I’m missing.
It’s the thought I always have when I look at my friends’ photos by the bay window. The glowing candles reflect in the glass frames and amplify the nostalgia. It’s not that I should have been part of the photos, but that I should have been there, in the house when it happened, instead of walking by the water.
I should be dead. I’ve played out the scenario in countless ways. Sometimes, I imagine I’d be able to stop Steven from hurting my friends by distracting him—keeping his attention on me before he got violent. I wouldn’t have been able to deescalate it, I never could, but I was the only one who ever confronted him on his bullshit. I wouldn’t have been above threating to call my brother. If there was one person Steven was loyal to, it was Jordan, and if it got that bad, I’d do it. It makes sense that Jordan can’t believe Steven killed my friends. I don’t blame him for that. He always saw the good in Steven.
Most of the time, I imagine dying with them.
If I had, Steven would have gotten away—maybe for good, without any witnesses. He’d have gone on being best friends with my brother, all the while knowing he killed us.
There’s no scenario where Jordan and I remain close.
Cam’s efforts to bring Jordan here today were benevolent; his intentions always are. But I don’t want to see Jordan. Not today.
I scan the crowd for Oz, but I don’t see his dark, curly hair amongst those gathered. It isn’t lost on me that Oz looks a little like Lennox. I might be attracted to him for that reason. It’s the reason dating Cam was easier. He looks nothing like him, sounds nothing like him, and doesn’t ever remind me of Lennox or what could have been.
Faces in the small groups of people gathered on the lawn watch me as I focus my attention back to the photos. If the person who sent me the note in my purse is here, they’re watching me right now. Are we both wondering the same thing—what we’re going to do?
Instead of taking another look through the mourners, I concentrate on the faces of those I loved.
I set a white rose before a picture of John from his high school football days. That was the year he claimed was the best of his life—when he played on the team with his brother.
Images of his smile flash before me. John, dancing in the living room with Morgan. Passing the bread basket to Ellie with candlelight shining in his eyes.
His breath heavy as he stumbled back from the bonfire, losing his footing in the sand. The pain flashing in his eyes.
In the bedroom, the bloodstain pooling on his chest. His hand reaching for Morgan’s.
I blink back tears, take a few deep breaths, and turn to the photo of Ellie and Lennox. Their arms are wrapped around each other, keeping warm on a cold Toronto night outside of a concert venue.
Ellie’s solo close-up picture sits beside it. I place another rose. I can almost feel the warmth from her brown eyes. It feels like her appraisal when Lennox first introduced us. She wore a bohemian blouse, eclectic rings on most of her fingers, her hair tied in an effortless bun. She was the image of peace and joy from the moment we met.
Ellie in the kitchen, turning up the music, pulling me with her to dance—making meaningful moments from nothing. Her concerned face as her brother answered the knock on the door. Her oversized wool sweater falling from her shoulders as she ran through the sand on the beach, laughing as the incoming night tide hit her bare feet, turning toward us with confusion in her eyes. No, not at us.
Past us.
Ellie in the hallway, her trembling, crimson hand reaching for me as I slid through her blood to be at her side, straining to hear the last words she ever said—the ones she whispered to me as she gasped her last breaths.
Warm hands clasp each of my arms and I jump, startled, as Simon leans in toward my ear. “Sorry, darlin’. Don’t mean to interrupt. We’re going to say a few words once you’re finished. You take your time. As much as you need.” He squeezes my arms as if to say I love you. Simon’s hands share their DNA. I choke on my tears and he sniffles, curses under his breath, and steps away.
Lennox’s kind eyes are nearly hidden behind his curls in a photo from public school. Those eyes. That smile. I search for my favourite one and find him playing the guitar. I lay a rose before the photo and my lungs expand, full of the love I had for him that has no place to go anymore, and I’m no home for it. I wipe away tears. Lennox with his complex stare, always thinking about something; mischievous, knowing, and true.
Lennox in the living room, dancing close to me, neither of us wanting to take the chance and reach out for the other, but the hum of chemistry still undeniably there between us. He always ignited a buzzing sensation of joy when his eyes were on me, and I basked in his attention when I had it. Lennox at the door, staring out into the night. Lennox sitting by the fire, his deep brown eyes filled by it. The warm glow of his skin radiating tension as I took a seat beside him, only to catch Ellie’s confused gaze moments later.
Lennox, stepping between me and the commotion. My protector.
Lennox in the living room, sitting on his couch in the shadows, his favourite record playing. His throat slit, wearing blood on his shirt like a bib. Lennox’s eyes closed, apart from his sister—his soulmate—and so much left unspoken between us.
Lennox. He never saw it coming.
I press my hand over my mouth, stifling a deep cry as the images flash before my eyes over and over, despite me closing them. Someone’s hand is on my back, rubbing it, but it’s not Lennox, and I want to shrug it off.
Get off of me, please.
I turn around and Morgan’s mother holds her arms out to me. I fall into them, breaking down in tears as her dad watches on, his chin quivering. He avoids eye contact with me but covers my hand on his wife’s back with his.
I’ve known them since kindergarten. Known Morgan since…
Her mom takes a thoughtful step back, nodding to me once, giving me space. In the collection of photos, I find my best friend’s face. Her two front teeth are missing in the one I land on, and it hurts to see her that way, since I’m one of the few here who remember her like that. I find the picture of us with our cheerleading costumes on—the one we took before the party—and lay a rose beneath it. The memories of our friendship flood in with her gentle laughter as a backdrop. It’s interrupted by a phone ringing.
Morgan’s phone ringing. She puts it on silent; that won’t stop him.
Morgan, dancing with John by the fire. I hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time. Never with a man.
He won’t stop.
Morgan on the beach, fighting to be heard over the shouting. Morgan in the bedroom, beside John. Her arms are folded over her bloody chest. Blood bubbles from the corner of her mouth as she stares up at me, eyes full of fear, unable to speak.
I think she was trying to warn me.
Watch out.
He’s still here.
It’s not over.
“Babe?” Cam’s voice scares me as he steps beside me and takes my hand in his. “You ready?”
I clear my throat and nod, wiping tears from my cheeks as I put my head down and let him lead me away from the photos, toward the cedars beside the bay window where Morgan’s parents have gathered with John’s father, and Simon. We stop in front of them, taking my usual place by the families, and I wonder where John’s mom is.
“Thank you all for joining us on the fifth anniversary of our beloved ones’ passing,” Morgan’s father says, holding his wife’s hand. “If you haven’t yet received a white rose, please take one and pay your respects.” He waves his hand toward the bay window. “They are a symbol of peace and pure love—the love we have for our daughter, Morgan, and that we have for Lennox, Eliana, and John. And for Chelsea.” He adjusts his glasses, and I clench all my muscles—including my hand around Cam’s—as he reaches the part of the speech I dread most. I never know how much he’ll credit me for what I did that night—for what they think I did—but the attention builds to a point of sickness within me. Some years are worse than others.
“Chelsea was there that night, trying to protect them as best she could. She was there as some of them took their last breaths. She was there to make the phone call that would put an end to the life of the monster who took them from us. She filled in the gaps we needed. She gave us the closure we needed. Chelsea, on behalf of the families,” he nods to the other parents and they nod back, “and our community, thank you for what you did. You’re a brave woman and you continue to show us how to rebuild from tragedy, and to honour the lives lost by living your life with grace and love. May the innocent souls of our loved ones rest in peace…”
I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t pretend. But I can’t leave; I don’t get to walk away. My heart races and I shake my hand loose from Cam’s, wrapping my arms across my chest to warm myself from the chills rolling off the water behind us.
Don’t look back.
No one’s there.
They’re all dead.
I squeeze my eyes closed as Kellan wraps her arm around me, supporting me as I prepare to lose myself in a flood of images.
It’s Simon’s turn to speak.
The beach. The fire. The dark puddles of blood. The knock at the door.
“No parent should ever lose a child. To lose my twins—in such a… a brutal manner.” I open my eyes as he presses his lips together. “No one,” his voice shakes, loud for the whole crowd to hear. “Should have to go through this—but we have—we still are. We always will.” His voice breaks and he cradles his head in his hands, sobbing.
I step out of Kellan’s warmth and reach out to Simon, wrapping him in a tight hug.
“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he gasps, rubbing my back.
He’s comforting me, but if he knew the truth, he’d know I don’t deserve praise.
I don’t belong in the comfort of his embrace, but I will suffer through it, because I’m alive to do it, and to be here for the families. The last left alive, and the only one remaining to tell the tale. I told it well. Exactly as they would have wanted.