Post by Paroxysm on Oct 22, 2016 12:46:00 GMT -5
There are a few things in life which are so small, yet the most horrifying.
An unexpected phone call.
Sometimes it’s a note.
In this case, it was a knock at the door.
These are not so terrible on their own, but it’s the knowledge behind them.
A call that wakes you in the middle of the night.
A note left behind in a room which should not be empty.
The knock came five hours after they were due home.
Home.
What little hope is left is dashed when the door is opened, and it is not them.
Noah knew the news before the Don even said the words, but he could not comprehend them. It was unreal, a joke, a dream. He knew it wasn’t, but a foolish part of him clung to a nonexistent hope. He couldn’t even tell it was there.
“I’m sorry, Noah.” Don Falcone was speaking, hiding his rage for Noah’s sake. Anger glinted behind his eyes. It hid in the tightened corners of his mouth. “I can guarantee you reparations. We have everyone preparing to take from Maroni what he has stolen from us.”
Noah was shaking. With those words, the voids next to him became evident. The emptiness of the room, where his husband and wife should be with him. The words meant nothing. He was sure the Don meant well, but he could not fathom a response. He could not fathom anything past this moment, here and now. There was no future.
The Don recognized Noah’s silence, and gestured for his crew to enter the house with him. Three of his closest confidants filed through the door, Xander guiding Noah to the beaten couch while Kiera closed the door behind them, checking the outside the windows for more attackers. The Don himself sat beside Noah as Armani began searching the kitchen.
Noah couldn’t bring himself to move more than directed. His eyes gazed blankly at the messy floor ahead of him, littered with small toys the children had left behind, and he had been too anxious to clean up. He couldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t focus his eyes. The emptiness dragged for ages, with only the sound of Xander and Kiera speaking in hushed tones, and Armani in the kitchen. Soon, even that was gone as they were brought tea, a mug of which was forcefully put into Noah’s hands.
“Where are the little ones, Noah?” Falcone asked, his voice more tense than normal.
Through his foggy mind, the answer emitted itself through Noah’s cracking voice. It whispered behind emotion that Noah could not yet process. “Bed.” The mug was burning his hands, but Noah could only hold it tighter and tighter.
Armani noticed the shaking, and murmured his name in a concerned voice. Noah could only respond to the void rising in his stomach, the emptiness which seemed to fill the entire room. Noah needed it to go away. Anything.
“How?” the whisper left his lips before he knew what he was asking.
The Don looked Noah over. Noah knew this, but could not look the man in the eye. He did not answer Noah’s question, and instead commanded, “Drink.”
Noah obeyed, and found that the burning liquid did nothing to warm him.
“Police were there first. We don’t know what happened to them,” Falcone admitted.
“You.. saw them?” Noah questioned, a jolt of hope tearing his chest in two. Maybe the Don was assuming wrong.
The Don shook his head. “I’m sorry, Noah,” he repeated, placing a hand on the other’s knee. “When we capture the ones who did this, you will be the one to pay them back.”
It was too empty. It was too silent.
The mug still burned Noah’s hand, yet did nothing to fend off the cold inside him. Noah felt like he was suffocating, he had forgotten how to breathe, he did not want to face the admittance that came with tears.
Instead he screamed. Kiera called his name, but Noah paid no mind as the ceramic mug shattered against the wall nearest to them. The tea spattered around them, against Noah’s face, but still it felt like nothing.
Noah collapsed over his knees, now hoping to push back the terror and thoughts that encroached upon his mind. He would have nothing, again.
“What do you need from us?” Falcone questioned the other, unphased by his outburst. No matter how much Noah took deep breaths, he felt like he was suffocating. He shook his head in response. “Wendy and Marvin?” the Don persisted. Noah shook his head again, clenching his fists. He couldn’t raise them alone. He couldn’t.
Falcone’s sigh was irritated, and he crossed his arms. “You’re still their father, son. They come first.”
“I can’t,” Noah emitted, shaking all over. “I-I can’t..”
“You can and you will,” Falcone insisted, standing up with gusto. “Get up, Kuttler.” Noah shook his head again, refusing to look at anything but the man’s shoes. Falcone barked at him, “Get up!” as he pulled Noah up himself by the collar.
Noah was not standing for long, as within seconds he received a punch that knocked him to the floor. Falcone uncoiled his fingers, glaring down at the coughing Noah. “The little ones need a decision now, Kuttler. You don’t have time to do this.”’
Noah’s fists clenched again. “Take care of them,” he told them, his voice weak. “Away from here. Just..”
“You’d abandon them?” Xander questioned, his disgust clear.
Noah’s nails dug into his palms, the prospect of Xander’s question filling him with more rage than he thought possible. The white hot anger was a painful contrast to his emptiness. “Twenty four hours,” he hissed up at them. “I need--”
“Enough,” Falcone interrupted him. “It is done. Armani, please wake Wendy. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Armani nodded, leaving towards the bedrooms, and Falcone looked down at Noah again. “Don’t you do anything stupid in that time, boy. If I say you will be the one to get revenge, then you will be there to see it through.” Noah gritted his teeth to hold back the tears that had finally started to come, and the Don squatted down to look him in the eye. “You have five minutes to remember how to smile for your daughter.”
Noah waved them off with a smile, and another warning from the Don.
He fell back to the ground when the door closed and he was allowed to release the sobs in his throat. How could they be gone? Without them he had nothing. He had no future, he had no reason. He didn’t have Jira’s gentle words of comfort, her rolling eyes to remind him that the world didn’t run on his schedule, and she would be there to help him deal with it. He didn’t have Haymich to make him laugh, his sporadic hugs and caresses, making him feel adored.
How could he have known that goodbye would be their last? The last time he would be engulfed in a bear hug from Haymich, the last time he would hold Jira’s warm hands, if only for a second.
He couldn’t handle anything without them, especially not supporting two children. He would only let them down. Lead the children into a miserable life, hating their good for nothing father, who could only find money in the crime which had killed their parents.
Noah couldn’t stand it. He did not want to accept this, he couldn’t fathom the concept of tomorrow. It was nothing, and he was too tired, too empty, to make himself feel otherwise. He wanted to sleep. To sleep, and wake up away from this nightmare. He closed his eyes where he was, convincing himself this was all a dream. This emptiness was too strong to be anything more than his crazed imagination. Soon they would wake him from this.
He didn’t know how long he was there. He didn’t remember any coherent thoughts in that time. All he knew is he became stiff, and it hurt to move.
Noah hauled himself upwards, and shambled to his bedroom. The light turned on, revealing one of Haymich’s jacket’s strewn across the end of the bed. This one was green. Jira’s hair oils sat atop the drawers to his left. Her side of the bed was neatly made. Haymich’s was hastily pulled straight. Both sides were empty. He knew both would be cold, and as he found support in the doorframe beside him, Noah knew that this was not a dream. The smell of his husband and wife would fade into nothingness, long before he stopped missing them. These remnants would remain cold and lifeless, and he had no way to fix that. There was nothing he could do to even get a last goodbye, a last moment of life from them. It was instantly, and suddenly, nothing.
Nothing but regret and loneliness.
He could not sleep in this room. He could barely pass the threshold of the door.
An unexpected phone call.
Sometimes it’s a note.
In this case, it was a knock at the door.
These are not so terrible on their own, but it’s the knowledge behind them.
A call that wakes you in the middle of the night.
A note left behind in a room which should not be empty.
The knock came five hours after they were due home.
Home.
What little hope is left is dashed when the door is opened, and it is not them.
Noah knew the news before the Don even said the words, but he could not comprehend them. It was unreal, a joke, a dream. He knew it wasn’t, but a foolish part of him clung to a nonexistent hope. He couldn’t even tell it was there.
“I’m sorry, Noah.” Don Falcone was speaking, hiding his rage for Noah’s sake. Anger glinted behind his eyes. It hid in the tightened corners of his mouth. “I can guarantee you reparations. We have everyone preparing to take from Maroni what he has stolen from us.”
Noah was shaking. With those words, the voids next to him became evident. The emptiness of the room, where his husband and wife should be with him. The words meant nothing. He was sure the Don meant well, but he could not fathom a response. He could not fathom anything past this moment, here and now. There was no future.
The Don recognized Noah’s silence, and gestured for his crew to enter the house with him. Three of his closest confidants filed through the door, Xander guiding Noah to the beaten couch while Kiera closed the door behind them, checking the outside the windows for more attackers. The Don himself sat beside Noah as Armani began searching the kitchen.
Noah couldn’t bring himself to move more than directed. His eyes gazed blankly at the messy floor ahead of him, littered with small toys the children had left behind, and he had been too anxious to clean up. He couldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t focus his eyes. The emptiness dragged for ages, with only the sound of Xander and Kiera speaking in hushed tones, and Armani in the kitchen. Soon, even that was gone as they were brought tea, a mug of which was forcefully put into Noah’s hands.
“Where are the little ones, Noah?” Falcone asked, his voice more tense than normal.
Through his foggy mind, the answer emitted itself through Noah’s cracking voice. It whispered behind emotion that Noah could not yet process. “Bed.” The mug was burning his hands, but Noah could only hold it tighter and tighter.
Armani noticed the shaking, and murmured his name in a concerned voice. Noah could only respond to the void rising in his stomach, the emptiness which seemed to fill the entire room. Noah needed it to go away. Anything.
“How?” the whisper left his lips before he knew what he was asking.
The Don looked Noah over. Noah knew this, but could not look the man in the eye. He did not answer Noah’s question, and instead commanded, “Drink.”
Noah obeyed, and found that the burning liquid did nothing to warm him.
“Police were there first. We don’t know what happened to them,” Falcone admitted.
“You.. saw them?” Noah questioned, a jolt of hope tearing his chest in two. Maybe the Don was assuming wrong.
The Don shook his head. “I’m sorry, Noah,” he repeated, placing a hand on the other’s knee. “When we capture the ones who did this, you will be the one to pay them back.”
It was too empty. It was too silent.
The mug still burned Noah’s hand, yet did nothing to fend off the cold inside him. Noah felt like he was suffocating, he had forgotten how to breathe, he did not want to face the admittance that came with tears.
Instead he screamed. Kiera called his name, but Noah paid no mind as the ceramic mug shattered against the wall nearest to them. The tea spattered around them, against Noah’s face, but still it felt like nothing.
Noah collapsed over his knees, now hoping to push back the terror and thoughts that encroached upon his mind. He would have nothing, again.
“What do you need from us?” Falcone questioned the other, unphased by his outburst. No matter how much Noah took deep breaths, he felt like he was suffocating. He shook his head in response. “Wendy and Marvin?” the Don persisted. Noah shook his head again, clenching his fists. He couldn’t raise them alone. He couldn’t.
Falcone’s sigh was irritated, and he crossed his arms. “You’re still their father, son. They come first.”
“I can’t,” Noah emitted, shaking all over. “I-I can’t..”
“You can and you will,” Falcone insisted, standing up with gusto. “Get up, Kuttler.” Noah shook his head again, refusing to look at anything but the man’s shoes. Falcone barked at him, “Get up!” as he pulled Noah up himself by the collar.
Noah was not standing for long, as within seconds he received a punch that knocked him to the floor. Falcone uncoiled his fingers, glaring down at the coughing Noah. “The little ones need a decision now, Kuttler. You don’t have time to do this.”’
Noah’s fists clenched again. “Take care of them,” he told them, his voice weak. “Away from here. Just..”
“You’d abandon them?” Xander questioned, his disgust clear.
Noah’s nails dug into his palms, the prospect of Xander’s question filling him with more rage than he thought possible. The white hot anger was a painful contrast to his emptiness. “Twenty four hours,” he hissed up at them. “I need--”
“Enough,” Falcone interrupted him. “It is done. Armani, please wake Wendy. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Armani nodded, leaving towards the bedrooms, and Falcone looked down at Noah again. “Don’t you do anything stupid in that time, boy. If I say you will be the one to get revenge, then you will be there to see it through.” Noah gritted his teeth to hold back the tears that had finally started to come, and the Don squatted down to look him in the eye. “You have five minutes to remember how to smile for your daughter.”
Noah waved them off with a smile, and another warning from the Don.
He fell back to the ground when the door closed and he was allowed to release the sobs in his throat. How could they be gone? Without them he had nothing. He had no future, he had no reason. He didn’t have Jira’s gentle words of comfort, her rolling eyes to remind him that the world didn’t run on his schedule, and she would be there to help him deal with it. He didn’t have Haymich to make him laugh, his sporadic hugs and caresses, making him feel adored.
How could he have known that goodbye would be their last? The last time he would be engulfed in a bear hug from Haymich, the last time he would hold Jira’s warm hands, if only for a second.
He couldn’t handle anything without them, especially not supporting two children. He would only let them down. Lead the children into a miserable life, hating their good for nothing father, who could only find money in the crime which had killed their parents.
Noah couldn’t stand it. He did not want to accept this, he couldn’t fathom the concept of tomorrow. It was nothing, and he was too tired, too empty, to make himself feel otherwise. He wanted to sleep. To sleep, and wake up away from this nightmare. He closed his eyes where he was, convincing himself this was all a dream. This emptiness was too strong to be anything more than his crazed imagination. Soon they would wake him from this.
He didn’t know how long he was there. He didn’t remember any coherent thoughts in that time. All he knew is he became stiff, and it hurt to move.
Noah hauled himself upwards, and shambled to his bedroom. The light turned on, revealing one of Haymich’s jacket’s strewn across the end of the bed. This one was green. Jira’s hair oils sat atop the drawers to his left. Her side of the bed was neatly made. Haymich’s was hastily pulled straight. Both sides were empty. He knew both would be cold, and as he found support in the doorframe beside him, Noah knew that this was not a dream. The smell of his husband and wife would fade into nothingness, long before he stopped missing them. These remnants would remain cold and lifeless, and he had no way to fix that. There was nothing he could do to even get a last goodbye, a last moment of life from them. It was instantly, and suddenly, nothing.
Nothing but regret and loneliness.
He could not sleep in this room. He could barely pass the threshold of the door.