My whole body had lit aflame. There was no controlling my actions or feelings anymore. Nothing was quiet, the wind had picked up within my room and the temperature plummeted dangerously. My body racked with nerves or the cold, I wasn't sure.
Maybe the stare that Kingsley had set upon me was what caused the trembling. I couldn't describe it. His facial expression didn't stop changing, not even for a moment. Blanketed by confusion, anger, hurt; his face was a canvas for the crimes I had committed.
"You killed me?" His voice broke. Kingsley stood from his place at the end of my bed and I took an effective step back. I was cowering before him, my heart lodged in my throat.
"I- I could have stopped it. And- and i-...it's all my fault," I sobbed, hugging myself close.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He whispered.
"I thought that if we got enough evidence to convict s-someone else then it would trick Death. I-I didn't want it to be true," I stuttered pathetically. I only ever got this vulnerable when it came to Kingsley.
"Why would you do this to me, Quincy!" He demanded, his voice was loud and echoed around the room. He wasn't a boy anymore while glowing eerily bright before me.
"It was Charlie! He stabbed you," I began. I glanced down at the writing on my wrist, Alfred Kingsley. This was real. I couldn't believe I was ratting him out. "He- he's ill, Kingsley. He said that he thought you were trying to steal stuff from him, he was high and paranoid and so, so ill."
He furrowed his eyebrows while frowning deeply. "Then you didn't kill me?" He asked softly. Kingsley was confused, so was I.
"It was New Year's Eve, at Charlie's party. I- I didn't want to be downstairs anymore so I stumbled my way to one of the house's many bedrooms. I didn't mean to pick that one, I wish I didn't. But I did and you were there - so was Charlie. He looked so bad. His eyes were bright red, hair all over the place, clothes ripped up and the bags under his eyes were worse than mine. As soon as I opened the door, he jumped up and threw it closed behind me, locking us all in. I didn't know what was going on but then I looked down and saw blood all over him and he was frantic," I explained. My voice was foreign as I stumbled over the words but Kingsley listened, his light growing darker with every confession.
"When he saw me, it was like he clicked back to his normal self. He was so scared, said something about how they told him to do it and he couldn't look back at your body. He begged me not to tell anyone and said that because he was my brother, we were all each other had. H-he told me that I couldn't trust my mum and that my dad wasn't even my real dad and that I only had Charlie left in my life. And I believed him."
Kingsley took a sharp intake of air and stepped forward towards me. I stepped back again. I couldn't touch him, not now. Not when my mind was taking me back to that night. I could see his body in the corner of my vision as he slowly bled out. The pent up guilt had eaten me up inside, destroying me from the inside out.
"He ran from the room to go clean himself up or something and it left me on my own with your dying body on the floor. You were still alive, I could see, but on the brink of death. My back was pressed up against the door and just like every other time in my life, I froze. I couldn't move or breath and all the fight or flight bullshit went out the window because I froze."
"Quincy," he interrupted.
"I probably stood and stared for ten minutes while you were helpless on the floor. I could have saved you! But, I didn't. And because of that, I technically killed you. I watched you bleed out, I let it happen. It's my fault!" Heavy tears built from the back of my eyes but I wouldn't let them out, I needed to see Kingsley now. "Charlie said it was my fault and that only he could help me. He said I could only trust him, that everyone else would lie and betray us. That I only had him and he only had me."
Kingsley's arm reached out to me slowly and I observed as the tips of his fingers melted away and dripped onto my bedroom floor. My breath hitched, this was it. Kingsley's eyes were wide and panicked while watching as his own body slowly slipped away.
"I don't understand," he whispered. His form wavered and I could see the wall behind him now. Tendrils of my hair lifted into the air as the wind caught speed. Static filled the space between us and I watched him through blurry eyes.
He fell to his knees, sinking into the floor as he struggled to keep his soul intact. My heart was beating so fast that it could have jumped out from my chest without a second thought. I looked down at him, holding my breath and not daring to disturb what was going on.
He groaned out in pain and clutched his shoulder where red hot blood had begun to seep through his school blazer and drowned the emblem of his Easton College bird. The wound had torn through the same place it had been in that night I'd found him. Kingsley's knees liquified slowly and poured like blood along the floor. I descended in front of him and in a final attempt of redemption, I put my face opposite his, close enough to touch. He was slipping away.
The life fled his eyes and the grimace on his face was enough to tell me that it hurt, possibly far worse than it did on New Year's Eve. He hissed out a breath between his teeth as another wound formed on his stomach, just like the night it all began. He was dying all over again and this time there was truly nothing left for me to do.
"Quincy," he forced through a clenched jaw. His speech was stopped by the blood he gargled that slowly poured from his lips and down his chin like a river of horror. "I trusted you."
"But I trusted Charlie more," I silently cried. "I shouldn't have. I didn't mean to. I wish I hadn't."
He reached over before I could've stopped him and with his hand that hadn't melted, he cupped my cheek softly. I gasped from the cold. It was stronger than I had ever felt him and the feeling of desperation leaked from every one of his pores. I felt it buzz through my body and his face had paled, his features dropped.
With the pad of his thumb, he dried the tears I wept as they ran down my cheeks.
"Quincy," he whispered.
I closed my eyes against the comfort and felt the whisp of a breeze as it caressed my face and his cold disappeared. The buzz left and when I opened my eyes so had he.
My throat was tight and the pressure pushed down so heavily onto my chest that I could've passed out.
He was gone.
I looked down and pulled the sleeve of my jumper up to inspect my wrist. Alfred Kingsley. It was jotted down so neatly and even his name caused my heart to yearn. This was so painfully real but I didn't want it to be, not anymore.
Death cleared his throat from the corner of my bedroom but I didn't want to turn to look. My back ached as I doubled over and stared at my fingers while they shook.
"Quincy Sinclair," he called with an edge of frustration. "I don't have the time."
So, slowly I rose and everything inside me throbbed. The presence of Kingsley had been snatched away so quickly that the room felt as though it was burning up without him to cool it down. It was as though the rug had been torn from right under me and now I was a cowering, blubbering mess without it. Except, it was my fault. I knew that, Kingsley knew that and so did Death.
I met Death's eyes and he looked the same as always. Sickly pale with deep crevices within his face and soulless black eyes.
"I'm debating whether you deserve the wish or not now," he frowned and disappointment dripped from his every word.
Anger flared within my chest but I was too weak to act upon it. It felt as though it had taken all my energy to comfort Kingsley within his last seconds and I could barely stand now.
"But I signed the papers so I suppose I have to now," he sighed.
"What happened to him?" I croaked out. "Where is he now?"
"Where he should have gone in the very first place," Death murmured lazily. He pulled the sleeve of his suit jacket up and checked the expensive-looking watch on his wrist. "Now is when I ask for your wish."
I parted my lips to respond but he cut off before a word could slip out.
"Upon watching you briefly for the last twenty-four hours, I've noticed things about you, Quincy Sinclair. Initially, when I brought up the word 'wish' on the train, your first thought lay hidden somewhere else, didn't it? The idea of bringing Kingsley back didn't even cross your mind until I said so, right? So, now that the ghost boy has left, I'm giving you the chance to change your mind."
When my eyes widened, Death knew that he had hit the nail on the head. He crossed his arms over his chest with a smirk that ran shivers down my spine.
"Your initial thought was that you could wish Amélie Sinclair back into your life, no? That she would come back and be your mother again as though nothing had ever gone wrong?"
He was right. Though it felt like a slap to the face, he was so right.
I should've hated my mum but I didn't, not one bit. I wasn't sure who I was meant to be without her. She was everything I had and more. Everything I needed. I knew it was stupid to long for something that never wanted to be yours to begin with, but I couldn't help it. Dad was strong. Though he'd loved her with all his heart, he'd let Mum go to make her happy. I wasn't as selfless, though. Clearly.
Now, I had the chance to get her back. I could fix things between us and get her and Dad back together. I knew it would work, it had to. If Mum and I were as similar as everyone said us to be then she would listen, right? I knew her and she knew me. We understood each other. I just needed this wish.
But I also had Kingsley. I'd promised to wish him back. He was desperate and good and everything I wasn't. He had a family who loved him and friends who needed him and who was I to take that away? But who was he to deny my mother a second chance?
"Come on, Quincy Sinclair. I need a decision to be made now, preferably."
Bile rose to my throat. I was at a stalemate. What would I wish for?
"I..." I trailed off slowly. Death was becoming impatient, the twitch in his eye revealed the frustration as it built up.
I bit my lip.
All my life, decisions had been made for me. I never had the choice about who I wanted to be or who I wanted to be with. Now was my chance to take control.
Amélie Sinclair or Alfred Kingsley?
My mother or my dead boy walking?