped bouncing for a moment, “I want to see everything you didn’t get to. I’ll—I’ll show you pictures, when I get there.”

He let out a bark of laughter. Pictures. They seemed so mundane, so out of place. They were so sentimental, so…alive. “Yeah?” Isaac sighed, feeling the weight of what the girl did for him. He pushed himself up.

 “You’re going to go see if you can help that girl, aren’t you?”

“Well,” he smirked, “She did save your life. What do you think?” She rolled her eyes and crossed the messy kitchen without another word, going to her room. He imagined the shattered picture frames—the ones of him and her, when they had been younger—and the broken toys he had given her. The fragments of memory littered her pristine floor, and he hoped she didn’t cut herself on the glass.

 She didn’t forgive him—he wasn’t stupid enough to think that—but maybe she could, once he left.

Isaac bent down and picked up the coin that the girl had dropped. It felt weightier than it looked, made of solid gold. His family would do anything for any one of these coins. Still, it wasn’t Isaac’s to give away. He slid it into his pocket, wishing he could press it into this mother’s hand.  

He waited in the house until he heard the door open. Isaac hid in the shadows, unsure of his visibility. His mother walked through the door, her long black hair tied up and her forehead gleaming with sweat from a stressful day at work. Her skin looked paler than usual. “Nellie?” she called, “Dinner’s here!” It was only then that Isaac noticed the bag of fast food in her hand. He rested his head against the wall for a second, the gravity of what he did falling onto his shoulders.