Homecoming Shadows

Chapter Seventy: The Sunrise of Grief and Hope

Ruby

I laid in the dimly lit motel room, wrapped in the warmth of the bed, holding Dan tightly as he peacefully slept. It was in these moments that I felt a sense of purpose, knowing that my presence could bring him solace and lull him into a peaceful slumber. He had always struggled with falling asleep, often taking hours to find rest, but with me by his side, it took mere minutes.

In the midst of our blissful tranquility, the sudden buzz of my phone broke the silence. Startled, I extended my arm to reach for it, reluctantly letting go of my partner's comforting embrace. I squinted, bewildered by the late-night call from Cay. It was two in the morning, and I could only wonder why he was attempting to reach me at such an hour.

"Hello?" I answered in a hushed tone, careful not to disturb Dan's sleep. There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Cay finally spoke.

"...Ruby," he uttered my name, his voice tinged with an odd mixture of sadness and urgency. "Adela just called me."

Confusion swirled within me as I struggled to recall who Adela was. And before I could form coherent thoughts, Cay delivered a devastating blow. "Daria is dead."

The weight of his words settled heavily on my chest, making it difficult to breathe. "...No," I whispered, desperately attempting to rationalize the news. "We saw her just yesterday at the cabin. Let me call her. She can't be..." My voice trailed off, emotions gripping me tightly.

Cay's voice remained resolute as he attempted to convey the harsh reality. "No, Ruby. Listen to me. She won't pick up. Dari... has died. She is no longer with us."

I frantically searched for her number, my fingers trembling with fear and disbelief. But before I could dial, reality crashed over me like a tidal wave, rendering me paralyzed on the bed. Dan had awakened, sensing my distress, and silently sat up beside me.

Stuttering, tears streaming down my face, I pleaded with Cay, "What happened to her? Please, tell me." I longed for answers, to understand the tragic fate that had befallen her.

Cay's voice faltered for a moment before he responded, "She was found at her apartment a few hours ago. Drug-induced suffocation. Adela discovered her lifeless body."

The room spun around me, and I struggled to comprehend the heart-wrenching news. Dari, our vibrant and spirited friend, taken too soon in such a horrific manner. My heart shattered into a million pieces, and though I was devastated, I knew that Cay must be enduring a pain beyond measure. She had been his confidante for years, and I yearned to relieve his burden... Although, I knew, I couldn't.

With tears streaming down my face, I turned to Dan, who instantly enveloped me in a warm embrace, providing solace in the face of such a profound loss.

...

Adela sobbed quietly, her tears falling onto the scratched surface of the Moonwalk diner's table. We had been sitting there for what felt like hours, unable to sleep after receiving the devastating news of Dari's demise. The clock showed three in the morning, a haunting reminder of the ungodly hour at which our world had shattered.

April and Ned had arrived later, their faces etched with concern. April's worried glances in my direction went unnoticed, a silent acknowledgment that now was not the time nor place for explanations or apologies. We all needed to come to terms with our collective loss first.

I had convinced Dan to stay back at our motel room. I didn't want to burden him further with the weight of our grief, even though he genuinely cared. This moment belonged to Dari's friends, and in the midst of my sorrow, I couldn't help but question where I stood among them—were we truly friends after all these years, or was that label reserved for Cay and Adela?

Cay, with his pale face blending seamlessly with his dark, ashy hair, sat beside me. His black hoodie concealed his eyes as he stared blankly into the mug of untouched coffee. I moved closer, my hand inching towards his, desperate to offer some form of comfort. He flinched at our first touch but gradually relaxed, accepting the solace that came with our connection.

"...I'm so sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible amidst the backdrop of Adela's heart-wrenching sobs and April's attempts to console her. Ned sat motionless, fixated on a spot beyond our table, lost in his own thoughts. Cay's gaze shifted towards the window, revealing only darkness and the reflection of his vacant stare.

In that moment, the weight of our collective grief seemed unbearable, threatening to consume us entirely. But then, something unexpected happened. Cay's fingers found their way between mine, intertwining with a warmth that eased the ache in my heart. It was a bittersweet reminder that amidst the tragedy, we still had each other.

The Moonwalk diner became a sanctuary of shared pain and healing, a place where friendships transcended labels.

As the last patrons of the diner trickled out, the first hints of sunrise painted the sky in shades of pink and orange. April, unable to bear leaving devastated Adela alone in her grief, gently guided her towards her car. I watched from a distance as Ned prepared to drive them to April's grand manor. Adela had just lost someone dear to her, and the heaviness of her sorrow was palpable. I understood that pain all too well, but there was a difference - I have always had a glimmer of hope that my loved one was still alive...

"Wait, Cay!" I called out to him, my voice echoing through the empty parking lot. He turned towards me slowly, his expression devoid of any discernible emotions. Weariness was etched into his features. His eyes met mine, searching for something.

"Do you want me to take you to the motel?" he enquired, his voice barely audible.

I shook my head, folding arms around myself against the slight chill in the air.

"No, not that... I was hoping we could talk. Alone."

Cay's mouth twitched, a fleeting smile that seemed out of place on his face.

"...As you wish," he muttered, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment before he turned and motioned for me to get into his car. We both knew where we needed to go - a place that held a lifetime of memories.

We drove in silence towards the woods, each lost in our own thoughts. When we were children and needed solace or a moment of respite, we sought refuge at the forest bridge. A quiet, hidden spot where time seemed to stand still. It was a place where we whispered secrets and dreams, where we shared laughter and tears as the world moved on.

As we arrived, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor. The bridge stood tall and sturdy, a symbol of our shared history. I stepped out of the car, my heart heavy with the weight of grief and longing.

Cay joined me, the lines of fatigue etching deeper into his face. We stood side by side, staring at the bridge that held so many memories. The air was filled with an unspoken understanding - a connection forged through years of shared experiences.

"I miss the days when we believed in miracles," I murmured, breaking the silence.

Cay's gaze softened. "Yes," he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of longing and resignation. "But sometimes, hope can be a double-edged sword... You know, it keeps us going, yet it also prolongs the ache of loss."

A tear slipped down my cheek, mirroring the glistening dew on the grass. The pain in his eyes mirrored my own.

We stood there, on the forest bridge, basking in the glow of the new sunrise.

...

'In the wake of sorrow's heavy hand
The world may seem a desolate land
But like the sun, our grief will rise
And shine once more with open eyes

The sun will rise, a golden glow
And in its light, our spirits grow
For though our hearts may ache and grieve
The love we shared, will always live...'

- Miles Prescott