Liminal Space | A Stardew Valley FanFiction

Chapter 9 - Then

They never really warn you what it feels like to lose someone in real time. The self help books and support groups and How to Deal with Loss articles always skip the actual losing, their advice only applicable once the bucket has been kicked. There's no It's Three AM and I'm Sitting in a Cold, Dark Hospital Lobby Awaiting the Inevitable forum, though I could've sure as hell used one.

Sebastian sat beside me. This was no surprise. Our fates seemed to be intertwined somehow—two lines that intersected again and again until they started to blur into one, leaving behind sparse evidence that they were ever separate to begin with. More than friends, less than lovers.

We wished we could explain to each other, with complete certainty, what was happening. Robin had been injured—the details were fuzzy—and she was undergoing emergency surgery on her knee. Something had happened at the farm—I saw the panic in my grandfather's eyes and watched as he tried to conceal it, slightly slurring his words when suggesting a walk to the clinic. He and Harvey whispered to one another before he was rushed back; I was starting to fear that Harvey knew something I didn't—something critical—as he scurried back and forth between the rooms and frantically scribbled shaky notes onto his clipboard. I could hear faint beeps that would speed up and slow periodically, and eventually Harvey's movements began to mirror them. It was like the Pavlov Effect, I said to myself, attempting to recount Ms. Stevens psychology lecture—there was an exam in the morning. The Pavlov Effect is a theory of associative learning. Dogs learned to recognize dinnertime by the sound of their food being poured, rather than by the smell of the food itself. Harvey began to recognize the sound of disaster by the pace of the beeps, rather than actually knowing what the hell was going on.

"How are you feeling?" Seb asked gently.

"Is it crazy that I'm sitting here stressing about tomorrow's psych test?"

"It's human nature to rely on routine during times of crisis. It provides one with a comforting sense of normalcy, even if it's false."

"That was in yesterday's lecture."

"And you thought we'd never need this knowledge in real life."

I silently stood by that remark. I didn't need to know why I was so selfishly thinking about a test that barely mattered while I waited for the other shoe to drop. I wanted to cry—I could feel in my bones that tonight was the end—but instead, I was stoic, emotionless. It was like my body knew that all there was to do was wait.

"Sebastian," Harvey called, wiping sweat off of his forehead and clearing his throat. "Robin is in recovery; I've wheeled her into Room 1, right across the hall from Randall. She is likely still asleep, but you are welcome to go see her now. Callie, on the other hand—" he paused. "—would you mind staying to chat for just a moment?"

My breath caught in my throat as Sebastian gave me a sympathetic look, disappearing behind the wall of curtains separating the recovery room from the lobby. "What's up?" I asked.

"Randall is—well, he—he's not doing well, Callie." Harvey spoke fast, his voice thick. "He suffered from a silent stroke, about five days ago, I'd estimate. Since symptoms didn't present themselves at the time, nobody—not even him—knew something to be wrong. This evening, he had another stroke, this time, it was...loud. We caught it early enough to identify it, but the damage sustained, however—"

His words fell on deaf ears; I knew what he was going to say and I didn't want to hear it, hearing it made it real. Preparing for the worst case scenario was always a formality—you did it in hopes of eventually being relieved, not correct. It wasn't supposed to end like this, not for him. He did everything right. He did everything right and more.

He was the only family I had left.

"Callie," Harvey said urgently. "Callie. I know this is a lot, and it is so sudden, but I need you to stay with me. He doesn't have much time left, and I want you to be able to—"

"Harvey," Sebastian's voice shook from behind us as his footsteps thundered into the room. "Harvey, please, I think something is wrong."

In the distance, I could hear the flatline.

Harvey took off running, Sebastian on his heels. I felt like a child again, begging to be heard, begging to know what the grim faces and tall figures were so intently whispering about while I played with dolls on the hospital floor.

"Seb," I called, chasing after him. "Seb, tell me it's not true."

He didn't answer, and the tears were starting to fall now, cascading from my eyes like the first storm after a drought. I followed them into the room and felt my every limb freeze at the sight of him; he was pale, paler than a man who spent every waking moment in the sun could ever possibly be.

"No," I sobbed, my body collapsing onto the floor. "Seb, tell me it isn't true. Seb, please, tell me."

He sank to his knees and held me as I cried, and he cried, too. Salt water flowed into my mouth and splattered in pathetic puddles on the floor, and once again, him and I were indistinguishable from one another.

It is psychologically proven that the brain so deeply yearns to heal from trauma that it opts to forget it altogether. For years, I wished to forget. I cursed Ms. Stevens's psychology lesson for not working on me. I cursed my brain for remembering my grandfather in that state; for making me see it when I closed my eyes; for making me relive every time I fell asleep. His death showed me how full of resentment I was—I was anger in the form of a human body, red hot and unforgiving.

Lewis was the first to arrive that night, his cheeks blotchy and eyes bloodshot before his left foot was inside of the clinic. I stood by the door for hours, my ear pressed against the hardwood, listening as he spoke to him. I cried along with him, I listened to the memories, I heard the bitterness in his voice. Seb listened, too.

I'd almost fallen asleep, slumped partially against Sebastian with my back pressed against the wall, when I heard it.

"She's only sixteen, Randall. She can't even drive yet...How's she meant to live without you?"

It hit me like a truck, though I thought it had hit me like a truck a thousand times already. He was really gone.

"I didn't get to say goodbye," I sniffled, my head still buried in Sebastian's chest. "He died alone."

"He wasn't alone," Seb whispered.

"What?" I asked, sitting up, scrubbing the tears out of my eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I was in there, Cal," he sighed. "He—he called me in when I walked past. I think he must've known."

"What did he say?" I asked. He didn't reply, and I could feel him trying to stifle a sob. "What did he say?" I reiterated.

"He said goodbye," he whimpered, stroking my hair. I could hear the sadness in his voice. "He said goodbye, and that he loved you."