Chapter Sixteen: The One With The Weapon Search

"Dead on arrival."

I dropped my bag to the floor, but I managed to fall down right along with it. I expected to crash when I came into the house, but I didn't know it'd be that soon. The door was barely propped open by my hand to let me in and I didn't have the energy to push it further.

Arriving home from the hospital to support Samuel, didn't make any changes to the fate he was thrown into. After it all, the sun of the next day was barely starting to rise, and like everyday, the neighbor's rooster was waking up the whole street. That is, all except me, because I was already awake. I've never been asleep.

I had to say the outcome out loud to believe it myself. Nothing made sense. I was there, present at the shooting, and he was killed for attempting to give me too much information than he was supposed to, but it would've made much more sense if they put the bullet to my brain and took off running like they did. It felt funny as ironic as it sounds- to have this interpretation that for some reason the shooter wanted me alive, especially since I didn't have a clue who it was. They knew me though. My breathing existence was proof.

That couldn't have been done for the hell of it, right? What does this person want from me? To double my mourning? To make my life miserable like it wasn't already? What'd I ever do that was so sinful?

I wasn't near as perfect of a child as Mew was, but I wasn't a terrible person either. I talked when I needed to talk, and stayed silent when I was supposed to be silent. I didn't meddle with people's business, unless they chose to share their trouble because I had enough of my own to worry about. I lived my life, and that's it. That's the end of it. It didn't get more complex than that.

"Where have you been all night, Shang?" Mom said groggily, her footsteps dragging against the wood. She barely got up, probably because she heard me enter as noisily as I did, and there wasn't anything I could do to prevent that from happening. No matter what I do, I'd always carry this emotion home with me that caused all the sounds. It's not possible to get it out of my head; how Sammy lied there motionless from a stretcher, in an ambulance, to the rush for a hospital room, for me to find that it was too late for them to do anything about it.

Her hand rubbed against the wall, and I knew that in a short time there'd be a bright light coming from above me, but it didn't register to my mind that what my mom would see is her daughter covered in blood, unknowing if it's mine or someone else's. That came right away, before I could intervene with an explanation. "Darling, what happened? Who did this to you? Are you okay?"

"It's not my blood. You don't have to freak out if that's what you're on about." I said, kind of rudely. I was praying she wouldn't go off about my attitude, because I was too tired to put up with anything. That's why I had the attitude to begin with. Based off the look on her face, I wasn't going to get that, so I cut in before she started on it. "But no, I'm not okay. A child got shot right in front of me, and I don't know who the shooter was. Death circles around me. I can't be close to anyone because I'm this big source of bad luck and danger."

"You are not." She disagreed, her arms wide open for a hug. I accepted it, and as she embraced me, leading me to the couch to sit more comfortably. I don't know why it triggered my tears. I've been doing a fair job at keeping it inside, and I was intending to keep it that way, but because of her warmth, here I was sitting in the middle of our living room with morning just around the corner, at the hours created for sleeping, bawling like a baby. If it was about Samuel himself, or about both him and Camille, and really everything in general that's been piling up, I couldn't say. They were the tears in my eyes that might've wanted to trail my cheeks a long time ago, so much that I wouldn't have any left to cry ever again.

I didn't want to allow myself to continue presenting myself this way, so I was tempted to stand up and bolt right back out of the house so I wouldn't have to have the smallest possibility of having to talk about it, but for a good while I didn't. I stayed put, taking in the comfort that I used to receive back when I was a toddler and had a bad dream.

I wanted to fool myself into thinking that's what this was too, but I knew that in the long run that would be bad for me. Samuel's voice was still so memorable, and I didn't want his disappearance to be worth nothing. He had something to tell me that he didn't get to say, about some gun, and even for his young age I was certain that he was trying to help me. I had to find out what he thought was such a big deal that he left his house after dark to look for me.

"I have to go." I urgently said, getting up too fast for her to have the second she needed to pull me back. I had my hand back on the door knob in no time, this new energy showing up within me that I didn't know I had aiding me through. It worked hand and hand with this mission, as if it was the source of my adrenaline.

"What in the world do you mean, Crishia? It's four in the morning. You need to go to bed. Your immune system will suffer and it'll eat you alive. Take it easy." Mom tried to ease me to slow myself down, but she didn't give any commandments, so I didn't take anything she said as one. I gave one last good look at her, really taking her image in like it'd be my last time I'd ever get a glance at her face, and breathed in deeply before twisting the knob open. Her worried inhale was the last thing I ever heard from her, but no footsteps that chased me. I don't know what I expected, but it kinda made me disappointed.

With nothing to stop me, I was back outside to taste the outside winds. I searched the floors and the tight places of the store, just in case I would find anything there, but I wasn't shocked to turn up with nothing. Everything was in its rightful place, and it's as if nothing could be anyway else for as long as it came to that space. Outside was different; it's a jungle of an unknown thats so gradual in adjustment it's hard to tell when things change.

I started at the back of the house's perimeter, kicking at dirt and tossing aside rocks. From here, the ground was hard and stuck together, and it seemed that for all the years this earth has existed, the bits and pieces making up the area haven't budged. Once they were there, that was it, as if this territory was meant to be marked, and it was their job that got done.

I made my way around to the right side, where none of us often went. Because we had a door at the front and one to the left, this side wasn't typically part of our pathways, and it showed by the length of plants and that type of thing. However, the ground was the same as the rest; a dirt thats never been tampered with that it just as well be called cement, or that's what I thought at first glance, or first touch if I have to get technical.

"Ouch!" I yelled, freaking out some barking dogs on the other side of the fence. I fell to a squat, doing my very best to shush them this early in the morning, but the additional pressure on my ankle hurt to carry the weight. The dirt in the area was mushy and soft, and obviously messed with, compared to its surroundings, and my foot clanked against something hard like metal, that wouldn't change form so easily. It was wet from the recent rain, but it seemed this was the only spot able to absorb moisture.

I pushed down at some weeds to see the muddiness I was patting down at to get a better sight of the area, and survey for any mini poisonous beasts, only to find what could be the most lethal of them if it was put up to doing it by a human hand and its intentions. The very gun I must've been looking for; the one that Samuel tried to tell me about, before another took his life.

I hesitated to pick it up in my hands, and decided not to just yet. I was so focused with finding what Sammy risked his life and lost, to tell me, but now that I've found it I didn't know where to go from here. I needed to confide into someone, but even approaching that - I never thought I'd have to do it in my entire life. I don't think anyone ever does, but I'm one of the few who has to figure out what direction to head in when encountering an experience like this.

One thing was for sure. Whoever this gun belonged to - that person knows what happened to Mew and why she had to face such an early end. It could've been that person who hurt her to begin with, but that's the fact that I was missing, what I didn't know yet, and that was something I had to figure out.

For Camille, of course. Everything's always been for her. She's shaped me into the person I am, and even after her passing has inspired me to be the person I want to become, and has made me feel enough when nobody else approved of what I've wanted to strive for.

Since she was alive, and since she's died, that hasn't changed, because as much as I hate to admit it sometimes, that girl is something else, in the best of ways, that it could put me to shame. I'm the older sister. I've guided her in the ways I could, but she just has something stronger and overpowering about her.

She was blessed with the ability to make more out of someone. She was blessed with the happiness and positive curiosities that always looked at the angels on her shoulder, and disappointed the devils. She was blessed with iridescence, like the sun was when it glowed through her bedroom window.

The most humble of all, sweetest, kindest, warmest hearted person there is to exist was her, but what made her more outstanding than anyone else can be is that she's contagious. Because of her, people wanted to put smiles on others faces, find it an art to work hard and give your best, and to show the brightest side of themselves. Even the youngest of people loved her, and were in love with her beautiful example and outlook on what life is supposed to be. That was proud of her highs and her lows. She did all of that in silence. Without haughtiness, or without bragging, but by simply being her.

Sammy was one of those that followed after her. That had the willingness in his heart to grow and to thrive. I could tell he would've been one of those people to grow up to one day make the world a better place, to be someone people looked up to and admired, inside and out, and that's why I can't say this mission isn't only for Camille.

It's for that little boy in our neighborhood too.

For what they both could've became if they were given the chance. For their defense. For what is right.