Page 34 of Lycan’s Hunt

“Is Mom on her way?” she whispers, her words gurgling as blood spills from her lips. I glance around nervously, “You’re like Humpty Dumpty, remember? We’ll put you back together again. Just hold on.”

Grandma’s wails fill the air. “Someone call an ambulance! Please, hurry!”

I can see the light fading from Brielle’s eyes. “Don’t go,” I plead. “Please don’t leave me.”

Her grip on my hand loosens, and then… she’s gone. I cling to her body, screaming, refusing to let go even as strong arms try to pull me away.

Grandpa? I remember thinking hazily. The memory fades, leaving me shaking and tear-stained in my mother’s arms.

I blink away the tears, trying to focus on my mother’s face. Her eyes are filled with a mixture of sorrow and something else. Apprehension?

“What do you remember about that day, Aubrey?” she asks softly, her hand on my shoulder.

I swallow hard, my throat tight. “Grandpa left to get bread. Brielle and I went to ride our bikes. Then,” I shake my head, the screeching of tires echoing in my mind. “I can’t. I don’t want to remember anymore.”

Mom’s grip tightens slightly. “The car, Aubrey. Do you remember anything about the car?”

I close my eyes, trying to conjure the image, all I can see is Brielle’s broken body on the ground. “No, I… I can’t see anything but Brielle.”

“There were yellow paint scrapes on her bike,” Mom says quietly.

My eyes snap open, confusion flooding through me. “Yellow paint? What do you mean? What are you saying?”

“It was your grandfather, Aubrey. He was drunk behind the wheel.” she says softly.

I shake my head violently. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

“Yes, Aubrey,” Mom nods, her voice breaking. “That’s why I stopped speaking to your grandmother. She gave him her keys, knowing he was drunk.”

The room spins around me. “But Grandpa, he… he…” I can’t finish the sentence.

“He died not long afterward, remember?” Mom scoffs a bitter laugh, “He killed himself. He couldn’t live with the guilt, knowing I would never forgive him.”

I stare at her, my world crumbling around me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I wanted to protect you, Aubrey. I wanted you to have a childhood without this awful truth hanging over it.” Her eyes are pools of sorrow, mirroring my own feelings of shock and disbelief.

“But it was a lie, Mom! You lied to me!” I can barely get the words out, the realization that my own grandfather caused my sister’s death throbbing like a fresh wound in my chest.

“I know. I know, sweetheart,” she whispers, her hand reaching toward me again.

I flinch away from her touch, shaking my head. “I know you’re upset, you lost your sister. But I lost my daughter, my mother and my father all in one day. I know you think I was cruel not helping her, but she defended him, and then blamed me for his death when he ended it.” she tells me. She glances at my sister’s pillow, picking up the stuffed bear.

“I just couldn’t,” Mom says, looking away. “In every story you told, Grandpa was still your hero. I didn’t have the heart to take that away from you when you already lost so much.”

“But Brielle.” The words stick in my throat, tears prickling my eyes, a storm of emotions rising within me. My hands tremble as I remember her smile, her laugh, the life she should have lived.

“I know,” Mom says softly, taking my hand in hers. “She was a light in our lives.”

A tear slides down my cheek. “How could he? Why would he…?”

“He was a broken man, Aubrey,” Mom offers, it’s small consolation against the guilt and betrayal coursing through me. “The drink had a hold of him.”

“He took her away,” I whisper, and she nods, grief etching deep lines into her face.

“Yes,” she whispers back. “And eventually himself.”

One thing is clear in the chaos of my feelings: Nothing will ever be the same again. Accepting this truth about Grandpa will be like trying to swallow a bitter pill that can never be spit out again.

“I’m sorry, baby.” mom whispers. “I thought I was doing the right thing.” It suddenly all makes sense now.

Staring at my mother, there’s an ache in my chest as she sits here so defeated. Her fingers wrapped around my hand are warm yet the look in her eyes is as cold as the dead.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers again, yet it feels hollow, like the part my sister took from me when she passed. That piece suddenly feels colder with the realization. Looking at my mother I see Brielle took so much more from her. She lost her daughter, her mother and father, but the most destructive loss was her sense of self.

It’s with wide open eyes I truly see the damage of her loss, that my childlike mind back then couldn’t. Why and how my mother became robotic after her death. My father became sterner, colder, like he was too scared to love me in case he lost me also. I can’t imagine living with that kind of grief or fear.

None of it matters now, the only thing I guess I can be grateful for is that Brielle never met this version of my parents, this hollowed out broken version they became. She died with cherished memories, she died loved. Yet at the same time I wonder if she were still here if I would have had the same.

Grief does that, changes people. Some sit in that grief stagnant, never changing, while some have a new look on life and appreciate every moment. Others die with them, decaying while still alive.

Standing, I leave her alone in the bedroom, the silence heavier now than before.

I move toward the guest room, a terrible emptiness settles within me as if something essential has been ripped away from my soul. Everything feels surreal and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to look at family photos again without thinking about this night and my mother’s confession. How Grandma never said a word for all that time I was with her. Was suggesting I pretend to be her just a way for her to reconcile what her mate and husband had done, is that why she helped me? I feel betrayed by everyone, this news has just rocked my entire world once again leaving me to scramble to pick up the remnants of what I know.

The image of Brielle’s radiant smile is the last thing I see before I close my eyes. And there is no comfort in that memory for the first time in years. Only a sharp pain that digs deep into my heart. Suddenly I’m no longer remembering her life because now all I can see is her death. I can only see what I wish to forget.

I remember my sister’s last gasp of life, my mind refusing to believe she wouldn’t be saved. Mom could fix anything, but the sound that left my mother when the doctor spoke to her, sounded just as broken as Brielle, it fractured the air—a sound so tormenting I never wish to hear it again. A sound so broken it left no doubt at what became of my sister. That sound wasn’t just grief, it was my mother’s soul dying alongside her.