Who Knows || Riff (West Side Story 2021)

Chapter 40

𝟺. 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟿𝟻𝟽

The Jets had left straight for Docs, their safe place, but Rose needed to be somewhere else. The police would come looking for her, and she couldn't be found covered in her husbands blood.

Ice was in charge of leading them away from the scene, leaving Mouthpiece to stay with Rose.

It was cold, and lifeless. It didn't seem much like a home anymore. Every item had some sort of resemblance of stiff, a memory of no sufficient meaning before, but now meant more than any one thing ever could.

She shook like a leaf, answering the door to the policemen. They wanted her to identify a body. At first, she thought she was doing well at hiding her grief, but the moment they stepped into the coroners, she broke down.

The room was tiled, white and clean and crisp. There wasn't a speck of dirt to be seen, not one discrepancy to complain about.

Two bodies lay beneath sheets: Rose knew who was under both of them. In a way, she had hoped they wouldn't find Riff. But this way, he could have a proper funeral. A burial, just like he deserved. Peace.

The Doctor removes the white sheet from the first body, and Rose let the tears roll from her eyes. He lay there, lifeless. He was as pale as the room, his freckles somehow darker now. Each little imperfection seemed to break into perfection. The scars that had burdened him now just a blemish on a lifetimes worth of conflict.

"I need..." she comes in her own words. "I need my friend. I have to go."

Mouthpiece saw that she couldn't stay there, and quickly decided that taking her to be with the rest of her friends would be the best remedy. Not before stopping back at the apartment so she could take one of Riff's shirts. A dark blue one, it mimicked denim in colour but was thin.

It had been his favourite.

     Doc's wasn't usually a solemn place, filled with tragedy and woe. Then again, a beloved man was rarely stabbed in cold blood.

     The Jets just sat in a silence. No one knew what to do, or what to say.

     Rose kept crying, she hadn't stopped for hours. She couldn't stop. Grief and guilt built up on her like a ton of bricks and fell to the pit in her stomach with a thud. Her head was resting on Baby John's chest, his comfort being something she was glad for.

    He kissed her forehead once or twice, and did whatever he could to try and keep her calm. Though, it was a very difficult task.

  "I wanna go see him." Graziella had been in one of the booths, weeping for Tony. "Talk to him"

  "Tony just wants to be along right now." Ice repeated for the third time. "He don't wanna see us."

  "He ain't alone." A-Arab grumbled. "The old ladies down the with him."

  "Does he know I'm up here? Tony cared about me once."

  "He don't wanna see you, Grazie." Ice sighed, running a hand through his greasy hair. "Go home."

  "You ain't telling her to go home." Graziella didn't seem to be taking the hint. Rose was more to the Jets than she had ever been, in bald as much time.

  "Now's not the time." Mouthpiece spoke through gritted teeth. "Okay?"

  "But you ain't telling her to go!"

  "We left him lying there." Diesel spoke beneath his breath, almost like a whimper. He'd never sounded so vulnerable. "In the salt shed. Ice..."

  "I know."