Through the Dark (Sequel to Taking Chances)

Chapter Twenty-Three: "Is It Real?"

Brielle
_____

"Oh, look at you." Her bright eyes twinkled in the white light as she looked me over. "You've grown so much."

Normally I would've cried or fallen to my knees from shock, but happiness flooded my body, fueling a spark of energy in my stomach, and a wide smile came upon my face. I breathed out, laughing. The laughter was throaty, hearty. It was breathless, like I couldn't catch my breath. And I couldn't because it wasn't there to catch.

"Mom?" I said again, trying to keep the laughter from becoming uncontrollable.

"She has your face, Stanley," she murmured softly to the man standing next to her. My eyes shifted to meet his glimmering ones, feeling my chest contract.

"And your eyes, Anna." His voice was like velvet, so soothing that I was aching after every word he spoke. I'd missed their voices. Missed seeing them.

"Mom... Dad..." I stepped forward, almost afraid that if I got any closer that they'd disappear.

But this was all a dream. It had to be. They were dead, and they'd been dead for years. Liam killed them... so how were they standing there? How could I talk to them and hear them? How was it possible?

"Watching you grow up is pretty hard," Dad said, chuckling. His laughter was always so hearty, a trait I'd acquired after his passing. It was strange, really.

"But we make the best of it," Mom added, quickly shooting him a look that reminded me of her reprimanding expression. Though I hadn't seen it in a long time, so it was almost faded.

As I looked over their expressions, I noticed their clothing. They wore the same clothes as the day they died. Yet they weren't tattered, weren't disturbed. There was no blood or bullet wounds. It was like they hadn't ever been shot.

"Oh, honey," Mom said, watching as what I felt was already impossible enough happened: I let out a sob. She stepped forward, and I anticipated the feeling of nothingness, like her hands would go right through me. After all, none of it was real... right?

And then her arms wrapped around me, and the feeling of skin to skin ached all over my body. My eyes went wide as I looked to Dad behind me. He grinned, watching as I clutched myself into her arms. There was a burning in my mind, a craziness that made me feel like whatever was happening truly was. Like I wasn't crazy for seeing them, for being able to touch them, for talking to them.

"You've been so strong, Brielle," Mom whispered into my ear. Behind her, Dad walked closer to put his hand on my arm. "So brave."

"You could not have turned out better, kiddo," Dad said, his grin fading to a soft smile.

Tears flooded my cheeks all over again, and Mom's grip tightened. Her vanilla scent wafted through my nose, creating another deep ache in my chest. Everything hurt whenever something I'd missed hit me like bricks over and over. Everything ached.

"I miss you so much," I sobbed into her shoulder, shaking violently. "Oh God, you don't know how much I miss you."

She stepped back, leaving me space to spring into Dad's arms. His heavy, wet grass scent hit me just as hard as Mom's had, and I continued to sob slightly pathetically.

"We know, sweetheart," Mom chuckled, tucking hair behind my ear when she could. "We see it everyday. In the little things you do. You don't see it, but you do the things we did before all of this happened. You hum like your father, you walk like me, when you're nervous you scratch your forehead just briefly like me, and then there's the concern for all your friends and family that comes mostly from your father. He always cared more than I did."

Dad laughed. "I don't know why you struggled; you just always cared less."

"I guess I was more worried about how to take care of myself before I took care of others. Some people don't think about the fact that if they aren't healthy, they can't try to help someone else be."

I breathed out, squinting my eyes shut until I could see circles and swirls alike.

This can't be real. I can't be able to touch them. I can't see them, or hear them. This can't be real.

But is it? Is it real? Am I really able to touch them? They felt real, felt like they'd never disappeared from me. They felt as if I never lost them.

It could not have been real.

But part of me knew that I didn't want it to be any other way. Part of me wanted to stay with them; to never leave. Part of me wanted to believe that it was better if it was fake.

Part of me felt whole again.