Since Drake killed Luke, he had been having weird dreams when he went to sleep. Sometimes they didn't even come when he was asleep; they would be daydreams. Most of them would be memories of the event, but some would be what Drake called 'visitations from Luke's ghost'. It sounded crazy when he heard himself say that a ghost was visiting him, but he did know that was basically what was happening,
He would see the same Luke he saw in the movie theater almost every time he slept or let his mind wander. He would see his bleeding eyes, the stab wound in his gut, and he always welcomes Drake into whatever world he is entering. He always expected Luke to somehow kill him in his dream.
Other times, however, he would just dream the entire murder all over again. It played like a movie scene:
He would be on the sidewalk again, darting straight for the track. He could see Luke standing there with his arms crossed just hanging around the bleachers. Luke had been looking down, but he looked up and saw Drake coming toward him. Drake had had the knife in his back pocket. They were both fully prepared to have an argument.
"Well. Drake Newman. We haven't really met, have we?" He held his hand out, way more formal than Drake expected. He hesitantly shook his hand.
"No, we haven't. And I must ask why you hate me so much."
Luke raised an eyebrow, "Hate you? That's a little far, but I definitely don't like you."
"What, because I'm with Trent now?" Deep down, Drake had known that would bug him to an extreme point. He could tell Luke hated being reminded he had dated an obsessive lunatic, nonetheless a male in general. He could tell he wanted to forget that phase he went through.
Luke glared, "I could care less about who Trent dates or doesn't. I don't give a shit about him." And then he grinned a shit-eating grin, "But I do care about getting back at him."
A flash of extreme anger passed through Drake's mind, "What did he ever do to you?"
"He stalked me. He's creepy and almost a psychotic person. I don't know what you see in him, but I know he must've tricked me into liking him."
"Or you're just ashamed that you were in love with him and trying to blame it on someone else."
They glared at each other, huffing. Luke's jaw clenched, "You're wrong about that."
"I don't think I am," Drake smirked. He was going to put him in his place no matter what.
Luke was about two feet away from him with crossed arms, "You must be a fool."
"And you must be a dick."
"Better than having a psychopath as a boyfriend."
Drake still doesn't exactly know why, but as soon as he heard those words come out of Luke's mouth, he saw red. He pushed Luke forward and pulled the knife out of his back pocket, holding it waist-level. Luke's eyes had widened before Drake shoved the knife forward blindly. He dug it into Luke's abdomen; at the time, he thought his intestine. He looked up at Luke's face and it was contorted with terror and pain.
When he pulled the knife out, Luke's grey t-shirt had a red patch of blood slowly growing. Luke's hands reached up to clasp at the bloody area and he stumbled down onto his knees. It actually looked a bit movie-like to Drake. He was surprised that he had actually stabbed him. He himself didn't think he was capable of such a thing until he actually did it. That was pretty much the moment Drake decided that Luke wouldn't live after this moment. The anger overrode any reason he tried to create in his mind.
As he looked down at Luke coughing up blood on the track, on his knees and bent over, he thought of Trent. He thought of their night together, listening to music and kissing again. He thought of how much he would do for him. He had never known why there were couples in movies that say that they would kill someone for each other. Going against the law wasn't something on Drake's bucket list; not until Luke anyway.
He lightly pushed on the side of Luke's head to push him onto the ground. He didn't want to use his hands for anything- If he'd learned anything from crime movies, it's that police could find fingerprints on anything. There was an inhaler, Drake had realized, resting on the ground next to Luke. It must've fallen out during the coughing. He used the bottom of his sleeve to wrap around the inhaler and move it a few dozen feet away. He was already crafting the story in his head. We were racing and he just fell to the ground, he thought. I didn't know he had asthma. That part was technically true; he hadn't known about Luke's asthma until he already stabbed him. There was a band-aid that Drake always kept in his backpack just in case, which he thought could be a sort-of cover-up for a certain amount of time.
This was the point in the dream where he would hear distant sirens, which didn't actually happen in real life. He hadn't heard sirens. The dream would end after the Drake in the dream turned towards the direction of the sirens. Drake would wake up with his mind running in all directions, just like it had been during the murder.
Trent himself had nightmares about Luke. Ever since Drake described to him what his dream in the movie theater was like, he would think about Luke if he were undead. He pictured him as a part of the Zombieland cast, or some monster from Hellraiser. Sometimes he would have to call Drake late at night after he awoke from a dream, and they would compare.
Luke was like the dead third wheel that would never go away. The worst part was that they couldn't even do anything about it.
Drake hated conversations about his mental health with his friends. They cared about his well-being, but he was too stubborn to think he actually needed help for any mental illness.
"Drake, honestly," Michael would start, "if you're seeing things and hallucinating and stuff, I think you should see a therapist. At least someone-"
"No," Drake always replied, "I'm not going to a therapist. They may have a confidentiality rule, but they tell people when you're a danger to society."
"But you're not."
"But I was a danger to someone else. They would have to tell the police. Also, what the hell would I tell them? 'Can you please give me drugs so I don't see the murder victim that I killed? Thanks.'"
Anyone who was with them would sigh. Ryan would ask, "I'm sure your parents would prefer you to see a psychiatrist. What did you tell them?"
Trent took this question after hesitation, "We told them almost everything. Except they think he blacked out and 'lost time'," He looked to Drake, "You may have to fake multiple personality disorder to get out of this with your parents."
Drake nodded, "Trust me, I know. I've even thought about it."
"What about the knife?"
"My mom is trying to convince my aunt to keep it at her house or throw it away. At this point, my family and friends are all in on this murder."
"Woo," Isaiah muttered, definitely laying on the chair. He never did sit straight.
There was a break in the conversation.
Isaiah chimed, "Don't you want to be better though? I doubt you want to see the 'ghastly Luke' you see sometimes."
Charles, definitely eating a bag of chips whilst talking, said, "Or, since we got Isaiah as a law consultant thingamajig, we could get someone who's into psychology stuff."
Trent brought up, "He still wouldn't be able to get medication for anything. Like, I know some stuff is treatable, and none of that stuff is over the counter, it's all prescription."
"Then a therapist seems like the best idea." Isaiah stated like it was the final decision, "You can tell the therapist exactly what you told your parents-"
"No, the therapist would definitely tell the police. I can't have that."
"Then maybe you just don't tell them about the murder. Just say you hallucinate your dead classmate is in the room with you occasionally. Or is it a lot? Oh, shit, hey, Drake, do you see him now?"
"No," He replied, but after he had to look around the room. For all he knew, he could've been right behind him. "I do like that idea, though."
Trent sighed from relief. He would never have a one on one conversation with Drake about it, but he wanted him to get help. Mainly for the hallucinations, but also for any PTSD he could have possibly gotten from killing Luke. It would be kind of funny if Drake had given himself PTSD, though.
Michael exaggeratedly sighed, "Now, can we please get back to rehearsing!"
Trent grinned, "Yeah, yeah drama queen, of course."
Michael glared and rubbed his eye with his middle finger. "C'mon, Katherine." He grinned at Drake and waved him up as Trent stood with him.
He rolled his eyes and stood. "Honestly, guys, I think we've got most of it down."
Michael picked up their scripts, "But have you guys rehearsed the big kiss scene?"
Trent and Drake looked at each other, and Trent couldn't help but almost giggle.
"Yeah, we did once. But I think we have 'Something to Believe in' memorized." Trent spoke for them.
"Let's see it." Michael sat down on the couch.
"What now?" Drake questioned.
"I wanna see you perform it!" He looked way too excited.
Trent saw Drake looking at him and shrugged. "Well, fuck it then."
The guys stood in front of each other and internally resolved to do it just like the performance: All in.
*Song at the Top*
Drake began: "Till the moment I found you
I thought I knew what love was
Now I'm learning what is true
That love will do what it does
The world finds ways to sting you
And then one day decides to bring you
Something to believe in
For even a night
One night may be forever
But that's all right
That's all right
And if you're gone tomorrow
What was ours still will be
I have something to believe in
Now that I know you believed in me"
The Trent started:
"And then we meet
Who knows why
One more stranger on the street
Just someone sweet passing by
An angel come to save me
Who didn't even know she gave me
Something to believe in
For even a day
One day may be forever
But that's okay
That's okay
And if I'm gone tomorrow
What was ours still will be
I have something to believe in
Now that I know you believed in me"
And just like they had each other by the hands, and Trent cupped Drake's face and kissed him. The kiss was passionate, yet not awkward to them, even though they were in front of their friends practically making out.
Charles and Ryan began clapping. Drake pulled away from the kiss smiling and (obviously) blushing. He turned to Michael, "You happy now?"
Michael smiled at them the same way one would stare at a cute puppy, "Very. That was adorable."
Isaiah was grinning and blushing as well, just a bit weird with the display of affection. Any display of affection made Isaiah feel awkward, like he shouldn't be there. "You guys really are adorable."
Drake smiled as he sat down and Trent picked up his script. "Hey, Isaiah, are you dating anyone?"
Isaiah looked at Trent, sort of surprised by the question. "No, I'm not really interested. I usually have more important things to care about. These days, I prefer to worry about if I'm going to jail for knowing about a murder than what to get someone on valentine's day."
He tried to shrug but he couldn't, considering he was in a position where he was laying sideways on an armchair with his legs swung over the arm and leaning against the other one.
"Maybe, the girls aren't up to your certain standards?" Trent raised an eyebrow, while Isaiah furrowed his.
"Are you calling me high maintenance?" Isaiah asked, genuinely confused.
"Nope. Just saying you could trust us if you wanted to tell us if you're attracted to anyone."
Then Isaiah's brain clicked, "Holy shit you just asked me if I was gay."
Trent slightly smiled and held his hand up with his pointer finger and thumb an inch apart, Little bit. "Only because you sit the way you do."
"What the hell does the way I sit have to do with that?"
"Gay people don't sit in chairs right. It's a thing. I thought you do research." Trent chuckled. He looked over at Drake, who was sitting with one leg bent up to his chest and his other one dangling off the chair.
"I rest my case," Trent said, waving his hand at Drake. He rolled his eyes, followed by Isaiah rolling his.
"For the record," Isaiah stated, "I'm not attracted to anyone that's not a fictional character."
"Mood." Michael raised a can of Pepsi in agreement.
Charles giggled while he ate chips, "Nerds."
Ryan scoffed, "What, Charles, are you dating someone? Can you throw something in our face?"
Charles glared at him, "Actually, I think I do. I've been flirting with my chemistry partner, and she hasn't complained about me yet. That's a step up if you ask me."
"If we ask you, you'd say no means yes," Drake muttered. Isaiah released a burst of high-pitched laughter, causing Michael, Ryan, and Trent to start hysterically laughing.
This was how things were most of the time; they were sitting in a group together at one of their houses or at Whataburger and laughed at each other. It was a good way to spend their time.
They tried not to talk about the murder until Vega gave them more information, so they could remain positive most of the time, but they still thought about it when nothing else was going on. There were still things to worry about with the knife, with the police, and with the friends' parents. Only Drake's knew about the truth. He doubted the others would tell their parents, at least not unless Drake gets caught.
Eager to change the subject, Isaiah looked to Drake, "Have you talked to your aunt since she found the knife?"
He shook his head, "I did text her to ask if we could talk, but she just never replied. I don't even know if she saw it."
Then a knock on the door. Another thing that has now been made ominous by recent events.
At this time, they were at Drake's house again. The living room was much bigger and his parents worked much later. Thus, he was the one to answer the door. Much to his fear and relief, it was Jeremy Vega.
"Hey, Officer." He said stiffly, opening the door for him.
"Hey, kid. Hey guys." He waved at the other kids, who were now sitting up. He looked solemn, worried, and tired. If you knew him, you'd know the man never looked worried.
"So, um, there's a pretty big update on the case." He cleared his throat. He looked like doctors did when they were going to tell their patient's families that they were going to die.
"What? What's wrong?" Drake stood next to him, being towered by the cop. Trent went to the cop as well, "What happened?"
"Well, I don't know if it's that big, it depends on if Drake used gloves." He turned to Drake.
Paralyzed, Drake slowly shook his head, causing Trent's face to grow terrified while everyone else was standing up, concerned.
"Well, I'm sorry to say this then." Vega began, "They found the murder weapon."
All of their eyes widened and Drake's legs fell limp. He was numb. Then he found himself being caught by Michael and Trent after falling backward.
"H-how?" He managed to say, holding onto Trent's shoulder so he didn't fall again.
"A package was sent to the station from Oklahoma. Inside there was a knife and a note. The note said 'For the Luke Grass case: I'm not sorry. Here's your knife back." There wasn't an address on the package, just the area code. Do you know who sent it?" He looked to Drake once again.
He slowly nodded, sick to his stomach. He felt tears form in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall. Wiping them away, he collapsed on the couch and ran his hand through his blond hair.
"What are we gonna do?" Trent almost whispered to Drake, sitting next to him and rubbing his back.
"Well, Thelma, I think we may just be royally fucked."
Isaiah sat next to him on his other side, "Are you sure you didn't wipe the fingerprints off?"
Drake tapped his foot for a second, then raised his head. He began giggling, oddly hysterical. Isaiah looked at Trent and the other guys, concerned and slightly scared.
"I just realized-" He tried to control himself from laughing any more, but it looked difficult, "I just realized I told my cousin to wipe it down with a towel. I gave him exact instructions. Holy shit I may have just gotten my cousin or aunt in trouble for murder." He erupted into another fit of giggles; his head fell onto Trent's shoulder.
"I mean-" Isaiah reluctantly started, "at least he's optimistic?"
(Anyone get the title of the chapter reference? To Seven? With Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman? Meh, whatever...)