a change of heart | e.k

Chapter Twenty Three

Warning: Mentions of suicide and other types of deaths.

Specs had been waiting by the tree for days.

Prior to when things had started getting serious, as in dangerous, he'd only gone out for a few minutes each day, gripping their red coloured laces in his hand. Their tree, the one they'd officially met again under, stood tall and proud next to him, still clinging to its dying leaves.

He pitied it.

Gradually, his time there expanded. Minutes turned to hours, and hours led to unthinkable thoughts. What if she were dead? What if she wasn't coming back?

They had coaxed him into going inside. Not only was it a risk with The Unknowns, they'd insisted, but it was also unhealthy. He would catch a cold if he stayed out for any longer. He didn't care.

He'd been outside for most of the day when the news came, watching for her. Somehow, he felt like this was it. She would soon be back. And she would have her mother with her, the reason why she was still gone in the first place.

He looked up as Finch came to stand beside him. "Any sign 'a dem?"

"No," replied Specs, who had also been tasked with watching for Lane. She'd supposedly gotten stabbed while fighting a former friend, and fled before either Finch or Morris could get her help. He knew first hand that she'd run — Finch had practically dragged him over to the Refuge so he could help her, only for both of them to be greeted with the two bodies and a missing girl. Specs would be lying if he said he wasn't worried for her. He'd been anxious ever since he'd seen her gone, wondering why she had left.

Finch sighed. "I hope she's bein' smart."

"She's been stabbed," reasoned Specs. "Either she's gettin' herself help, she left ta do somethin' thought was serious enough ta risk her life, or tha pain 'n blood loss has driven her mad 'n she's out ransackin' tha streets 'a Brooklyn."

Finch paled.

"She'll be fine," Specs promised, seeing he'd only worried the poor boy.

As if he'd triggered something, they suddenly spotted a figure moving slowly towards them. Very slowly. She was stumbling, clutching her stomach. He'd noted that she looked sick, like she'd seen something she would never, ever forget. He figured it had something to do with her brother and Frisks.

He'd been so blissfully oblivious then.

It was only when the girl tripped and fell into the powdery snow that Finch snapped out of his trance, running up to her and helping her over. Once she was close enough, Specs could see that her hands were turning blue, wet with both snow and blood.

He swallowed hard and averted his gaze, looking up to her eyes that held a deep sadness. He was about to say something about her brother, about how sorry he was for the loss — assuming that that was why she seemed so dejected — but she spoke first.

"Specs."

That was all she said. Just one word, his name, but it held a hundred and one emotions in it and suddenly he felt that something was not right. That something was very, very wrong, indeed.

"What?" Specs questioned, newly on edge. "Lane, what's wrong?"

Finch looked just as confused, and even more so when Lane suddenly fell into him, wrapping weak arms around his shoulders and whispering agonizing apologies over and over again, causing his stomach to turn uneasily.

"She must be in shock," Finch tried, prying her from Specs. "It's cold, Lane. Let's go inside, okay?"

But, to both their surprises, she ripped her arms from his grasp and turned slowly back to Specs. "I was too late."