Song: One Day More from Les Miserables
***
The lights are blinding.
The applause is deafening.
The smiles are brighter than the sun.
But the grief still pangs in my chest like a knife slowly churning.
My parents must have thought I was coming here with my sister. They haven't seen her in months. They must be so excited to have everyone together again.
So how do I explain to them that she's gone? That she's never coming back?
Everyone's shouting thank yous, trying to shake my hand. Pat my shoulder. They're treating me like a hero, like I just saved the world.
But did I save the world? Am I a hero? No, not at all.
I only did what I thought any person would do. I didn't hunt, not because I wanted to be the first to not do so. I didn't do it for fame and glory; I don't want fame and glory. I didn't hunt because it was wrong. It was sick. It was inhumane.
And yet, people are here thanking me for doing what I thought any sane person would do.
I was wrong.
And I still killed people. I'm not an innocent person. I took lives. I ruined families.
I limp through the crowd, following the woman leading Ally and I through a set of double doors into a locker room. The room is cold, but as the doors close behind us the noise dies down a bit, to my relief.
Three people sit on a bench before me. Two with dark hair on the left, one with light, all three with towels draped over their shoulders.
Ally steps forward beside me. "Mom?" she whispers, hurrying forward.
The two on the left look up, the brightness from their eyes slowly dissipating as they see there's only one person in front of them.
"Mom. . . Dad. . . I'm so sorry," I choke. My parents jump up, pulling me into a hug. "It's my fault. She's gone and it's all my fault. She got shot, I wasn't fast enough-"
I don't try to hide the tears anymore. I bury my face in the soft towels on their shoulders, heaving heavy sobs. I don't care who sees or hears anymore.
My parents say nothing for a moment, just holding me. "It's not your fault, son," my dad says.
I take a deep breath, stepping back and wiping my eyes. "She wanted," I hesitate, "she wanted me to tell you that she loves you both."
My mom smiles sadly, fighting back tears. "And we'll always love her," she says. "And you too."
I smile, tight lipped. "Are, um, are you guys okay?" I ask, clearing my throat.
"We're fine, sweetie," my mom says. "The people here broke into the facility we were being held in and rescued us, just like they did with you."
My dad places a heavy hand on my shoulder. "We heard about everything you've done, too. And we're so proud of you."
Grinning, I softly sing, "I've wasted time, I've wasted me. . ."
Suddenly, my mom gasps. "Did we miss your show?" she asks, her eyes growing wide.
"Yeah, but I think we have bigger things to worry about," I chuckle half heartedly. "Besides, it'll be on DVD. Opening night, anyway. I think they canceled the other shows."
