"C'mon, Scar. It's time to go." Derek's soft voice came from the doorway. Still, I stood there, unmoving in front of the full-length mirror. I looked dead. I felt dead.
"We're gonna miss it." Derek urged. Max was going to be there. I hadn't faced him since Charlie's death. I was scared to look at him. Scared to see him and have my brain see Charlie.
This was the hardest thing I'd ever have to do...
I finally tore my eyes away from me in a black dress with my hair curled. Derek looked at me with sad eyes. I stepped up to him, and he opened the door for me to leave the dorm room. I gingerly stepped out, Derek began to take my arm, but I wrenched away from him. He looked at me once then nodded.
We walked soundlessly down the hallway. Each step taking me closer to him. God, I was terrified. Was I actually going to see Charlie? See his body? I stopped dead in my tracks and slapped my hand over my mouth. I turned and ran back into my dorm, throwing open the bathroom door and throwing up into the toilet.
Derek burst into the room, grasping the doorway as he laid his anxious eyes on me. I looked at him pathetically.
"Derek, I can't do this." I whimpered. He let out a sigh and approached me, crouching down to my height. Looking me in the eyes, he reached across the toilet seat and flushed my vomit away.
"You can... and you will." He tried to be reassuring but ended up sounding stern. He stood up, extending out his hands. "C'mon." I grabbed his hands with my damp ones and hoisted myself up.
* * *
My eyes scanned the saddened crowd around us. A woman came around and passed me a small flag on a stick, she continued to hand them out to the crying people around us. I opened my hand, looking down at it. Then let it roll out of my hand and clatter quietly to the floor. Squeezing my fist shut tight, I grabbed Derek's arm for support.
"Quiet please," A soft, male voice came over a microphone somewhere in the airplane hangar. "Service will begin." A hush came over the crowd as sad classical music floated through the air. A soft hiss caught our attention as a ramp from one of the planes opened up.
Soon after, descended the caskets, troops on either side of them. Each black coffin had a flag draped over the entirety of it. One after another, they rolled out and were lined up tightly against the wall. That's when I noticed a man on a ladder waiting along that same wall holding something in his hands. There were several boxes on the ground next to him.
"Henrietta Kane." The micro-phoned voice rang out. The man stepped up on the ladder and hung up a picture on the wall above the caskets.
"Marcus Jeffords." The older man hung another.
"Joshua Wilson." One after another, a name was read out, and a picture was hung. Would Charlie have one?
The voice seemed to fade out as I watched people begin to walk up to the closed caskets and weep, touching the pictures on the wall and being ushered off.
Twenty minutes or so went by, the names lulling on. I was still clutched onto Derek's arm, zoned out watching person after person look over the caskets. It didn't seem they were going in any kind of order. I was almost afraid to hear his name. I wanted to leave. I didn't want to be here. This wasn't right. Charlie wasn't supposed to be among them.
It wasn't right... this isn't right.
I turned toward the door, ready to leave. I was not going to be this person.
"Charlie Bradford-Kent." The voice came. I instantly felt cold, my stomach dropped, and so did I. With a gasp, my knees buckled; but before I could fall, Derek turned and gripped me hard against him.
He wasn't going to let me fall. He'd never let me fall.
My breath shuddered as I saw them hang up his picture. Derek walked me over to his casket. I buried my face into his chest, not wanting to look at it, knowing he was in there.
"You'll regret this if you don't say goodbye." He whispered into my hair. Sniffling, I turned my head to look at the black box, there was a gold plate on the end of it with his name etched. Tears escaped my red eyes, raw from crying so much. I was surprised I had any liquid left to cry after these last 72 hours. I looked at his picture weakly.
He was standing in front of an American flag, two fingers to his brow with a backward hat and a brown t-shirt. He looked straight into the camera, a tiny close-mouthed smile on his face.
I began to shake, a sob racking my frail body. I was weak, I couldn't eat or sleep, just cry.
"Shhh..." Derek stroked my hair, hugging me tightly to stop my shudders. I couldn't hold it in anymore, I let out a strangled cry, collapsing against Derek.
"Move along, please." A man touched Derek's shoulder gently, ushering us down the line.
"Cheyanne Guthrie." The monotone voice continued on.
I wanted to see him again. This couldn't be the last time. It just couldn't. When I finally looked up, there stood Max. He was dressed in a black button-up, with dress shoes and trousers. He stood alone at the back of the crowd looking on. Silent tears running down his face.
His likeness to Charlie struck me in a way that it never had. Like a sledgehammer to my stomach. I couldn't breathe. Before I knew it, I was running towards him, leaping into his arms. Max took a step back and looked at me, his face contorted in sadness. In grief. Then he embraced me hard, and we both cried. We had to have been there for at least 30 more names.
I pretended he was Charlie.
God, I wanted him to be Charlie so bad. So bad...
