Soundtrack: 'Ulysses' - Josh Garrels

{Cary}

The following weeks were full of packing, cleaning, and moving into their new neighbourhood—too full for Cary to think much about the verdict. He gave himself completely to the work of being part of the White family, and it felt more like he belonged with every day that passed. He packed up the dismembered pieces of his old family and set them aside for a time. He figured he would sort them out when he needed and Split-lip would help.

He was in his new room, listening to the sounds of the old house settling underneath him. The attic bedroom did indeed have a massive drafting table, taking up most of the space. His bed was tucked under the slanting ceiling, and the wall hugged close to him at night, making him feel safe and secure. The rumbling sound of Pete's voice and Mel's soft answering laughter in the room below him helped.

There was a window in the peak of the room, with airy curtains he had helped Mel hang up stirring lightly in the cool night air. A single star hung in the indigo sky and Cary smiled, thinking of how many more stars Tru could see from the porch of her house. Next summer he would be on her farm again, with plenty of time to watch the constellations swing overhead, drink strong coffee together and say as few words as possible.

There were no windows where his father slept. This thought walked in uninvited, and for the first time Cary let it stay, holding still to look at it directly: his father, confined to a tiny prison cell, stripped of his fine clothes, expelled from his respected work, and cut off from his influential connections.

He took a tight breath, knuckling his eyes. Conall had a bed, a toilet, and three meals a day. It was more than Cary had had in the basement. It was still some effort to tell himself that his father was living with the consequences of his own actions.

He unpacked the memory of the trial day with cold hands, remembering the burning ember lodged in his chest as he'd sat in the witness box and said all the words that were needed. It was as if the cave fire had blazed up hot and bright, keeping him from freezing so he could finish what he'd started.

It was his father who had been cold. Cary had expected Conall to fight back—he'd had his feet dug in for Conall to come at him one more time and batter him bloody with his angry, powerful words. But he had been silent. Cary saw his father's face again, white as a mask, something glittering far back in his black eyes. Cary's own eyes stung as they had that day, recognizing the look of the dead—the face of a person labouring under a weight of wrongdoing too heavy to carry.

He put the heels of his hands against the heat of his eyes and went to his father's study in his memory for the last time. The room was bare, the fireplace empty and cold. The only object the room still held was a large bag full of something bulky, a dark stain spreading on the carpet around it.

The hair on the back of Cary's neck stirred, looking at it. The walls seemed to echo with the anger that had poured through him like flames when he had last faced his father in this room. He looked around for Split-lip. He didn't feel angry anymore. Something different moved inside his chest—something that needed release.

Cary heaved the bag onto his back with a grunt, staggering under the weight. He carried it, damp and heavy against the small of his back, and let it drop with a thump on the sand beside the pool.

Split-lip. Please, I need you.

While he waited, he opened the bag and arranged the pieces on the sand, tucking his father's torn limbs next to his empty chest cavity in an attempt to make him look whole again. Conall's grey face was spattered with his own blood, rigid and open-mouthed, dead in mid-scream. Cary turned away, swallowing. Kneeling at the edge of the pool, he washed the blood off his hands, then laid his wet fingers against his dry, burning eyes. We are the same.

When he opened them, Split-lip was beside him, his scar stretched with his welcoming smile.

"What do you want me to do for you?"

Cary hurried to the corpse, spreading his hand over its shirt front and looking up into Split-lip's face. "Raise him." His voice was dry. "Like you did me."

Split-lip knelt in the sand, considering the body, and Cary held his breath. He wasn't sure how it worked in this place, but Split-lip was bigger than him. Maybe the things he did here for Cary could ripple out to affect others as well. He wanted to believe it was possible for his father's face to come back to life as he sat in his prison cell, for hope to be born new in him, as if out of nowhere. Surely with Split-lip there was a chance for him.

Split-lip gently straightened Conall's limbs, taking his big, cold hands and folding them over his broad chest. His brown fingers closed the staring eyes and smoothed the open mouth into the flat, neutral line Conall had worn at the trial. When he was finished, Cary's father was whole again. His buttoned shirt was clean and crisp, and it looked as if he were sleeping.

Cary drew in his breath, leaning over to study Conall's face. Was this actually going to work? "Wake up," Cary said, low and rough. The face didn't move. He put his hand on his father's cold cheek, then pushed his hair off his forehead.

"Father." He lifted his voice, tapping his cheek. "Wake up." The eyelids didn't flicker. He glared across the body at Split-lip. "Help me. You can reach him; you're everywhere. Do something."

Split-lip's eyes were dark on his, his scarred hands spread on his knees. "I am."

Anger suddenly blazed up hot in Cary's chest, and he grabbed his father's shirt in his fists, thumping him against the ground. "Listen to me for once in your goddamn life, Conall Douglas," he growled. "WAKE UP!"

Split-lip got to his feet. "Time to go," he said quietly.

Cary's breath left him, and he choked, reaching a hand to Split-lip, who was walking away. "Wait! Please don't give up on him. He's still out there—walking around—there's still a chance. You can reach him like you reached me."

Split-lip was picking his way along the mountain shoulder, and for the first time, Cary saw there was a path there, leading up. "Follow me," Split-lip said over his shoulder. "Let the dead bury their dead."

His heart burned, watching Split-lip go. This body was too heavy to carry if he was going to follow. Cary bent his head. Tears broke, dripping off his face to run in little rivulets into the pool. He pulled his father closer, rubbing his face against his shirt. Below the smell of pipe smoke and lemon cleaner was a sour tang he recognized—had tasted in his own mouth before Split-lip had found him. The smell of the dead.

He gathered his father in his arms, and, with a hoarse cry, he stood, shoulders and arms straining under Conall's great weight. He staggered to the pool and heaved his father as far to the middle as he could. The body hit the water with a thunderous crash, and the resulting wave slapped over Cary, then washed over the ledge with a splash and a rumble. Cary quickly shook the tears from his eyes to watch his father's body go over with the fall of water. Conall's arms were still folded over his clean shirt, as his body tipped to stand upright for a second, his dark hair flying, then dropping out of sight.

Cary's legs buckled, and he laid with his face against the wet sand, his arms spread like he was trying to float, and wept.

When the tears passed, like the water leaping down the mountainside, he got to his feet, his head aching. Split-lip was still waiting at the opening of the trail. Cary joined him, holding out his empty hands. "Here I am." His head was too heavy to lift. Split-lip gently brushed the sand off his forehead and drew Cary's head to rest against his shoulder, clasping the back of his neck. Cary made a dry noise, all out of tears.

Split-lip's breath stirred his hair as he spoke. "Ready to come with me?"

There was a fragrance that belonged only to Split-lip: crushed herbs and rich earth and the round, coppery tang of living things. Breathing that in, Cary felt stronger, and he lifted his head and shook out his shoulders.

Cary said, "Yes."

*Cary's settled in with the White's for good, and his life is changed forever. Can you help wondering what happened next?? Me either lol. One chapter left, just an epilogue really!

How do you feel about Cary's journey from all the rage he had against his father to now, beside the pool with Split lip? Have you ever felt like there was stuff you just had to heave overboard to carry on and be whole? I definitely have... Thanks for the reads and votes, lovelies. Be well today!*