Chapter 5

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I find myself anticipating the dreams more than the waking moments. In them, I don't have to look into anyone's eyes, don't have to see the heartache that reality has planted there.

"I drew you a picture, Justin."

Gus. I was starting to think I'd lost you.

"I wish you could have helped me with it. My pictures are always better when you help."

I wish I could have too, Gus, but I'm sure it's beautiful.

"It's a picture of the whole family. Everyone is sad. I know you can't see them right now, but they're all in my picture."

How I wish I could see it, wish that it could be real and his fingers weren't forever stilled by such a senseless act. I may not be able to hold it in my hands, but through Gus' eyes, I can keep it in my heart. It's the most precious gift anyone has ever given me and I can't even thank him.

"I have to go soon. They don't let me stay too long."

They? My heart warms slightly to know that there is someone looking out for him. Maybe that's what I need to be able to let him go, just to know that he's safe and happy. Are you happy, Gus?

"I'm not sure when they'll let me come back," he's saying. "They said it's against the rules."

I guess that makes sense in a morbid kind of way. It's not every day that one hears from someone who's … passed on. I'm glad they're letting him visit, though. Maybe Gus needs the closure as much as I do.

"They said I should tell you I'm OK, that it might help."

It does help, Gus, more than you know.

"I know I'm not supposed to talk about what happened, but …"

"Gus?"

I want to scream at the whispered voice that interrupts our time together. You can't have him! Not yet!

"Time's up."

"I have to go, Justin." I can practically feel his lips brush my cheek. "Goodbye. I love you."

I love you too, Gus.

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Brian's there when I wake up, the disheveled look of the past day or so having been replaced with a sharp, though slightly somber, ensemble.

"You're back," I whisper.

"Did you honestly think I'd be able to stay away?" he asks, his voice dull.

I look away from the empty hazel eyes. "Brian, I …"

"Not now, Justin," he says.

Michael enters the room quietly, wearing a suit very similar in colour to Brian's though I'm sure the labels are quite different.

"Does the hospital suddenly have a dress code?" I ask weakly, trying for some sort of normalcy in the midst of all the tension.

Michael looks at Brian who's gazing vacantly at the far wall. "Um… no, we just … I mean, today was…"

"The funeral," Brian says in a voice devoid of emotion.

The word slices through me like a hot knife. "Oh, God." I can't help the tears as they spill freely from my eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Brian sits on the side of my bed and gently brushes a tear from my cheek, seemingly oblivious to the ones tracking his own. "It's all right," he says quietly.

"No, Brian, it's not," I tell him, my voice rising along with my anguish. "Gus is … gone and I don't know how we'll ever get through this. Lindsay blames me for what happened."

"No, she…"

"Yes, she does," I insist. "I'm not judging her for that, Brian, but I was the one looking after him, the one who was supposed to keep him safe."

Brian turns away for a moment and I know he's dealing with his own guilt on that front.

"Is this how it's going to be from now on?" I ask in a broken whisper. "I can't stand to see the pain in your eyes and you can't look at me without feeling guilty about what happened."

His head whips around as he looks into my eyes. "I don't blame you, Justin, I told you that."

"I know," I say with a sad smile. "But I blame me, Brian, and you're blaming yourself. We can't live like this."

Michael quietly exits the room, leaving us alone to deal with this impasse.

"We can get help," he says, his tone unconvincing. "Talk to someone."

"No amount of talking is going to make this go away, Brian," I tell him sadly. "This isn't learning to walk down the street or forgiving me for thinking I wanted something else. This is it, for the rest of our lives."

"I can't think that far ahead right now," he whispers.

"And I can't not," I insist gently. "I don't want you to ever forget Gus, Brian, but I don't want you to remember how he died every time you look at me."

"I don't…"

"Yes, you do. You need to remember his smile, his laugh." Tears are flowing freely between us but neither of us pay them any mind. "He's happy, Brian. I know you think I'm crazy with these dreams, but he talks to me. He's drawing pictures and he's being well cared for. They let him visit me, Brian, they didn't have to do that." I take a moment to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand so I can see him once again. "He told me he's OK. He said it might help me, but maybe… maybe it will help you too."

He gets to his feet quickly, his eyes filled with pain and sadness. "I can't…"

Without completing the thought, he's gone, hurrying from the room as though the devil himself were chasing him.

"Goodbye Brian," I whisper, giving in to the crushing wave of despair.

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I try for sleep, desperately wanting to escape to my dream reality, but it won't come. I'm lying back in a semi-reclined position, eyes closed, when I hear the door open. For a brief moment, I find myself hoping beyond hope that it's Gus, that maybe they're giving me one last chance to see him, talk to him.

I have to swallow a sob of disappointment when I open my eyes to see Michael looking at me. "You should be with Brian," I tell him. "He needs you right now."

"I can't help him right now," he replies. "He's just lost two of the most important people in his life. What can I say to him that will make that any better?"

I swallow the lump in my throat and look away from the sadly accusing brown eyes.

"I thought you loved him."

"I do!" I whisper fiercely. "Too much to cause him that kind of pain."

"I don't understand."

I slowly turn my head to look at him. "Where's Lindsay?"

He looks away uneasily.

"It's OK, Michael, I know. I know she doesn't want to see me, can't see me right now. I understand, believe me, I do. She and Brian need each other to get through this and it's not fair to keep him hovering between the two of us. Eventually we'll come to resent one another and sides will be taken." I breathe a shaky sigh. "It'll tear this family apart."

"So you're just giving up?" he asks bitterly.

"I'm letting him go," I correct him.

"Bullshit."

We both turn to see a livid Brian standing in the doorway.

"Brian…"

He doesn't seem to hear me as he strides angrily toward my bed. "You still think running away is an answer?"

"I'm not…"

"Bullshit," he says again. "You're letting me go because that's what I need? Stop fucking lying to yourself, Justin. You're afraid. Afraid to look at Lindsay, at me, afraid that you'll have to deal with our pain on top of your own."

"Brian…"

"No, Michael," he says, shaking his friend's hand from his arm. "I want to hear him admit it. Come on, Justin. Tell us again how this is all for my own good, how much better things will be for me once you're gone."

"How can you not blame me, Brian?" I ask, my voice taking on a pleading tone. "How can anyone not?"

"When last I checked, it wasn't you Carl and the whole fucking Pittsburgh police force was looking for."

"But if I hadn't taken him in there…"

"And if I hadn't had to work late and if Lindsay and Mel hadn't wanted an evening to themselves. When does it stop, Justin? If I hadn't asked you to move in? If I'd never met you? If I'd never agreed to Lindsay's request for a fucking sperm donation?"

"Don't say that," I gasp.

"Why? It doesn't matter anymore, right? Nothing matters but what happened three nights ago. The good years, the happy times, they're all for shit because you've decided that it all comes down to that one night."

His words cut me to the core, but I know deep down that he's right. "Oh my God, Brian, I'm sorry."

My voice is a raspy whisper but it seems to touch something in him. The hard, angry lines in his face disappear and he pulls me into a tight embrace. I can do little but clutch at his jacket, my fingers trying to find the purchase my soul so desperately needs. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"It's OK," he whispers in my ear.

"I don't know what to do," I gasp between my sobs.

"Me neither," he admits, "but whatever it is, we'll do it together. You, me, the girls. This whole fucked up family will get through this… together."

I can only nod in hopeful agreement against his shoulder. All the pain and grief is flowing through me in heaving waves, leaving me drained and limp in his arms.

"Promise me something," he whispers after a moment of silence.

"Anything."

"Don't ever fucking leave me," he says intently. "Stay with me."

"I promise," I whisper as my body begins to surrender to the emotional exhaustion I'm feeling.

As I start to lose the battle for consciousness, his words replay over and over in my mind.

Stay with me.

Stay with me.