The field was an absolute mess of a sight.
Men and women in various uniforms - firefighters, cops, medical workers - surveying the damage. Gathering bodies and putting them into body bags, then putting them into one of the numerous ambulances that were stationed there, ready to help any survivors they found, but...as of yet...they hadn't found a single one. A cough. Sheer back breaking pain. Eyes full of dust and smoke. What was even happening? What was the last thing they remembered? The plane. The plane going down, screaming, alarms. Suddenly they felt someone kneel beside them and as they rolled their half closed eyes to look up at the woman in the firefighter suit beside them, she looked ecstatic. She reached out and took their hand. "Can you hear me?" she asked, and they nodded; she grinned even more, "okay, listen to me, you need to stay still, you've likely broken something, or everything, I don't know, I'm not a doctor. Either way, I'm going to get some help for you, we're gonna get you to a hospital, okay?" They nodded again. The woman smiled sweetly, patted their hand and turned around, yelling over her shoulder. "I need some help over here! I've got a survivor!" she shouted, "I need medical staff now!" she then turned back to them and asked, "Sweetheart, what's your name? Can you remember your name?" "My name is Kelly," she whispered, "I'm Kelly." "Is there someone we should call for you Kelly?" the firefighter asked, and Kelly nodded, coughing. "Wyatt Bloom," she managed to say. *** Wyatt was sitting on the edge of the bathtub in his upstairs bathroom when he heard the door creak open, and looked up to see Rachel slowly slink into the room. He sighed and slid back into the tub actual, his legs hanging over the lip. Rachel carefully climbed in and positioned herself in the same manner, but neither one spoke. Wyatt chewed on his lip as he listened to Rachel pop the can of soda she'd brought in with her and start to drink it. "She sounded so scared," he whispered, "she sounded...terrified." "Well, I don't blame her," Rachel said, "I mean, she was on a plane going down. God knows nobody except perhaps the terminally suicidal are excited at that prospect." "Fuck...this isn't Calvin's fault. It's mine. That's the worst part. I tried so hard to blame him, but-" "Don't even," Rachel said, putting her drink down and grabbing Wyatt's hands, "don't you ever give him that freedom from the consequences of his actions, dude. He did this all on his own. He decided the Evergreens were a problem, he decided his teacher needed to go, and that's all there is to it." "They're gonna trace it all back to him," Wyatt said, "you kill one man, okay fine, you might get away with that, but you down an entire airplane? There's no excuse for that. And I guarantee you he didn't know how to build a different kind of bomb. I guarantee that he made the exact same kind, and once that gets out, they'll trace it right back to the bomb that killed Grudin." "Then let him take the fall," Rachel whispered, and this surprised Wyatt, who, up to this point, had been under the impression that Rachel was far more protective of people than he was; she shook her head and wiped her eyes, "she was my best friend, even after we fell out I still cared about her, and...and reconnecting with her was wonderful. And he took that away from me. So fuck Calvin. Let him go down in flames. If they need a scapegoat, let them scape him." Wyatt nodded slowly as Rachel handed him her soda and he smiled, taking a long drink before Celia entered as well. "Uh..." she said, "there's a hospital on the phone for you, Wyatt." Wyatt and Rachel exchanged a look, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. "...it's Kelly," Celia said, "...she's alive." *** When Angie Dickenson had been a little girl, she went to church every single Sunday, but this wasn't the typical church. Her parents were part of a group that didn't exactly worship the usual god, but instead a man who promised them eternal salvation. A man who went by the name Art Johnson. So every Sunday, they would get dressed up and they would drive down to the church he owned, and they would listen to him preach. And despite the fact that they were no longer associated with what was essentially a cult, Angie couldn't help but feel the need, the desire, to worship someone. She thought she found that someone in Oliver Brighton, but now...now she found that she far preferred to worship Wyatt Bloom. She was sitting on her bed, cross legged and scrolling on her laptop while wearing track shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She hadn't showered since the news of the crash broke. It'd been a whole day, and she was still completely obsessed with looking up information of Wyatt - not hard to obtain when one was an active member of their local community, business owner and former star of the high school baseball team - and printing it all out, creating a bible of sorts. The door to her bedroom opened, and her mother popped in. Angie looked up from her screen, black licorice hanging from her lips. "We're going to have dinner soon," her mother said, "Are you hungry?" Angie nodded, not speaking. "Did you take your medication?" her mother asked, and Angie nodded; her mother smiled, "okay, good, dinner will be ready in about ten. Wash up before you come down." But Angie hadn't taken it. She hadn't taken it since leaving the Evergreens, tired of being under the control of chemicals and instead opting to be under the control of another outside source. A man she deemed to be worthy of worship. A man who had somehow foreseen the plane crash and warned her not to join them on it. Wyatt didn't know it of course, but his one act of decency would only become an enormous problem soon on down the road. *** Calvin had left Wyatt's after their scuffle, and was now hiding in his shed. He was sitting in total silence, no music, no television, nothing but the sound of air itself surrounding him. He looked to the lockbox sitting on a nearby upper shelf, and he slid off the stool and walked towards it. Reaching out, he wrapped his fingers around the edges, pulling it down from its not so hiding spot, and placed it on the workshop table, pulled the key from a drawer of a nearby table and unlocked the box, pulling out a small, black revolver. When he'd first thought about killing Grudin, he'd thought about shooting him, and purchased this pistol, but in the end he figured that was far too easy, and Grudin deserved worse. So he'd kept the gun, but never had a purpose for it, until now. Calvin reached into the box and gripped the pistol by the handle, lifting it and admiring it. Calvin seated himself back on the stool and looked at the pistol gleaming under the sheds soft flourescent lights. His breathing got heavier, as he thought about his wife...his daughter....Kelly. He couldn't stand all this grief, especially the grief he himself had played a part in. Calvin lifted the gun to the side of his head and placed his finger on the trigger. He shut his eyes, feeling tears roll down his face, and exhaled. All it would take was one simple gesture. A singular motion and it'd all be over. He'd be with his wife, his daughter, he'd exit this entire mess known as existence. He bit his lip and shook his head slowly. Everyone would be grateful. This was what Wyatt wanted anyway, he knew it. Suddenly his phone rang, and his eyes opened. He reached for the phone on the table and picked up. "Hello?" he asked. "Calvin, it's Rachel," Rachel said, "...we're at the hospital. Don't know if you should come, but I figured someone should at least tell you that Kelly is alive." Calvin felt the air punched from him. Had he really heard what he'd thought he'd heard? Kelly had lived? Impossible. How could that even happen? Calvin set the gun down on the table, thanked Rachel for the information and then hung up the phone, placing it beside the gun before exhaling deeply a few times. Maybe...just maybe...it wasn't time to leave just yet. *** Wyatt, Celia and Rachel were sitting in the waiting room of the hospital, none of them seemingly able to process the fact that Kelly had, somehow against all odds, survived a plane crash caused by a bomb. After a bit of pacing, Rachel put her hands on her hips and looked at Celia and Wyatt sitting on the chairs near the large window. "I'm gonna go get some food, does anyone want anything?" she asked. "Cafeteria food or something edible?" Wyatt asked. "Is now really the time you want to get semantic about quality?" Rachel asked, and Wyatt shrugged; she smirked and continued, "I was gonna go to the deli down the street. I'll bring back whatever, just...tell me what you guys want." "I want a sandwich, something...italian, with cheese and salami and...whatever," Wyatt said, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his wallet, sliding a credit card from it and handing it to Rachel, adding, "use my credit card, don't spend your own money, I got this. I got everything okay? And bring back coffee. Lots of coffee. Hard coffee." "Will do," Rachel said, before turning and exiting, leaving them alone. Wyatt leaned back in the chair and exhaled, looking up at the ceiling as Celia crossed her legs and shook her head. "You know," Celia said, "if you'd told me almost 6 months ago when we met at the reunion that we'd be sitting here, waiting to know the condition of someone we didn't even know then, I wouldn't have believed it. Everything since then has felt so unreal. It's almost been half a year, and...and I just...none of it feels real, Wyatt. Does it feel real to you?" A long pause, as Wyatt thought, licking his lips. "...for as long as I can remember, being out of high school hasn't felt real. Graduation just felt like a celebration, but a momentary one, you know? Like a birthday or a holiday or something. Not something that would signify the eternal shift into another moment of life altogether. You go to school for 18 years, and that's not counting college which can add on significantly to that timespan, and then suddenly...you just aren't doing that anymore. I worry about Mona. About whether she'll manage to make the adjustment to adulthood or not, because sure, I managed it, but I don't enjoy it. I wish it hadn't happened. Going to that reunion...it was...it was like going back in time, and it was the first time in years I'd felt like I was actually alive again." Celia nodded solemnly, listening. She could understand this line of thinking, honestly. While she'd managed to make the transition easier than others, she still yearned for the time of her youth. "Wyatt," Celia said, putting a hand on his knee, "you know this isn't your fault, right? You didn't cause this. Calvin did this all on his own. Grudin? Yeah, you might be able to be held at least semi accountable for that, but this? This was all on him. He's dangerous, and...and we need to come up with a plan for the inevitable, because if he's capable of this, I fear he might be capable of anything." Wyatt nodded in agreement. Celia had brought this up before, and Wyatt wasn't one to argue, especially at this point. Calvin had proven himself entirely unhinged, and willing to do awful things because to him the ends justify the means. Rachel returned a bit after this with food and coffee for everyone, and they waited, chatting, Rachel sharing a lot of stories about her and Kelly in school together to lighten the mood. After a bit, Celia left to go home for her son, Rachel dipped in order to get home to Sun Rai, and that left Wyatt all alone. When Wyatt was finally woken up, being shaken gently on the shoulder by a nurse, his blurry eyes immediately glanced at the watch on his wrist. 4am. He groaned and sat up, wiping the sleep from his face. "Your friend is awake, and wants to see you," the nurse said, smiling at him, "if you'll follow me." Wyatt immediately jumped up, best he could, and followed the nurse down a long hall, into an elevator and up three floors. Once there, she led him to a room, opened the door and let him enter. Wyatt walked in cautiously, unsure of what he was about to walk into, but when he saw Kelly, in all her rather undamaged glory, lying in the hospital bed, he felt all the anxiety and fear from the last 48 hours leave his chest. He smiled and sat down in a green metal chair beside the bed as Kelly rolled her head to look at him. "You look alright," Wyatt said. "What did you expect me to look like?" Kelly asked, half laughing, half wheezing. "I don't know, deformed or something, you were in a plane crash for fucks sake," Wyatt replied, "who knows what kind of monstrous Mr. Potato Head deal they'd have to create to salvage your looks." Kelly laughed, which hurt her chest, but it felt good to laugh again. "Why me?" Wyatt asked. "Why you what?" "Why am I your emergency contact?" Wyatt asked, and Kelly sighed. "...it was Rachel," Kelly said, "but I changed it after we started being friends, because she and I were still on such shaky ground. I didn't want to list my parents, cause they'd just freak out about it. But you're reserved, you keep a cool head, you're a smart man, and you care. I guess cause I trust you. I also didn't know anyone else to add. I don't really have many friends outside of you guys." "That's hard to imagine, with how likeable and charismatic you are," Wyatt said, smirking, making her laugh again. Wyatt wouldn't admit it, but he was so beyond relieved. Since meeting Kelly, he'd really come to genuinely appreciate her friendship, her insight, her enthusiasm. She was infectious in all the best, most non lethal ways, and he would've hated to have lost that just when he was getting used to it. But of course he didn't tell her who put the bomb in her bag, or that Calvin was involved at all. He kept her shielded from all that, because the less she knew the better. He'd already gotten so many other women involved in such sketchy activity, he didn't want to bring Kelly down to that level too. He was tired of hurting women, even unintentionally. He wasn't his father. *** When Wyatt got home that morning, he found that Scarlett and the kids were still gone. He showered, he ate breakfast, then got dressed to go to work. As he exited the house, briefcase in hand, he had no idea that right across the street, parked on the opposite side, was Angie Dickenson. She jotted down something in her small, black notebook and then watched him pull out of his driveway and head down the road to work. Once his car was well out of sight, Angie climbed out from her own car and headed across the street to the driveway, staring up at his house. So this was where a man of his stature, his importance, lived. She pulled her phone from her pocket and took a few quick shots of it, smiling to herself the whole time. Some men or worship have churches. Wyatt had a two story suburban home.
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A group of former high school classmates reunite at their 10 year reunion, and discover they each want something different, many with someone else there. What ensues is a labyrinthian relationship amongst them involving crime, murder, romance and, in one particular case, terrorism. Archives
May 2024
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