Barry Klepper headed down the stairs, out through the kitchen, and across the back lawn to the shed. He tugged the door open, allowing light to flood in and looked around. He then grabbed the old push mower from the wall and tugged it out onto the lawn, where he stood with it, one hand on his hip, surveying the job before him. He heard the sliding glass door close and glanced to see his son, Calvin, coming up to him, his head wrapped in gauze, struggling to move on a cane. Barry smiled as Calvin approached.
"Are you gonna do yard work?" Calvin asked, "I don't think I've ever seen you do yard work."
"I've done yard work," Barry replied, laughing, "how are you feeling?"
"Bad," Calvin said, "really bad. How about you?"
"About the same, all things considered. Just happy to have you home."
Calvin stood by his fathers side and looked out at the lawn with him, one of his fathers hands on his shoulder. Barry shut his eyes and breathed in the pleasant afternoon air, just relaxing and enjoying the moment. Barry, his eyes still shut, could hear the sound of a gentle afternoon breeze wafting through the sky, through the leaves of the overhead trees in the backyard, and he smiled.
"You know things can't stay like this forever," Calvin said, causing Barry to open his eyes, Calvin adding, "you know you'll stop having these eventually, right? It's a trauma response. I'm gone, dad."
Barry looked at his son, and his son looked back and smiled warmly.
"I love you," Calvin said, and Barry woke up. He slowly sat upright in his bed and looked around the dark room. He climbed out, headed down the hall and down the stairs, where he got himself a glass of juice from the fridge, before heading back, stopping by the answering machine that sat on a small table by the wall. He reached out and searched for the message. The one from the police. The one that informed him his son had been shot in the head, and he was needed at the hospital immediately. Barry then headed upstairs and stopped at Calvin's room, opening the door and entering. He set his juice down on a bedside table and he laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"If only I knew," he thought, "that the last time was the last time."
***
Angie Dickenson was tearing ass down the freeway, rock music blaring from her car stereo. She was wearing a tight, slim dress and her hair was done in a pretty upbraid, with a pair of big black sunglasses on her face. She had a cigarette hanging from her lips, and she shifted gears as she glanced over at Wyatt in the passenger seat. Unlike Angie, Wyatt was disheveled. Well dressed, but disheveled nonetheless. To be fair, though, Wyatt had been sleeping like shit and drinking a lot. In fact, that's what he and Angie had been doing just before leaving for the service that morning. They had driven to an old timey themed saloon about an hour or so out of town just to get tipsy before having to see everyone.
"You don't think anyone will mind I came?" Angie asked.
"Who cares what anyone thinks," Wyatt said, even his words sounding tired, "who the fuck cares about anything."
Wyatt, since Calvin's death, had become increasingly withdrawn, morose, cynical. Moreso than usual, and it'd been up to Angie to help wrangle him back in, seeing as everyone else was still reeling from the reality of the situation. In fact, since Calvin's death, the group overall had barely spoken. Rachel had started going to therapy to deal with her parents rejection of her sexuality, while Celia had sunk herself into her work. Kelly, meanwhile, had undergone her surgery for her new prosthetic leg, and had been in bed recovering since then. This service today would be the first time they all had seen one another in months.
"You don't think he'd show up, do you?" Angie asked, and Wyatt shrugged. They were, of course, talking about Ricky
"If he's smart, he'll get out of town and cut ties, never look back," Wyatt said, rubbing his forehead, "that's what I'd do if I could."
Wyatt pulled out a pill case from his jacket pocket and popped some aspirin, moaning. He'd had a killer headache since last night, and drinking today certainly hadn't helped it. They were, at this point, about fifteen minutes from their destination, not that Wyatt was all that interested in seeing anybody. Since Calvin's death, he'd steered clear of most interactions, except for the times Kelly had needed help with her prosthetic leg. Other than that, he didn't want to be bothered. But Scarlett had sensed something was wrong. His whole family had. His father was apparently going to pay him a visit because of this recent behavior, which only resulted in more anxiety for Wyatt.
"Should I stand a bit aways when we get there?" Angie asked, not wanting to make anybody uncomfortable, a surprising show of empathy from her, Wyatt thought. He shrugged.
"I don't know, up to you," he replied, "do whatever you want."
So she would. Angie would do whatever she wanted. Advice he would later regret half heartedly giving her.
***
The night of Calvin's death, Ricky was strapped to the chair in the shed. It was dark, sans the moonlight coming in through a small window near the roof, and he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Would he ever see his apartment again? Should he even go back to his benefactor, given the severity of the situation, or would she simply not believe him? Ricky exhaled and shut his eyes. His fish were probably dead. He wanted to cry. The door to the shed suddenly opened, and Ricky glanced towards it, expecting Calvin, instead surprised to see Wyatt.
Wyatt entered the shed, his eyes red like he'd been sobbing or rubbing at them, or both. He was quiet. Cautious. They didn't look at one another, and Wyatt didn't say a single thing as he entered and looked around the shed for a moment before finally turning his gaze on Ricky, who raised his eyebrows. After a moment, Wyatt sighed and looked around the shed again before speaking.
"Keys?" he asked, and Ricky nodded at a small box on a shelf. Wyatt walked to it, pulled the box down and opened it, retrieving the key and kneeling in front of the chair, beginning to free Ricky, much to his surprise.
"What...what are you...why are you..." Ricky started, but wasn't able to finish.
"I'm doing what should've been done a while ago," Wyatt said, "I brought you here, it only makes sense for me to let you go. Angie is outside, she's going to drive you back to your hotel. When you get there, you're going to take a shower, get some food on my expense, then head home."
The chains clattered to the floor, freeing Ricky, who rubbed his wrists. Wyatt looked up now, their eyes locking.
"Where's Calvin?" Ricky asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.
"...he's dead," Wyatt said, "that's all you need to know. Now go."
Ricky stood up, then fell back into the chair, his legs wobbly. It'd been so long since he'd walked. Wyatt helped him back up, then helped him walk outside. Angie was leaning against the shed, filing her nails. When they got closer, Wyatt transferred Ricky's weight to her, and she took him happily. The three of them stood there for a brief moment, taking in the late night air, and Ricky couldn't believe how good the wind felt on his skin.
"Take him, then go home. I'll call you," Wyatt said, and Angie nodded. They all walked to the cars parked out front, Angie helping Ricky into hers, before turning back and looking at Wyatt. The two nodded at one another, then climbed into their respective vehicles and heading in opposite directions. As the car headed away from the house, from the shed, Ricky couldn't help but notice a smattering of blood on Angie's hand and shirt. His eyes scanned up to her face, and she was smiling, looking completely unphased.
"...what happened to Calvin?" he asked meekly, almost terrified.
"What could've happened to you," she said coldly, and that was enough to make Ricky not ask more questions.
***
Kelly Schuester was sitting on a marble bench in the cemetery, looking around at her surroundings. It was beautiful today. Rachel and Celia were both already here and were standing near Calvin's headstone, but she was staying a bit aways. She felt awkward, having come, considering her lack of proximity to Calvin. She hadn't been friends with him. But Rachel had invited her nonetheless, 'the more the merrier' she'd morbidly put it. She heard someone walk up beside her and glanced up, noticing Wyatt standing there, and she smiled wide.
"Hi!" she said brightly, then felt weird for sounding so chipper, considering.
"Everyone else seems to be here," Wyatt said.
"Yeah, but I didn't wanna interrupt," Kelly said, "Calvin wasn't my friend. I really only came to see you. Forgive me but I don't really feel the need to grieve the man who blew up the plane I was on."
Wyatt chuckled as he sat down beside her and pulled a small bottle of liquor from his jacket pocket and unscrewing the cap, taking a long drink. Kelly watched, concerned, as he finished and wiped his face on his sleeve. Wyatt then glanced down at her leg, noticing the prosthetic under the hem of her dress, before looking back up and catching her eyes.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Is it difficult to live with?" he asked, nodding at it.
"It's whatever," Kelly said, shrugging, "I'm getting used to it. Starting to feel like I can take care of myself again, going back to work soon, going back to my apartment soon - or rather a new apartment - and that'll be exciting. Why are you drinking this early in the day?"
"Don't change the subject, that's rude," Wyatt remarked, smirking at her as he lifted the bottle to his lips again before she reached out and grabbed it, the both of them staring one another in the eyes; Wyatt felt Kelly slowly lower the bottle, his arm, and he looked at her confused before his eyes welled up with tears and he said, "I did this. This is my fault. He's gone because of me."
"He's gone because of his own decisions," Kelly whispered, "you guys did what had to be done. He was going to do something so much worse than what he did to me, and if I'm what helped break that cycle, then I'm happy to have been involved, even if unwillingly so. He had to be stopped, Wyatt."
Wyatt leaned against her and cried on her shoulder, feeling Kelly run a hand up into his hair and massage his scalp. Wyatt wanted to be like this with Scarlett, but she wasn't involved. She didn't know any of what had been happening, and he wasn't about to drag her into it. Besides, he always felt like he had to put on a strong front, be the baseball star she'd fallen for. She knew he was sensitive, but he was still embarrassed to outright breakdown in front of her, to have that cool guy facade crumble, and besides, when she did give comfort, it wasn't the kind of comfort Kelly managed to give him. Something about Kely's comfort felt effortless, Scarlett's felt forced, as if she felt uncomfortable doing it. After a moment, Wyatt sat back upright and wiped his face on his sleeve again, trying to regain what little composure he could manage to have these days.
"I guess we should go over there," Wyatt said, and Kelly nodded. He stood up and tucked the bottle back away into his jacket as Kelly stood up too, stumbling and falling to the ground, looking embarrassed.
"Sorry," she whispered, "I'm still getting used to this thing."
Wyatt smiled, helped her up, then picked her up on his back, giving her a piggyback through the cemetery. Kelly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on the back of his, just enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, Angie was staying back at the cars, watching from afar, when she heard another car door shut and glanced to her right to see, of all people, Ricky approaching. He stopped beside her, looking far better than he had the last time she'd seen him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Been following you guys for a bit," Ricky said.
"Not still gathering info for your boss, are you?" Angie asked, taking a long drag from her cigarette.
"No, no, actually," Ricky said, clearing his throat, "um...actually, I'd like to help you."
Angie eyeballed him, curious, but cautious. She stubbed the cigarette out on the car behind her and nodded.
"Help us how?" she asked.
As Wyatt walked through the cemetary with Kelly on his back, approaching the headstone where the others were, he couldn't help but smile. Something about being here, in this moment, with Kelly on his back, was the best moment he'd had in months. Since Calvin's death. He stopped for a moment and looked around at the surrounding graves, taking in the statues and the various architecture of tombs. Kelly lifted her head and rested her chin atop his head.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked.
"Just taking a moment," Wyatt said, "I think it's nice here. Something soothing about cemeteries. Back in high school, I dated this girl, Amelia. She liked to have photoshoots in graveyards. Very grim and artistic, but very cool girl. We used to hang out in cemetaries a lot as a result. I guess being in one now, for Calvin, is making me think of her. Not because she still means anything to me, but because she's adjacent to the subject, considering her relation to the deceased."
They were only a few graves from Calvin's, where Rachel and Celia were posted up, talking, so Wyatt slowly lifted Kelly down. She stumbled against a grave, catching herself before he put a hand on her waist, helping stabilize her. She looked at him and smiled, the two facing one another, not saying a thing.
"I understand thinking of her," Kelly said, "but she isn't here, so. You should focus on the people who are here. Not Calvin, certainly not his sister. Focus more on the women who are here today, who love you."
"Oh, is that right?" Wyatt asked, "and who exactly did you have in mind?"
Kelly bit her lip, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow. But before anything could happen, Rachel had walked over. She put her arms around Wyatt, who happily hugged her back, before turning her affection towards Kelly. Together, the three of them walked back to Calvin's grave, Kelly holding Wyatt's hand tightly, partly for comfort, partly to help her from falling over. They stopped at the headstone and Wyatt nodded at Celia, who nodded back, acknowledging his presence. The four of them stood there, looking down at Calvin's final resting place, and Wyatt couldn't help but feel so incredibly guilty.
"...I told him I'd kill him," Wyatt finally said quietly, almost a whisper, "I told him I'd do it. After the crash. That day in the kitchen. I told him I'd kill him for what he'd done."
"You just arranged for it, you didn't pull the trigger yourself," Rachel said.
"That doesn't make me any less responsible," Wyatt said, "I'm who made it happen. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of what happened to him. His wife, his family, taken from him in that manner. His sister being sent out of town. None of it. But...but there's right and wrong ways to cope with something, and he kept choosing the wrong way. Was his anger towards Grudin justified? Absolutely. Hell, I'd even go so far as to say that his want to kill the man was also understandable, but he followed through on every single bad impulse."
"And that's the difference," Celia chimed in, "you looked for every possible alternative before doing the last resort. That's what makes you two different. You are not Calvin, Wyatt. I hope you know that. I really do."
"I try to believe it, but it's hard," Wyatt said, sniffling, feeling Kelly squeeze his hand tighter, "I admit, I miss him. He was a mess, but...fuck. I miss him. That's the weirdest part of all this, is how much I miss him. I guess, in a way, if it hadn't been for him, we all wouldn't be here together today, and I suppose I owe him that. Owe him your friendship. But he's also why we're in a lot of trouble. We can't be reckless anymore. We can't be Calvin."
"Agreed," they all said in unison.
"So what do we do now?" Rachel asked, and Wyatt shook his head.
That was the million dollar question.
"Well, think of it this way," Kelly said, resting her head on Wyatt's arm, "things can only get less complicated from here, right?"
***
Amelia Klepper had been watching a documentary about ghosts when she'd gotten that phone call. The one from her father, telling her her brother was dead. She could recall the moment, even now months later, with absolute clarity. She didn't cry, she didn't scream, hell she didn't even pause her program, no instead she simply laid on her side on the couch and curled up into a ball and stared in silence at the screen. Calvin was dead. Amelia felt, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before this happened, honestly. Ever since losing his family to the accident, she felt he was on a path for ultimate destruction of his own undoing.
And now, months later, Amelia was piling bags into the trunk of her car, and shutting the lid. She looked back at her apartment and sighed. She'd be back shortly. She just had to go to town to help deal with Calvin's will, settle his estate. After the accident, he and Amelia had sat down - he'd come for a visit - and written up this will just in case. It had to be changed now anyway, considering he no longer had a wife or children. Amelia was now the sole benefactor, and that required her to be in town to deal with. Amelia walked around and opened her car door, climbing inside and starting the car. As the car burst to life, so did the stereo, playing America's "A Horse With No Name". Amelia turned the volume up and backed out of the parking lot, then headed out onto the road.
And she drove.
She drove so far, rarely stopping for anything. She stopped now and then to nap, to use truck stop bathrooms, to grab some more food, but otherwise she drove and drove and drove. Calvin being gone was so surreal and yet so normal. Perhaps it was the distance, having been so far away for so long now that lessened the blow, but in a way, she also felt like she'd never really known who her brother actually was. In fact, that sentiment wasn't far off. She knew nothing about his inclination for revenge, his interest in explosives, all the things Wyatt ended up knowing. Amelia was scared to see her parents, but she'd been doing better. Much better. She had to be strong for them now. The lost their son. But they were about to regain their daughter.
Every cloud has a silver lining, she thought.
"Are you gonna do yard work?" Calvin asked, "I don't think I've ever seen you do yard work."
"I've done yard work," Barry replied, laughing, "how are you feeling?"
"Bad," Calvin said, "really bad. How about you?"
"About the same, all things considered. Just happy to have you home."
Calvin stood by his fathers side and looked out at the lawn with him, one of his fathers hands on his shoulder. Barry shut his eyes and breathed in the pleasant afternoon air, just relaxing and enjoying the moment. Barry, his eyes still shut, could hear the sound of a gentle afternoon breeze wafting through the sky, through the leaves of the overhead trees in the backyard, and he smiled.
"You know things can't stay like this forever," Calvin said, causing Barry to open his eyes, Calvin adding, "you know you'll stop having these eventually, right? It's a trauma response. I'm gone, dad."
Barry looked at his son, and his son looked back and smiled warmly.
"I love you," Calvin said, and Barry woke up. He slowly sat upright in his bed and looked around the dark room. He climbed out, headed down the hall and down the stairs, where he got himself a glass of juice from the fridge, before heading back, stopping by the answering machine that sat on a small table by the wall. He reached out and searched for the message. The one from the police. The one that informed him his son had been shot in the head, and he was needed at the hospital immediately. Barry then headed upstairs and stopped at Calvin's room, opening the door and entering. He set his juice down on a bedside table and he laid down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"If only I knew," he thought, "that the last time was the last time."
***
Angie Dickenson was tearing ass down the freeway, rock music blaring from her car stereo. She was wearing a tight, slim dress and her hair was done in a pretty upbraid, with a pair of big black sunglasses on her face. She had a cigarette hanging from her lips, and she shifted gears as she glanced over at Wyatt in the passenger seat. Unlike Angie, Wyatt was disheveled. Well dressed, but disheveled nonetheless. To be fair, though, Wyatt had been sleeping like shit and drinking a lot. In fact, that's what he and Angie had been doing just before leaving for the service that morning. They had driven to an old timey themed saloon about an hour or so out of town just to get tipsy before having to see everyone.
"You don't think anyone will mind I came?" Angie asked.
"Who cares what anyone thinks," Wyatt said, even his words sounding tired, "who the fuck cares about anything."
Wyatt, since Calvin's death, had become increasingly withdrawn, morose, cynical. Moreso than usual, and it'd been up to Angie to help wrangle him back in, seeing as everyone else was still reeling from the reality of the situation. In fact, since Calvin's death, the group overall had barely spoken. Rachel had started going to therapy to deal with her parents rejection of her sexuality, while Celia had sunk herself into her work. Kelly, meanwhile, had undergone her surgery for her new prosthetic leg, and had been in bed recovering since then. This service today would be the first time they all had seen one another in months.
"You don't think he'd show up, do you?" Angie asked, and Wyatt shrugged. They were, of course, talking about Ricky
"If he's smart, he'll get out of town and cut ties, never look back," Wyatt said, rubbing his forehead, "that's what I'd do if I could."
Wyatt pulled out a pill case from his jacket pocket and popped some aspirin, moaning. He'd had a killer headache since last night, and drinking today certainly hadn't helped it. They were, at this point, about fifteen minutes from their destination, not that Wyatt was all that interested in seeing anybody. Since Calvin's death, he'd steered clear of most interactions, except for the times Kelly had needed help with her prosthetic leg. Other than that, he didn't want to be bothered. But Scarlett had sensed something was wrong. His whole family had. His father was apparently going to pay him a visit because of this recent behavior, which only resulted in more anxiety for Wyatt.
"Should I stand a bit aways when we get there?" Angie asked, not wanting to make anybody uncomfortable, a surprising show of empathy from her, Wyatt thought. He shrugged.
"I don't know, up to you," he replied, "do whatever you want."
So she would. Angie would do whatever she wanted. Advice he would later regret half heartedly giving her.
***
The night of Calvin's death, Ricky was strapped to the chair in the shed. It was dark, sans the moonlight coming in through a small window near the roof, and he had nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Would he ever see his apartment again? Should he even go back to his benefactor, given the severity of the situation, or would she simply not believe him? Ricky exhaled and shut his eyes. His fish were probably dead. He wanted to cry. The door to the shed suddenly opened, and Ricky glanced towards it, expecting Calvin, instead surprised to see Wyatt.
Wyatt entered the shed, his eyes red like he'd been sobbing or rubbing at them, or both. He was quiet. Cautious. They didn't look at one another, and Wyatt didn't say a single thing as he entered and looked around the shed for a moment before finally turning his gaze on Ricky, who raised his eyebrows. After a moment, Wyatt sighed and looked around the shed again before speaking.
"Keys?" he asked, and Ricky nodded at a small box on a shelf. Wyatt walked to it, pulled the box down and opened it, retrieving the key and kneeling in front of the chair, beginning to free Ricky, much to his surprise.
"What...what are you...why are you..." Ricky started, but wasn't able to finish.
"I'm doing what should've been done a while ago," Wyatt said, "I brought you here, it only makes sense for me to let you go. Angie is outside, she's going to drive you back to your hotel. When you get there, you're going to take a shower, get some food on my expense, then head home."
The chains clattered to the floor, freeing Ricky, who rubbed his wrists. Wyatt looked up now, their eyes locking.
"Where's Calvin?" Ricky asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.
"...he's dead," Wyatt said, "that's all you need to know. Now go."
Ricky stood up, then fell back into the chair, his legs wobbly. It'd been so long since he'd walked. Wyatt helped him back up, then helped him walk outside. Angie was leaning against the shed, filing her nails. When they got closer, Wyatt transferred Ricky's weight to her, and she took him happily. The three of them stood there for a brief moment, taking in the late night air, and Ricky couldn't believe how good the wind felt on his skin.
"Take him, then go home. I'll call you," Wyatt said, and Angie nodded. They all walked to the cars parked out front, Angie helping Ricky into hers, before turning back and looking at Wyatt. The two nodded at one another, then climbed into their respective vehicles and heading in opposite directions. As the car headed away from the house, from the shed, Ricky couldn't help but notice a smattering of blood on Angie's hand and shirt. His eyes scanned up to her face, and she was smiling, looking completely unphased.
"...what happened to Calvin?" he asked meekly, almost terrified.
"What could've happened to you," she said coldly, and that was enough to make Ricky not ask more questions.
***
Kelly Schuester was sitting on a marble bench in the cemetery, looking around at her surroundings. It was beautiful today. Rachel and Celia were both already here and were standing near Calvin's headstone, but she was staying a bit aways. She felt awkward, having come, considering her lack of proximity to Calvin. She hadn't been friends with him. But Rachel had invited her nonetheless, 'the more the merrier' she'd morbidly put it. She heard someone walk up beside her and glanced up, noticing Wyatt standing there, and she smiled wide.
"Hi!" she said brightly, then felt weird for sounding so chipper, considering.
"Everyone else seems to be here," Wyatt said.
"Yeah, but I didn't wanna interrupt," Kelly said, "Calvin wasn't my friend. I really only came to see you. Forgive me but I don't really feel the need to grieve the man who blew up the plane I was on."
Wyatt chuckled as he sat down beside her and pulled a small bottle of liquor from his jacket pocket and unscrewing the cap, taking a long drink. Kelly watched, concerned, as he finished and wiped his face on his sleeve. Wyatt then glanced down at her leg, noticing the prosthetic under the hem of her dress, before looking back up and catching her eyes.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Is it difficult to live with?" he asked, nodding at it.
"It's whatever," Kelly said, shrugging, "I'm getting used to it. Starting to feel like I can take care of myself again, going back to work soon, going back to my apartment soon - or rather a new apartment - and that'll be exciting. Why are you drinking this early in the day?"
"Don't change the subject, that's rude," Wyatt remarked, smirking at her as he lifted the bottle to his lips again before she reached out and grabbed it, the both of them staring one another in the eyes; Wyatt felt Kelly slowly lower the bottle, his arm, and he looked at her confused before his eyes welled up with tears and he said, "I did this. This is my fault. He's gone because of me."
"He's gone because of his own decisions," Kelly whispered, "you guys did what had to be done. He was going to do something so much worse than what he did to me, and if I'm what helped break that cycle, then I'm happy to have been involved, even if unwillingly so. He had to be stopped, Wyatt."
Wyatt leaned against her and cried on her shoulder, feeling Kelly run a hand up into his hair and massage his scalp. Wyatt wanted to be like this with Scarlett, but she wasn't involved. She didn't know any of what had been happening, and he wasn't about to drag her into it. Besides, he always felt like he had to put on a strong front, be the baseball star she'd fallen for. She knew he was sensitive, but he was still embarrassed to outright breakdown in front of her, to have that cool guy facade crumble, and besides, when she did give comfort, it wasn't the kind of comfort Kelly managed to give him. Something about Kely's comfort felt effortless, Scarlett's felt forced, as if she felt uncomfortable doing it. After a moment, Wyatt sat back upright and wiped his face on his sleeve again, trying to regain what little composure he could manage to have these days.
"I guess we should go over there," Wyatt said, and Kelly nodded. He stood up and tucked the bottle back away into his jacket as Kelly stood up too, stumbling and falling to the ground, looking embarrassed.
"Sorry," she whispered, "I'm still getting used to this thing."
Wyatt smiled, helped her up, then picked her up on his back, giving her a piggyback through the cemetery. Kelly wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on the back of his, just enjoying the moment. Meanwhile, Angie was staying back at the cars, watching from afar, when she heard another car door shut and glanced to her right to see, of all people, Ricky approaching. He stopped beside her, looking far better than he had the last time she'd seen him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Been following you guys for a bit," Ricky said.
"Not still gathering info for your boss, are you?" Angie asked, taking a long drag from her cigarette.
"No, no, actually," Ricky said, clearing his throat, "um...actually, I'd like to help you."
Angie eyeballed him, curious, but cautious. She stubbed the cigarette out on the car behind her and nodded.
"Help us how?" she asked.
As Wyatt walked through the cemetary with Kelly on his back, approaching the headstone where the others were, he couldn't help but smile. Something about being here, in this moment, with Kelly on his back, was the best moment he'd had in months. Since Calvin's death. He stopped for a moment and looked around at the surrounding graves, taking in the statues and the various architecture of tombs. Kelly lifted her head and rested her chin atop his head.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked.
"Just taking a moment," Wyatt said, "I think it's nice here. Something soothing about cemeteries. Back in high school, I dated this girl, Amelia. She liked to have photoshoots in graveyards. Very grim and artistic, but very cool girl. We used to hang out in cemetaries a lot as a result. I guess being in one now, for Calvin, is making me think of her. Not because she still means anything to me, but because she's adjacent to the subject, considering her relation to the deceased."
They were only a few graves from Calvin's, where Rachel and Celia were posted up, talking, so Wyatt slowly lifted Kelly down. She stumbled against a grave, catching herself before he put a hand on her waist, helping stabilize her. She looked at him and smiled, the two facing one another, not saying a thing.
"I understand thinking of her," Kelly said, "but she isn't here, so. You should focus on the people who are here. Not Calvin, certainly not his sister. Focus more on the women who are here today, who love you."
"Oh, is that right?" Wyatt asked, "and who exactly did you have in mind?"
Kelly bit her lip, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow. But before anything could happen, Rachel had walked over. She put her arms around Wyatt, who happily hugged her back, before turning her affection towards Kelly. Together, the three of them walked back to Calvin's grave, Kelly holding Wyatt's hand tightly, partly for comfort, partly to help her from falling over. They stopped at the headstone and Wyatt nodded at Celia, who nodded back, acknowledging his presence. The four of them stood there, looking down at Calvin's final resting place, and Wyatt couldn't help but feel so incredibly guilty.
"...I told him I'd kill him," Wyatt finally said quietly, almost a whisper, "I told him I'd do it. After the crash. That day in the kitchen. I told him I'd kill him for what he'd done."
"You just arranged for it, you didn't pull the trigger yourself," Rachel said.
"That doesn't make me any less responsible," Wyatt said, "I'm who made it happen. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of what happened to him. His wife, his family, taken from him in that manner. His sister being sent out of town. None of it. But...but there's right and wrong ways to cope with something, and he kept choosing the wrong way. Was his anger towards Grudin justified? Absolutely. Hell, I'd even go so far as to say that his want to kill the man was also understandable, but he followed through on every single bad impulse."
"And that's the difference," Celia chimed in, "you looked for every possible alternative before doing the last resort. That's what makes you two different. You are not Calvin, Wyatt. I hope you know that. I really do."
"I try to believe it, but it's hard," Wyatt said, sniffling, feeling Kelly squeeze his hand tighter, "I admit, I miss him. He was a mess, but...fuck. I miss him. That's the weirdest part of all this, is how much I miss him. I guess, in a way, if it hadn't been for him, we all wouldn't be here together today, and I suppose I owe him that. Owe him your friendship. But he's also why we're in a lot of trouble. We can't be reckless anymore. We can't be Calvin."
"Agreed," they all said in unison.
"So what do we do now?" Rachel asked, and Wyatt shook his head.
That was the million dollar question.
"Well, think of it this way," Kelly said, resting her head on Wyatt's arm, "things can only get less complicated from here, right?"
***
Amelia Klepper had been watching a documentary about ghosts when she'd gotten that phone call. The one from her father, telling her her brother was dead. She could recall the moment, even now months later, with absolute clarity. She didn't cry, she didn't scream, hell she didn't even pause her program, no instead she simply laid on her side on the couch and curled up into a ball and stared in silence at the screen. Calvin was dead. Amelia felt, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before this happened, honestly. Ever since losing his family to the accident, she felt he was on a path for ultimate destruction of his own undoing.
And now, months later, Amelia was piling bags into the trunk of her car, and shutting the lid. She looked back at her apartment and sighed. She'd be back shortly. She just had to go to town to help deal with Calvin's will, settle his estate. After the accident, he and Amelia had sat down - he'd come for a visit - and written up this will just in case. It had to be changed now anyway, considering he no longer had a wife or children. Amelia was now the sole benefactor, and that required her to be in town to deal with. Amelia walked around and opened her car door, climbing inside and starting the car. As the car burst to life, so did the stereo, playing America's "A Horse With No Name". Amelia turned the volume up and backed out of the parking lot, then headed out onto the road.
And she drove.
She drove so far, rarely stopping for anything. She stopped now and then to nap, to use truck stop bathrooms, to grab some more food, but otherwise she drove and drove and drove. Calvin being gone was so surreal and yet so normal. Perhaps it was the distance, having been so far away for so long now that lessened the blow, but in a way, she also felt like she'd never really known who her brother actually was. In fact, that sentiment wasn't far off. She knew nothing about his inclination for revenge, his interest in explosives, all the things Wyatt ended up knowing. Amelia was scared to see her parents, but she'd been doing better. Much better. She had to be strong for them now. The lost their son. But they were about to regain their daughter.
Every cloud has a silver lining, she thought.