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After what happened, Kimberly Corman couldn’t let go. It felt impossible.
She was alive. More importantly, she was safe. She’d gotten Thomas out with her. In time, she hoped she would be able to breathe again, but she was still doubtful. Her father watched her carefully, and wanted nothing more for her to try her best to move on after her friends’ funerals had passed. She’d been through enough pain already… but she just couldn’t leave things. She still felt like she had to do something, even if it now felt too late to do anything much of value.
Her father wouldn’t approve of her reaching out to the families of the Route 23 survivors, she knew that much. He’d think it was kind, but misguided, something that would only cause her more pain, so she did her best to make sure he didn’t find out. Even though he was the only person in the world she knew of that could understand, she only involved Thomas when she absolutely had to. Spending time with him was strange. She’d always feel connected to him, but at the same time, seeing him always caused that same tightness in her chest to come back.
Again, with time, she hoped that would pass too. She wished she could look at him and be proud of what she’d managed to achieve, but all she could see were the ghosts of the people that weren’t standing there with him.
She didn’t even realise she was doing it in order until people got harder to contact, something that had made her feel so awful that she’d almost decided to leave the idea alone altogether, but she made herself power through. The results were… mixed to say the least, but it wasn’t like she could blame any of them. Grief was a powerful, agonising and messy thing. She’d known that even before the premonition and the awful days that followed.
Evan Lewis’ parents gave her a tight-lipped smile, muttered a ‘thank you’ that dripped sarcasm, and slammed the door in her face. Nora and Tim Carpenter’s family blocked her number as soon as they’d hung up. Kat Jennings’ mother had let out a wail as soon as Kimberly introduced herself on the phone and hung up, but her sister had talked on the phone with her for an hour. It had immediately gone sour when Kimberly suggested meeting in person… but she hoped that she’d been able to do something. Then, finally, she’d had coffee with Eugene Dix’s brother the other day, who reminded her so much of him it hurt, and he’d even seemed interested in keeping in contact.
That left her with two names on her list - not that she liked to call it that. Clear Rivers had not been part of the Route 23 list, a fact that made Kimberly’s guilt ten times worse. Her drowning herself would not have helped Clear. She had gotten her out of the hospital and lead her right towards her death. She’d wanted to do something, say something, but her relatives were just about impossible to find. Then, she’d found out her father had been murdered, and it made some sort of sense.
She wondered how Clear felt when she’d talked about her mother’s death in the car. What it would have been like if they’d been able to talk somewhere, somehow, in a world where all this fucked up death stuff had never happened. Would they have ever met? Would they have become friends? Wherever Clear was now… was she angry at Kimberly, or was she at peace now?
It was useless wondering. She’d never know now.
She’d wanted to write a letter or something to whoever Clear had left. She was just struggling with what to say… and where to send it. There hadn’t exactly been any time for the two to sit down and swap old family stories, so she had no idea what her relationship with the rest of her family was like. She couldn’t imagine the media would have left them alone, so perhaps they were hiding out somewhere until this all blew over again. For now, she’d decided to put a pin in that. It gave her more time to figure out what to say to them, at least, unaware that any letter would be sent in vain.
Instead, she focused her attention on the other name left - Rory Peters. She’d hoped his family would be easier to find. She already felt bad about almost forgetting about the promise she’d made mere minutes before he’d been sliced to pieces. It had returned to her mind in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep after coming home from the hospital, and she hoped she hadn’t been too late.
She’d gotten Thomas’ help with that one, aware that he’d know how to dispose of the plethora of drugs she was sure that they’d find. It had taken the better part of a day to clean out Rory’s apartment, doing their best to ensure everything possible that could have broken his mother’s heart was out the door in trash bags before they left. The rest of the apartment remained untouched. She’d tried not to dwell on anything but the task at hand. Otherwise, the clothes hanging in the closet, the posters on the walls, and the long-empty guitar stand shoved behind the couch would have made her too sad.
Now, Rory’s wallet and keys sat in her pocket like a stone. She wanted to be able to return them.
Other than the initial news reports about his and Kat’s bizarre deaths, any trace of Rory or his family had dropped off. She could find no records of a service being held, or where he was buried, or anything new in any of the local newspapers. As she went back further, she found nothing either. After several weeks, she’d been deep in search results and starting to fear she’d have to give up when finally, she’d gotten a name.
Mona Peters.
With Thomas’ help, she’d managed to get a number. She hoped that he was right, otherwise it would be back to the drawing board again.
“Kimberly Corman? It’s… really you?”
She had been surprised at how young Rory’s mother had sounded. She’d had this image in her head of a little old lady that played bingo on Friday night and was scandalised by even the mildest of cursing, something she now felt quite rude for thinking. It had also caught her off guard that Mona had sounded… hopeful?
“Yes, it’s me,” she had said, fighting hard to keep the awkwardness from creeping into her voice, “I… I’m so sorry to bother you. Are you Rory’s mother?”
Her voice had the tightness of someone trying so very hard to keep themselves together. “Yes.”
“I have some… things of his,” she said, hating how badly she was stumbling over her words, “I wanted to see if I could drop them off. I… I understand if you don’t… want to see me or anything. I can mail them, or…”
Mona cut her off. “No, no, honey, it’s fine. It was… very brave of you to call, and I admire that. You have a pen? I’ll give you my address.”
Her eyes widened at how open she’d been, and she fumbled around her desk for a pen, phone resting between her ear and shoulder as she tore a page out of a notebook and started to write. “When do you want me to come by?”
“Whenever you feel ready, Kimberly. Just give me a call beforehand. If I’m not around, I’ll let you know.”
Knowing that she could do this in her own time was a comfort, but Kimberly was determined not to give into it. If she did, she knew she’d keep putting it off and would never go see her. After giving Mona a call to ensure she’d be home and was up to visitors, she came by a week after contacting her initially. She let her father know she was going to see a friend, and he’d been so happy at the idea that he hadn’t even asked any questions… there had just been a plea to please, be safe.
She found herself standing in front of a quaint little house on a quiet street, painted white with a vibrant flower garden out front. As she got out of the car, she felt herself get hit with the sharp, uncomfortable feeling of being watched. A swish of curtains caught her attention when she turned, seeing a woman staring out her window from across the street. She flinched when she realised she’d been spotted, and Kimberly felt a little satisfied when the curtains shut.
She doubted she’d ever feel normal again, but wished that people could at least pretend around her a bit better.
Kimberly climbed the porch and smiled a little at the sight of the small table and bench. She could imagine sitting out here on a nice day in the Summer, looking out at the garden, feeling at peace. She wondered if Rory ever sat out here while he was growing up, a thought that soon felt like a mistake.
She knocked quietly and waited, her heart thumping. She wondered if this had been a terrible idea, if Mona’s willingness to see her should have been taken as suspicious. There was no time for her to process the thoughts properly, though, as before she knew it, the door had been opened, cautious and slow at first, and then, a pair of arms were thrown around her.
Mona hugged her so tightly that for a split second, Kimberly wondered if the woman really had invited her over to kill her. Before she could give into those thoughts and shove an elbow into her stomach, the older woman pulled away, her face filled with embarrassment.
“Sorry. I’m just so happy you were willing to come.”
“It’s… okay,” Kimberly mumbled. “I’m just still a bit jumpy, I guess.”
Once again, Mona’s face filled with shame. “Oh! Of course… I… I just didn’t think. Come in.”
Kimberly nodded and stepped into the house, taking a moment to study Mona before she turned away. She could see Rory in her immediately, sharing the same warm brown eyes and black curls, only she could see threads of grey in hers. Their facial features were similar, her with slight lines around her eyes, and an air of sadness around her. She couldn’t be older than mid-forties at most, a fact that still surprised Kimberly.
She wore a navy blue cardigan with patches on the elbows from repairs, a wine coloured shirt underneath, and a long black skirt that swished as she walked, her brown boots clicking on the floor as she lead Kimberly into the house. The thing that stuck with her the most was what she wore around her neck - a wedding ring. It made the guilty feeling in her stomach worse.
Her eyes scanned over the walls, even though she knew it was a mistake. She took in the floral wallpaper, the wedding photo of a much younger Mona, her and Rory’s father looking around Kimberly’s age in it, the unfolding of Rory’s childhood on the walls, stopping with a photo from his late teens of him playing the guitar. She wondered where things had gotten so messed up for him, and hated there was now never a chance for him to turn things around.
They arrived in a small, outdated kitchen, a square wooden dining table in the corner. Kimberly couldn’t help but wonder which chair had been Rory’s when he visited, and made no move to sit down just in case she accidentally chose it.
“Tea or coffee?” Mona asked.
It took Kimberly a moment to realise she’d been spoken to, and she flinched when it hit her. “Tea, please. One sugar. A little bit of milk.”
Mona nodded, retrieving two faded mugs from the cupboard. Kimberly stood and watched her as she went through the motions, hands in the pockets of her jacket, curled around the wallet and keys. Mona turned the kettle on, took two teabags from a jar on her windowsill that looked homemade, and opened the fridge to grab the milk. Immediately, Kimberly noticed the amount of food in the fridge, and she heard Mona laugh when she saw she was looking at it.
“The neighbours keep bringing me things,” she said, bitterness running under her words. “They barely talked to me when he was alive, unless it was to tell me all the ways I was raising him wrong. Now, they care? I wish I had more of a spine and could tell them to save it.”
“I did notice that I had an audience when I pulled up,” Kimberly said quietly.
Mona laughed, pouring hot water into both mugs. “Right across the street?”
Kimberly nodded, and Mona caught it out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, yes. She always had a lot of words about me being a young mother. Always asked where Rory’s father was, despite the fact I’d told her I was a widow. He egged her house once he heard. I’m sure she thinks this is penance or something.”
She didn’t know what to say back, but the thought of a (hopefully) younger Rory egging the rude neighbour’s house almost made her laugh. She decided to take a seat at the table, hesitating before she decided, running her hand over the plum coloured tablecloth.
The loneliness in the room was almost unbearable. She looked for something, anything else to grab onto but her thoughts, looking over at the painted vase in the middle of the table, filled with flowers that were well into the process of dying. Then, the vibrant, abstract painting hanging on the wall behind it. After a moment of staring, she realised it was a take on the garden outside the house.
“You’re an artist?” Kimberly asked. She hated how hollow her voice sounded.
“Not professionally or anything,” Mona replied, a hint of shyness to her words. “I paint, mostly. Been getting into pottery. I’ve always wanted to… and I suppose I was finally trying to live more for myself these past few years. Stop worrying so much.”
Kimberly nodded. “That’s cool, I guess.”
Mona returned with the mugs and Kimberly gave her a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then she was gone again. Kimberly wondered if she just plain couldn’t look at her while they drank their tea and talked, but she was back within a minute. A white plate was placed down in front of Kimberly, containing a slice of apple pie that was larger than her hand, a generous spray of whipped cream on top.
“I… thought you might like something to eat,” Mona said softly, shooting her a worried glance. She played with the rings on her fingers, and didn’t quite seem to know what to do with herself.
The gesture hit Kimberly hard, something she hadn’t been expecting. As she broke off a piece of the pie with her fork and took a bite, it stuck in her throat for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears. She was being mothered, she realised, a feeling she was no longer familiar with. With everything that had happened recently, her mom sometimes got lost in the shuffle, a thought that often made her feel worse when it arose.
She missed her mother more than anything. Sitting here brought her back to the dining table doing homework, her mother coming over with a plate of treats to try and make math problems and essays a little easier to bear. Her mom trying to be cool and stay out of the way when Shaina slept over, but she couldn’t help but come up every few hours and check if they were okay. Being brought into a hug whenever her anxiety got too much, her mother’s hand brushing her hair out of her face, telling her that everything would be alright in time.
The hole in her heart would always be there. She hoped the ache would fade in time, but she wasn’t sure.
She found herself letting out a laugh through her tears, shaking her head at the realisation. This was so messed up. She sat here, a child without a mother, opposite a mother without a child, both of them seeming to pretend for a moment, wanting to fill that void.
“I’m sorry,” Mona said, and when Kimberly looked up, she saw her wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. “I shouldn’t. I can’t help… hovering, I suppose. It’s what I’ve always done.”
“It’s alright,” Kimberly replied quietly, and moved to wipe her own tears. “I… I’m sorry too. I came to see you, and here I am, crying.”
Mona laughed too, shaking her head. “Don’t apologise, honey. I know I’m not the only one who’s lost someone. I… wanted to ask if you were alright, actually.”
Kimberly shrugged, a look of surprise cutting through her tears for a moment. She never knew what to do when someone asked how she, one of the two that had lived, was holding up. Eugene’s brother had asked too, and she’d felt so awkward that the conversation had died completely. It didn’t feel right, for any of them to ask how she was doing.
“I’m breathing, aren’t I?” Kimberly said. She shut her eyes tightly. “I… uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Mona just shook her head, reaching for her cup of tea. Kimberly noticed then that she hadn’t gotten herself any food. Silence lingered between them, both of them working on their drinks and Kimberly slowly finishing off the slice of pie, every bite bittersweet.
When her plate was clear, she finally remembered why she’d come. She reached into the pocket of her jacket, sliding the wallet and keys over, the jingling sound agonisingly loud in contrast to the rest of the room. As soon as she saw them, Mona’s breath caught in her throat, and while she tried hard not to, a sob escaped her.
“He wanted me to give them to you, if… the worst happened,” Kimberly said slowly. She felt bad for lying, but told herself it wasn’t completely false. It was for Mona’s benefit, anyway.
Mona nodded, and slowly moved to take them. She couldn’t hold onto them for long, placing them beside her now empty mug and doing her best not to look over. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” Kimberly mumbled, gaze back on the tablecloth. “I… I didn’t do anything.”
“He got two more days because of you,” she said, “that counts for something to me. And it sounds like there was… a lot you were up against.”
She had tried not to mention the specifics to any of the family members she spoke to. Kat’s sister had seemed enthralled, grilling her on everything do to with the premonition and death’s design, but Kimberly never thought she believed her, exactly, but was rather grasping at straws trying to figure out a way for Kat’s death to make sense to her. Mona, for whatever reason, seemed to believe her.
“I didn’t save him, though,” Kimberly said. She didn’t know why she was saying it, aware it was only going to make both of them feel worse. “I… I couldn’t stop it…”
“Don’t blame yourself - please,” Mona said, reaching out for a moment to squeeze her arm. “I don’t blame you. It’s silly, but I blame myself sometimes. Shouldn’t I have just… been able to know? And it was such a stupid, stupid way to die. And awful. I think about it when I go to sleep most nights and just… oh, god.”
Kimberly didn’t say anything, just let her get the words out. She knew sometimes, it helped to put your thoughts into words and work through them. She thought about reaching out to Mona in return, but couldn’t, still feeling so fragile from the memories of her own mother that had re-emerged. She wasn’t great at this… but she was trying.
Mona took a deep breath, or at least, tried to. It came out shaky, another sob escaping her throat. She wiped her face with the sleeve of her cardigan again, and Kimberly hated that she looked so ashamed of being upset. She wanted to say something, but again, she couldn’t.
“I didn’t even know he’d missed that accident. He didn’t even call me,” Mona said. There was anger to her words, but Kimberly knew she didn’t mean it - she was just trying to stop even more sadness from spilling over. “I saw it on the news and didn’t even know he’d been there. Then, two days later, I got the call that he’d died.”
She wasn’t sure if she should ask, but the words slipped out of her mouth before she thought about them properly. “Were you and Rory close?”
Mona let out sad laugh. “When he was younger, yes, but as he got older, he pulled away. We were going through a bit of a… rough patch. He’d kept asking me for money these past few months, and I’d had enough. I hate thinking he died thinking I was angry at him.”
“I don’t think he did,” Kimberly said. She got up from the table and collected the plate and mug, it feeling like the right thing to do. “You were on his mind. The last thing he ever said was about you.”
“Really?” Mona asked. Kimberly couldn’t meet her tear-filled eyes, and instead continued on to the sink.
“Yes. He… he loved you. I didn’t get much of a chance to know him, but I found out that much.”
Mona nodded, but Kimberly was unsure if she actually believed it. She busied herself washing up, trying to drown out the occasional, quiet sound of a sob, which started to drop off over time. The crumbs from the plate swirled down the sink, Mona’s lipstick vanished from the mug, the dishes now sitting in the drying rack, no evidence of use left at all. If only everything was so easy to wash away.
She approached the table cautiously when she was done. “I’m sorry if… coming made things worse.”
“No, no, not at all. I… I wanted to meet you,” she said, getting up from the chair. Her eyes were still red and shiny, but she’d wiped all the tears away, trying to compose herself the best she could. “I’m sorry if I made things worse for you.”
Once again, she was struck by the fact that Mona cared at all about how she was feeling right now. The familiar ache in her chest returned.
“Kimberly…” Mona said after a moment, breaking the silence that had begun to hang in the air between them, “if it’s too much to ask, I understand… but would you… possibly be willing to help me clean out his apartment sometime? My friends haven’t been around much lately. I think they’ve found the whole strangeness of this situation difficult.”
Kimberly nodded before she had processed the words properly. “Sure… I can do that. I’m not going back to school for awhile.”
At least, it was probably going to be a little less painful now that she’d remembered to keep her promise.
An idea came to mind, and she allowed herself the smallest of smiles. “If you want, you can show me your art sometime.”
Mona let herself smile too, but reached to wipe her eyes again. “I’d like that. A lot.”
She wasn’t sure how good she’d be at pottery, but maybe finding a new hobby would help a little.
When Mona lead them out, Kimberly returned her hug. She smelled like floral perfume and sugar, and once again, she was hit full force with memories of her own mother. She almost didn’t want to let go, but reminded herself she had to. When she did, she gave Mona a sad but genuine smile, heading down the porch to her car.
“Thank you for coming, Kimberly. Really.”
“Thank you for being willing to see me,” she replied. She got in her car before she stayed too long and started to cry again, not trusting herself, but waved to Mona as she started the car. She waved back, sporting her own bittersweet smile.
As she pulled out of the driveway, she felt a little bit of the weight on her chest ease. She had no idea when either of them would be anywhere close to alright again, but wondered if with time, they could be.