Who: Drake What: A narrative. Where: A church somewhere in Seattle. When: Yesterday (Sunday). Warnings: Sad.
No one in their right mind would call Drake Wallace a religious man. He was overly cynical, too jaded, and downright scornful of anyone who even mentioned the word 'God' in some sort of reverence. In that sense he hadn't changed much from that hellish teenager he'd once been, spitting in the faces of the monks who tried to help him simply because he was disgusted by their blind faith. When his mother was alive she'd tried to instill some semblance of faith within him, being a devout believer herself, but all that had been undone by his father and a life full of death and blood. It was hard to believe that angels were watching over him when Death was never far behind.
Yet there were rare occasions upon which he ventured into that which he swore he never would: a church, an embodiment of the very things Drake claimed he rejected. Though he would never tell a single soul this, a part of him wanted to believe; that there was a God, that his family was somewhere better than black nothingness, that life itself meant something. It was in constant turmoil with the larger part of him that remained defiant, scoffing in the face of religion and the God that supposedly cared about people so much He let them suffer and die on a daily basis.
Today was different. To everyone else it was any normal Sunday, but to Drake it was one of the days when the ghosts of his past were more vivid than ever. He awoke early, plagued by nightmares far worse than usual, and was out of the apartment even before the sun rose. Any EIT jobs could wait.
The cemetery that his mother, father and brother were buried in was back in Musings. They were just tombstones, he told himself, cold slabs that meant nothing; but he still wished he could visit. Especially today. Twenty-odd years and he could still remember clear as day, like a movie in perfect sharp focus; the blood, the sound of the gun firing, his father's dry sobs and the lifeless eyes that stared at nothing. The guilt was as tangible as it had been all those years ago, the unspoken accusation of your fault never having left him entirely. Of all the blood staining his hands that was the worst.
The church was silent when he pushed open the door, candles flickering against the walls and the dim lights adding to the somber atmosphere. There was a priest at the front, near the altar, but he barely spared Drake a second glance as he made his way past the pews. He always felt uncomfortable here, even if there were only three days out of the entire year he bothered forcing himself to come.
He lit a candle at the front, watching the flame burn and dance until his eyes burned. Turning away, he slid into one of the front pews and slowly lowered himself to his knees, looking up at the altar with a mixture of hesitation and defiance. He wasn't here for himself. No, he was here for his younger brother, an innocent child who deserved far more than he'd gotten. Spencer shouldn't have died that day, and Drake would always have to live with the knowledge that he'd let it happen.
My fault.
Drake didn't know how to pray. He didn't know how to talk to an invisible entity that allowed his eight year old brother to be murdered twenty-one years ago today, had let his innocent mother die, watched while his father died in the midst of blood and battle to avenge them both. So he didn't do anything, simply knelt and stared at crucifix which hung over the altar, allowing himself to hope that Spencer was somewhere better. Happier. Drake would spend an eternity and more in Hell, if it existed, to ensure that the ones he'd lost had found some solace after death.
Today he let himself hope. He let himself believe, if only slightly, that there was a God and maybe he cared. Just a little. Not about him, but about the ones who deserved His mercy.
It felt like hours had passed before Drake finally got to his feet, ignoring the priest's curious glance and leaving the church and that part of him behind. When he emerged there was nothing left, no faith and no hope, only an emptiness that would never fade.
For the remainder of the day Drake planned on locking himself in his apartment and drinking until everything went numb. No one knew about Spencer, and no one ever would. Today he'd mourn alone, just as he had every other year since.