Page 12 of Severance

“I don’t know if this was a good idea.” My mother’s frail whisper drags me out of my daze. She places her hand on my shoulder and gives it a light squeeze, and I realize that I must have started to doze off.

“Can I have a minute?” I turn to them and they both look miserable, with sad eyes and faces that are ravaged by worry.

“Sure, honey.” My mother nods, her mouth slanting as I take a step back and begin walking toward the casket. The murmurs in the room mesh into one vibrating growl inside my head. I feel the violent thumps of my heart against my ribs throughout my every cell.

My feet falter and misbehave when I near the casket. There’s just enough space between it and me to keep the body out of my line of vision when I come to a complete stop.

The fear of seeing something I won’t be able to unsee trickles down my gut like boiling mercury. What if he’s been hurt really badly? What if he doesn’t look like himself? The thought of carrying this horror with me for the rest of my life scares me to death, even though I don’t believe there’s anything scarier than being in a room with a psycho who has a gun and wants to kill everyone.

Panic grips my throat and lungs when I finally move closer to the casket. My hip bones bump hard against the mahogany finish and my fingers fumble with the rough fabric of my black dress.

My eyes are blurry and I have to blink through the tears before the picture in front of me finally comes into focus. That’s when the chill hits my bones.

Dakota’s face is porcelain white and unfamiliar. He’s still exquisitely beautiful in a dreadfully painful way, but he’s not what I remember. He isn’t breathing and he isn’t smiling. The realization that he’s actually dead and I’ll never see him again after today hits me so hard that I have to grasp the edge of the casket to prevent myself from tumbling to the floor.

My head starts to spin and I stand like this, unmoving and quiet, for a very long time, ignoring the people in the room and the dull ache in my palms.

I take a deep, tremulous breath and reach into the casket. Then what comes out of my mouth is barely a whisper, more like a slur. “I’m sorry. I love you…I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure what exactly I’m apologizing for when my fingers touch Dakota’s. His skin is cool and lifeless and he feels like a piece of rubber. It’s nothing like the way he felt before. Not even close. And it makes me mad that he can’t give me a second of warmth.

“Hey.” A soft voice echoes somewhere near my ear.

I shudder but don’t let go of Dakota’s hand.

“Alana.” My name is called.

“Huh?” I turn my head and come face to face with Mikah. He’s shaved, his hair is tied back, and he’s wearing a suit, but his eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks are sunken. He’s a wreck.

I wonder if he’s been sleeping at all. I wonder if he’s having nightmares too.

“Why don’t I take you to your seat?” he says quietly, giving me a light pat on the shoulder.

“Did you notice there’s no exit sign here?” I mouth at him.

“What?” Confusion flickers in his green eyes.

“There’s no exit sign. There should be an exit sign…” I’m on the edge of panic.

“Let me take you to your seat,” Mikah insists.

I shake my head and look back at Dakota, our hands still locked together. Mine, small and bandaged, and his, cold and unresponsive.

“Alana, come on.” When Mikah moves closer, his breath fans against my injured cheek and my skin, still tender from the glass cuts, stings with pain.

I don’t react. My feet are planted in front of the casket like two oil drilling rigs, and my fingers are gripping Dakota’s as if my life depends on it. It hurts, but I don’t care.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter as tears prick my eyes.

“Alana,” Mikah repeats my name, seizing my wrist in an attempt to separate me from his brother. I don’t let go. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice is stern. “Please. Do you think this is fucking easy for me?” He has no choice but to apply force to rip my hand away from Dakota’s.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble at nothing or no one in particular through the fresh coat of moisture in my eyes.

My mother comes to the rescue and takes me to our seats on the last row.

“Are you sure you want to stay, honey?” She fusses with my hair. “You still look really pale.”

“I’m good.” I push her hand away. “Don’t touch it. It’s fine.”

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