Pieces in Chance (2 page)

Shit
, she thought, gathering her sketchbook off the Formica table and jamming it into her book bag.
He’s gonna be pissed.

Drew hurriedly made her way to the door, half terrified to go home, and half relieved that the day was over. She couldn’t help but wonder where Dean was, and, as if she’d conjured him, she saw him walking her direction.

“Not paying attention again?”
he signed, taking her bag before she could protest. Drew nodded and her brother smiled.

“Someday that’s going to get you in more trouble than just missing curfew.”

“Real teenagers don’t have a three o’clock curfew, Dean,”
she signed back, frustrated and rolling her eyes.

“We’re
not
real teenagers, Drew. We’re prisoners in a world without bars.”

It was obvious that Dean was down, depressed, hating life on her behalf again. She couldn’t help but hate herself for that. Dean was handsome, popular; all the girls in school wanted to date him. He was on the football team, still managed to have good grades, and had been elected class president. At almost seventeen, he was quite the catch for a small town like Chance – college scouts were already coming to watch him play. He’d have his whole future ahead of him, if it weren’t for her.

“You’re not,” she told him aloud. “I don’t want you to be.” She hesitated for a moment before finishing.
“I want you to take the scholarship to LSU. Get as far away from Chance as possible. You need to get away from here, from me. You deserve more.”

“
You
deserve more,” Drew read his lips.
“I want you to listen carefully, understand?”
he signed before turning her to face him squarely. “I’m not leaving you here. We’ll go together.”

Heart clenching, Drew smiled sadly. Wishing to leave Chance had long ago left her thoughts – there was no way
he
was going to let her go. Dean, on the other hand, was a different story. He was going to get out of this Podunk, awful hell-town they were in, if it killed her.

Chapter Two
 

Drew

Drew closed her eyes, praying that the sights around her would disappear. The room around her wasn’t on fire; pictures weren’t curling and cracking, disintegrating from the middle outward.  The few possessions she had left were leaving her as quickly as she wished her life would. She sat in the center of the floor, terrified to move, but terrified to stay. How had things changed so completely, so quickly, to the point of her losing herself completely?
It doesn’t matter,
she scolded herself,
the point is that they did and you now have to live, or die, with the consequences.

She stifled the urge to scream, the same feeling telling her to run and hide, to pretend that she was a child under the covers – if she couldn’t see him, he couldn’t see her, right? She knew that he was coming for her; she could feel his footsteps through the wood beneath her, even despite the complete chaos of flames in every direction. 

“Consequences
,” he’d screamed and she shivered, remembering the way the air had swirled around her as he’d ripped his belt from its loops when she’d walked in past ‘curfew.’

“I’m sorry! I left school late … I had a question on an assignment, I promise,”
she’d pleaded with him, her speech broken because of the damage he’d done. She’d hoped for a miracle, that he’d understand, but he’d only told her once more that it was his way or no way.

Footsteps vibrated hard on the wood floor, followed by beating on the door, and Drew prayed the fire would let the wood hold, just for a little while longer. Words to prayers she hadn’t thought in ages, to a God she no longer believed was listening, tumbled from her, begging for the strength not to move despite the heat moving closer, closing her in; strength to keep breathing in the smoke, for asphyxiation to take her before he got the door down. It was her only hope – if he opened the door, she’d only
wish
she were dead.

He continued beating on the door, much like he had her. She touched her face, wincing at the open cuts that now coated her. Blood covered her hand, from her cheeks, her ears, from the back of her neck. It was everywhere. The crimson liquid surprised her, and didn’t. He’d always been careful not to break skin – bruise, break bones, hide, but never break skin.

“How. Many. Times. Do. I. Have. To. Tell. You. Things?!” he’d screamed, his words mangled in her damaged ear drums. Between each word he whipped her with his belt before throwing it aside. Drew thought he was done, that she’d gotten off somewhat easy, until his fists replaced the piece of leather across her skin.

“Are you fucking stupid? You are, girl, aren’t you! You’re a fucking whore, too, aren’t you!? That’s where you were. With some boy and with his cock in you! You’ll spread your legs for anyone!” She’d closed her eyes when his knuckles landed a blow near her eye, glad for an escape from reading the accusations that fell from his lips. She wasn’t a whore, he knew it, but he didn’t care.

Drew had stopped fighting but as he pulled his zipper down, adrenaline flared within her.
NO! Not again, never again,
her mind had rebelled, and she kicked him as hard as she could in his groin, scrambling to her feet and running to her room. Locking it, she’d tried to open the tiny window above her bed, to no avail. She’d known he’d bolted it, the same day he’d barred it with steel so she couldn’t run away, regardless of her protests. Not having any other options, she used the silver candle lighter Dean had given her for her birthday and set fire to the drab curtains, staring in amazement as the magnificent oranges and reds spread quickly throughout her room.

A piece of her heart shattered as she watched the flames lick up the walls, overtaking everything she’d once loved. This room had once been her safe haven, turning into her own prison, and now would be even more. She just wanted the hell she was in to end, and if this was how it had to happen, so be it. Dean was safe, Drew had seen to it – he was at football practice and she’d mailed his acknowledgement of acceptance to LSU this afternoon, the real reason she’d been late coming home from school.

Thick black smoke covered the room, filling her nostrils and lungs, causing Drew to cough. She steeled herself against her body’s urge to run, to find clean air to breathe, to live, all the while taking solace that the lock was holding. She’d never been so thankful that she’d lost her hearing – she couldn’t hear anything around her but the muted sound of the flames crackling.

This is going to end here and now
, she decided, refusing to back down.
Either him or me, God, you make your choice.

Drew couldn’t help but wish she’d said goodbye to Dean properly, to thank him for being more than a brother, more than a twin to her. He’d become her lifeline, the only person in the world who cared whether she lived or died. Unfortunately, she hadn’t planned this outcome … the opportunity had just presented itself. The final thought she had before her body collapsed to the floor, her body shutting down from the lack of oxygen in the air, was that at least now Dean would be truly free to live his life. Dean was finally free, and so was she.

The room was dim, only a small circle of yellow light coming from a tiny bulb above. Blinking, she waited for her eyes to adjust, to give her some clue as to where she was. Last she could remember, she’d been in her room, flames and smoke all around her.

As Drew bolted upright, panicking, a hand grasped hers. Her eyes darted to it before traveling up to the body it belonged to and she let a breath out as she saw Dean, his eyes haunted, dark purple circling under them as if he hadn’t slept. Body heavy and dizzy from the adrenaline now seeping out of her, she let herself fall back into a cradle of pillows. After a moment she realized she was in the hospital, in a hospital bed, alive, with her brother beside her.
Oh no!
her mind inwardly screamed.
No! This wasn’t supposed to happen! What if
he
made it out too!?

Her gaze darted to her brother, fear filling her eyes with tears. He must’ve understood her look because he began speaking.

“You’re alright, Drew,” he said, speaking slowly so she could follow his lips in her groggy state. It took a moment for her to register that she heard nothing. The small tidbits of his voice that used to still filter through her damaged ears were gone. There was no distant beeping, no whirling of anything from the room, nothing.

Dread mingled with her fear, her anxiety. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs – the hospital room could have been full of smoke, just like her room, and she wouldn’t have known the difference. It had finally happened. She was deaf, one hundred percent. Never would she hear her beloved brother’s soothing tones, if not the syllables within his words. There wasn’t even a static or ringing she’d always thought would fill her once it overtook her. Instead there was nothing. Something she used to find soothing, the peace and quiet, was now oppressive, depressing.

Shaking of her hand roused her from her mental lament. Glancing up, she noticed that Dean had moved, now perching on the side of her bed, though she hadn’t felt the bed move.

“What is it? What can I do to help?”
he signed, an expectant, longing expression on his face. How could she tell him that she couldn’t hear
anything
anymore? And that there was nothing he could do, or could have done, to help? Sure, he’d gone through great pains to learn ASL for her, to find a way to communicate with her that didn’t include screaming and only lip reading. But it had been hard for him. It hurt him that she’d been hurt, that she’d lost something so precious most took for granted. Telling him that everything was gone? It was going to kill a small piece of him inside. She entertained the idea of lying to him, but only for a minute. It wouldn’t take him long to see right through her and know the truth, which would only make things worse.

“I hear nothing, now,”
she signed in answer, closing her eyes, opting to tell him the truth. A part of her had known this day would come; she’d felt it and known it during
his
beating her, felt the damage as it had happened. Still, nothing could have prepared her for how it actually felt. And how it would make her beloved brother feel.
I should have died in that fire, I wanted to, damn it. I was ready to go,
she thought miserably, a rogue tear escaping from her closed lid and trailing down her cheek.

It just wasn’t fair. Sure, she hadn’t planned on setting the fire – it’d been a domino effect, a reaction to her father’s abuse. But, even she had to admit, she’d been looking for an escape plan for a long time. A way to escape the pain of the abuse, the pain she caught in her twin’s eyes every time he glimpsed yet another bruise on her cheek. How her life had spiraled so out of control, how she had gone from popular and happy, seeming to have it all, to wishing for an end, was simply unfair. She’d constantly reminded herself that bad things happened to good people, just as bad things happened to bad people – it was the way of the world. The simple, irrefutable truth of the way the world worked. Hell, look at her poor mom.

Dana Townsend had been the light of the town – prom queen back in her day, the beauty of Chance. She’d been a pillar of the community as she’d gotten older, always volunteering and donating her time and money to help others. No one had ever had a bad thing to say about her, always sought her company and guidance when they were having a hard time, and she never turned someone away, for any reason. There had been many families, couples and children alike, staying in their home when times had gotten rough; that was just the kind of woman Dana had been.

After being married for sixteen years to her high school sweetheart, the quarterback of the football team, no less, the apple of the town’s eye had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Before her mom, Drew had always thought of the big C as a scary story that happened to other people – simply stories she saw in the news or online that made her sad for others, but never had her thinking it could happen to her. Besides, her mom was beautiful, happy, and
good
… Things like that just didn’t happen to people like her. But it did. And when it did, it happened faster than anyone could have guessed.

Drew’s mother hadn’t even seemed sick. She’d merely gone to the doctor because she’d had a cough that wouldn’t go away and pain in her chest. If anything they’d all been concerned she may have had bronchitis or even pneumonia. If only they could have all been so lucky. Stage four breast cancer. Four – a small number that shouldn’t incite fear in loved ones, but is the worst imaginable. After several MRIs and CT scans, they’d discovered that the disease had spread as well, no longer in just her breast tissue, but in her lungs, her bones, and even her brain.

“There’s nothing that can be done for you. We can give you some prescriptions to make you more comfortable, Dana, but I’m sorry – no treatment or surgeries will remove this from your body. I’m so sorry.”

That was the first time Drew had ever seen a grown man cry, Dr. Williams breaking down with his head in his hands as her mother sat across from him, gripping his hand and consoling
him.

A slight nudge against her leg had her opening her eyes, catching a glimpse of Dean with tears snaking their way down his cheeks. The sight was almost too much to bear, almost had her squeezing her lids back together, the absurd notion to will the images away strong in her.

Before she could hide from his expression, or he could sign anything further, she saw his eyes dart to the door of the room, and she let her gaze follow his. A man had entered the room carrying a clipboard, a doctor going by his white lab coat. Behind him were two police officers, their eyes red rimmed and their uniforms dirty while one had a clean white bandage on his hand.