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 Posted: Wed Jul 27, 2016 8:47 pm
Word Count: 1569
From the viewpoint of an outsider, Michael Gallo was a charming, accomplished young man with an honorable past and bright future ahead of him. Despite being a Navy brat and traveling from base to base for most of his childhood, he was well educated thanks to an enthusiastic mother whose love for her children was as strong as it was for knowledge.
Homeschooling had never been easy, and there were some who would always be concerned about how those children would develop without traditional social settings. Some even suggested boarding school, if only for stability, but Michael persevered and excelled both in his education and social interactions.
Charming was a word that often arose when he heard adults talking about him. All smiles and laughter. They spoke of his idealism and confidence and how he resembled his already accomplished and well known father. And Michael always wanted to be just like his father.
Captain Beau Gallo rose quickly through the ranks, and was a favorite among the other officers, both above and below him. Michael knew there was a lot to live up to, but he was ready for the challenge, if only for the chance to make his father proud of him. It was rare that he got to see his father, but he always looked forward to those times few and far between where he would take leave of his post to be with his growing family.
When Michael was seven years old, he was told that he would soon be a big brother, and that he would have new responsibilities when a baby brother or sister joined them. It was another challenge that Michael was ready to face, one that excited him and made him think about all the things he would teach his new sibling. He hoped that he would be a good big brother, just as he wanted to be a good son.
Michael received his nominations and entered into the Naval Academy as soon as he was allowed. He’d worked hard on finishing his high school education by the time he turned seventeen, a year earlier than a normal student. He would have pushed himself harder to finish sooner if he could have entered the Academy before he turned seventeen, but they had strict regulations, even for the son of a Captain.
His years in the Academy were closely monitored. It was 2003 and the War in Iraq had started. The Navy was looking for the best and brightest to usher in a new line of defense on the alleged war against terrorism. His professors and the officers who knew his father often gave him words of encouragement, and his peers looked to him for guidance, drawn in by his optimism and magnetic idealism. Just as he had with high school, Michael pushed himself and graduated from the Naval Academy at the age of 20.
Those were the good years. Michael knew he had a good life, a good family, and a multitude of opportunities that no one else would ever dream of having, all thrown at his feet. He didn’t think he took those opportunities for granted, but he was sure there were many who looked at him as he really was; a spoiled boy who never knew any hardship.
“You never said anything about this before,” Michael heard the bright, clear voice of his youngest brother from across the room. Although he didn’t look up to see the expression on Peter’s face, he could hear concern and confusion in his tone. Michael was reclining on his bed, a book from the local library. Despite having nothing against technology, Michael had always enjoyed being able to hold a book in his hands, to feel the pages under his fingertips, rather than swiping on a tablet.
He looked up to see Peter standing in the doorway to his room, holding up what looked like a photocopy of a newspaper article. Not having any idea what Peter was talking about, Michael simply looked at him, his brows furrowing slightly in confusion.
Michael opened his mouth to ask, but Peter was already crossing the room, holding the piece of paper out to him.
On one side, there was a picture of a few young men in uniform, all looking proud and familiar. Local Awardees of the Purple Heart was all he needed to read, before Michael reached out to push Peter’s arm away, a sudden sense of dread washing over him.
“Throw that away,” he heard himself say, although he barely recognized his own voice. It sounded cold and distant to his ears. He tried going back to the page he was on in his book, but his eyes couldn’t seem to focus.
“Why didn’t you tell me that’s what happened? Michael…” Peter’s voice came as though he’d been submerged underwater. His chest felt tight. He couldn’t breathe. “You said your scars were from a motorcycle accident. What happened… what happened is nothing to be ashamed about… It wasn’t your fault...”
Stop.
He knew Peter was only concerned. He had to keep telling himself that it wasn’t his fault he was curious. It wasn’t as though he shared what happened during his time in the Navy. Why he left. Why he closed himself off to everyone and everything. Peter was a smart, audacious kid who was old enough to want answers for things that he was told he was too young to understand, years ago.
“Michael, did you even hear what I said?”
Stop.
Memories came flooding back, repressed from years of denial and forced acceptance. Was that even possible? He’d kept everything so locked up that he didn’t think he would ever react in such a way. Not when the medals he’d tossed into his kitchen’s junk drawer were mentioned. Not when the Navy was brought up in conversation.
Although he didn’t let his eyes linger, he knew it was the picture of the young men in uniform that accompanied the article that drew the memories out. Proud, confident faces, ready to serve their country. Ready to die for what they believed. But they had no idea what they were going to face.
Michael felt as though he was drowning.
Instinctively, he reached passed Peter for his phone. The press of his thumbprint unlocked it and his eyes scanned the screen for the right name.
“Michael,” he heard Peter say again, this time with desperation in his voice. It was enough to snap him out of his daze, and he looked up at his brother to see concern and sadness in his expression. He’d lowered the copy of the newspaper article, slightly crumpled in his hands as though he realized his confrontation had not gone the way he’d planned. Perhaps he just wanted to try and understand his oldest brother a little better. Maybe he was worried because he knew what happened to the other young men in the photo.
Michael needed to get out. He needed to escape.
“I need to go,” he said quietly as he grabbed his wallet and keys from the bedside table, but left the phone on the bed. It had already locked. He felt sick. He could hear his brother calling after him as he rushed to shove his feet into his shoes, his steps unsteady as he headed towards the door.
There were things better left unspoken, better left forgotten. Michael didn’t mind being looked at as a spoiled boy who never knew any hardship in his life. Someone who was raised in a good family with plenty of opportunities and not a care in the world. He preferred people to look at him that way.
It was better than the truth.
It was better than being weak and pathetic and unable to get over the memories that should no longer be haunting him. They hadn’t been haunting him. Instead, it should be images of monsters and the thought of his family and friends being corrupted. Of starseeds being ripped out and destroyed. So why couldn’t he leave the past where it was? Why did seeing that picture shift his thoughts so much?
Was it because he was getting too comfortable? Were the walls he’d built up to protect himself so broken down by that point that this flood of emotions and thoughts and memories had no choice but to surround him? To drag him under, the current too strong for him to swim back on his own?
He wanted to reach out his hand for help, but who would be able to pull him out? It wouldn’t be fair to expect that of anyone. He couldn’t do that to them. Not his family. Not his friends. Not Caspian.
Caspian, who had helped him more than he deserved. Caspian, who offered his hand out to him before. Caspian, who he’d promised he would try.
Caspian; the color in his life, shining through the shades of grey like the beacon of a lighthouse.
But no. They had no business being pulled in so they could just drown with him. He didn’t want that. He would rather drown alone.
Just as he had been doing before becoming a knight.
Michael knew people sometimes wondered where that idealistic, confident boy he used to be went; so charming and sweet.
He was certain that boy died years ago with the others.
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Posted: Wed Jul 27, 2016 8:48 pm
Word Count: 1023
Everything was a daze. A blur of shapes and objects, the colors all melding into a blob of grey. In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have been driving at all during that time, but he didn’t know what else to do. It was at least better than taking his motorcycle, so he still had some sense of self preservation.
At first, Michael just drove with no place in mind, with no destination to look forward to, no plan of what he wanted to do. He just needed to drive and get as far away from… from what? His house that people expected him to call home? From his family who he knew all tried to understand him but would never quite get it? From the life that he didn’t believe he deserved?
The memories came back to him in a rush like fire and wind, blinding him and knocking the breath from his lungs. It was like a dam had been broken through, a dam that had been carefully constructed to protect himself from everything that happened so he could continue on existing. To block the feelings and emotions that threatened to drown him. He knew he wasn’t really living, but the last time he’d contemplated a permanent escape, he’d found out that he was a knight, which gave him new purpose.
Now, he didn’t know what was going to stop him from feeling the way he did, what was going to pull him back out of the darkness.
He knew it was irrational for him to be so bothered by things that happened so many years ago. He knew it did not make sense for him to want to run, but the anxiety and dread that welled up inside him was too much. He felt as though it was eating him from the inside, like it had been waiting for the right moment to break free, waiting until his defenses had lowered enough for him to not resist the emotions that seeped into his heart and mind to suffocate him.
The car came to a stop along the side of the street, and it took Michael several long moments to realize just where he was. There was a park along the side of the street where he’d parked, and when he turned to glance out the driver’s side, a set of townhouses greeted him. They were old and dingy, but were in relatively good condition for their age. The one he’d stopped directly across from had a bay window on the upper floor, which he knew to be Caspian’s room.
Michael felt his eyes widen, and his heart seemed to stop, a strange, twisting feeling in his gut. Out of all the places he could have gone on a whim, why did it have to be Caspian’s place?
Part of him knew the answer: Michael needed Caspian.
With everything happening right then at that very moment, with his heart and head pounding, his chest tight with a flood of emotions from memories that had long been locked away, with the darkness consuming his thoughts and making him feel like he was drowning… he needed Caspian.
He needed his light and his warmth. He needed his compassion and understanding. Michael needed the patience no one else had ever shown to him before. He needed the careful way Caspian lingered just within reach so that if Michael needed him, he could just reach out...
A car horn blared and Michael jumped back and out of the way of the car that was trying to drive down the street Michael had been in the middle of crossing.
When had he gotten out of his car? It scared him that he didn’t know, but now he stumbled backwards to lean up against the closed door, and reached a hand up to press against his face, as if that would stop the throbbing in his head.
Michael looked up at the window where Caspian’s room was, one eye looking through his fingers for a few long moments, before he shifted his arm, placing his forearm completely over his eyes instead to block out the light.
He could imagine Caspian’s smiling face and bright, clear laughter through the muffled noises around him. He could see him like a light through the fog that clouded his judgment and dulled his senses.
And then came the images of what would happen if he pulled Caspian in with him. Caspian would go willingly, he was sure, but… is that what Michael really wanted? Would it be fair to Caspian if Michael were to reach out to him for help, only to pull him under the water with him? For them to both drown?
Even if Caspian was able to help Michael stay above water, what if this would mean he’d never see Caspian smile again, or hear him laugh?
That was something he couldn’t live with. How could he? How could he so selfishly ruin the one person who had shown him a kindness he’d never known? Caspian was young… he would find someone else to laugh with… someone who would make him smile… someone he actually deserved. Not some broken, lonely, good for nothing, failure of a person.
With Caspian’s help, Michael was able to feel again. To see color again. To think that he might understand what it feels like to be happy. And although he was now drowning because of those emotions, he didn’t once blame Caspian. If anything, he blamed himself and his inability to be strong enough to handle everything.
Michael lingered, his eyes desperate and hopeful as they locked onto the window, as if his soul was begging for Caspian to look outside; however, he could not stay there. Once again, he was at war with himself, but this time instead of trying to force himself to open up to Caspian, he was desperately trying to pull away, wanting to protect him.
He opened the car door and got back inside, waiting just a little longer before forcing himself to drive away, leaving what was probably his only hope for being saved behind him.
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Posted: Wed Jul 27, 2016 8:51 pm
Word Count: 2100
Peter never intended for everything to suddenly spiral out of control the way it had. Perhaps he was too naive, thinking that this would have been a good way to try and talk to Michael about all the things he never knew about him. Peter was curious about the older brother he knew so little about, the one who seemed so friendly and receptive, whereas Chris thought of him as frustrating and annoying. Unlike Chris, Peter never really fought with Michael, but he realized that might also be because he never really knew anything about him.
That had changed a little once Peter convinced Michael to allow him move in with him. As much as their mom would rather him stay at home with her and dad, Peter had a feeling that she could see the warning signs too. Even though Michael was a knight and seemed to be doing well on his own, sometimes it felt as though Michael was just waiting to fulfill whatever obligations he’d arranged for himself. Peter was not sure if it was just reaching the age required to get access to the money that Nana had put away in trusts for them, or if it was something else, but the closer Michael came to reaching the age of thirty, the more concerned Peter became that his brother would one day disappear.
It was no secret that Michael had very few friends, if any at all. Peter had been surprised at how harsh Michael was as Sessrumnir, perturbed about the things he said in group settings that could be taken as hurtful or uncaring. Superficially, it wasn’t the brother he knew, but Peter realized that this might be his way of protecting himself, and by extension, others around him. Not everyone was brave enough to say the things no one really wanted to hear. Unfortunately, it also had the tendency to make people look at Sessrumnir like he was an a*****e, regardless of whether or not they believed he knew what he was talking about.
There were a few who tried befriending him, of course, and others whose company he seemed to enjoy well enough. Paris did not seem to mind Michael, and Marissa tolerated him enough to meet up with him almost every Friday night to go to the bar. There were a few friendly faces who knew Chris or even Peter better than they did Michael, perhaps expecting the brothers to be more alike than they were different, who approached Michael or Sessrumnir freely.
The brothers were alike in many ways, to the point where Peter would not blame anyone for expecting them to be the same. They were all relatively stubborn, but friendly and gave off an air of confidence. They all enjoyed being outdoors, they were all competitive and loyal. But they were also vastly different.
Chris was very open and trusting, whereas Michael was reserved and private. Peter felt he was a combination of the both; open about how he felt, but reserved when it came to giving his trust. Or something like that. Regardless, they were definitely different, even if they looked the same.
Michael, of course, was the one out of the three that people would expect to have to worry about the least. Peter knew himself to be reckless and got into trouble on multiple occasions. Chris tended to jump head first into things as well, throwing himself into harm’s way if it meant helping someone. And then there was Michael, who was strong and knew how to fight and knew when to back away. Michael, who had his life together and was intelligent and received numerous recognitions for his achievements in the Navy. Michael, who taught the next generation of engineers.
No one would suspect that Michael might need the most help out of all of them.
Yet, they had reached that point, and Peter had no idea what to do. Michael left the house sometime before noon, definitely before eating lunch, taking his car with him, and headed to god knows where. Of course he left his phone, so all Peter could do was pace anxiously and try to think of what to do next.
Oh, sure, there were plenty of things he could think of right off the bat.
One would be to let Michael figure it out on his own; he would come back when he was hungry. But when Michael didn’t come back for the rest of the evening, it was onto the next step.
Two; call mom and dad. They should know when their oldest son disappeared suddenly after seeing an old newspaper article which, in Peter’s defense, had not gone into as much detail as he would have liked, and he had no idea that Michael would have reacted the way he had. If anything, Peter had hoped that this conversation would go a lot like the time he’d confronted Michael about using (or not using) heroin. Which, after reading the article, Peter understood where Michael probably got the idea.
In the end, Peter opted to not call mom and dad just yet. He didn’t want to have to explain everything to them, and Michael would probably be upset with him if he did that, too. And mom would cry, and dad would… maybe call in a favor from the Secretary of Defense and have the armed forces out looking for Michael.
He would reshuffle his options and move mom and dad to the back of the pile for now.
Three; try and get in contact with Caspian, who Michael tended to hang out with more often than not these days. Except Peter didn’t have Caspian’s number, and Michael’s phone was locked.
Four; try to answer the phone when it was called. The first one to call was Marissa around eight. It was Friday, so that meant Michael probably wasn’t at the bar with her. She was Paris’s mom, which was weird enough, but Peter never said anything because he did not want to have that conversation.
Peter hesitated for a couple rings, and then tried to slide his finger over the screen to answer… but apparently Michael had locked it so only he could answer even just a call. Well, s**t.
Five; call Marissa using his own phone.
He didn’t have her number.
Six; call Paris and awkwardly explain why he needed her mother’s number. The same mother who probably had plenty of… nights… with… nope, not getting into that. Peter decided that would probably be a horrible idea, anyway.
It was super late by the time Peter decided to go to bed, although he took Michael’s phone with him, with the idea that Michael would have to come looking for it when he got home and Peter could make sure he was okay.
Around three am, a call from Caspian went unanswered.
The next morning still showed no sign of Michael. Peter liked to think that he didn’t panic easily, but when his brother disappeared without his phone or any kind of contact, well, it definitely made him not feel all that great. Especially since he felt horribly guilty at the thought that it was maybe his fault for all this.
By noon, he called Chris.
“Hey, don’t freak out, but you can’t tell Paris or mom or dad or anyone, okay?” was probably not the best way to start the conversation, in retrospect. Thankfully, Chris was on his way home from an away game the night before and Paris wasn't there to overhear their conversation. He was still waiting in the Dulles airport for his connecting flight when Peter managed to get in contact with him.
“What the hell is going on??” Chris responded, understandably upset and concerned, his voice a mixture of weary distress. Peter explained the situation as best as he could, telling Chris about how Michael freaked out when he saw the newspaper article Peter had found while snooping around for things about Michael online, and then about how he had been missing for the last twenty-four hours.
“He probably just needs some time alone,” is what Chris said, but Peter could hear in his voice that he didn’t really believe that. Chris would know very well that Michael didn’t do this. Michael was the responsible one, the one who watched from a distance until he was needed, and then would be there in a heartbeat. How many times had Michael as Sessrumnir saved them one way or another?
“Do you even know why he got a purple heart?” Peter pried, glancing over his shoulder towards the junk drawer in the kitchen where the medals were kept. There was a hesitation from Chris’s side of the phone.
“Which time?”
Which time?
“What?? What do you mean ‘which time’??” Peter gaped, turning on his heel to make his way into the kitchen to riffle through the drawer he knew Michael had thrown his medals into. “There’s only one purple heart in here. Is there supposed to be another?”
“What? No… There should only be one, but it has a star on the ribbon, doesn’t it? That’s the additional one,” Chris explained, but it didn’t seem as though he was scolding Peter for not knowing. His voice was sad, if anything. “I just started high school the first time, so you were, what…? Five, I think. No one died, but Michael and a few others were injured. I’m not sure about the details, but their ship was damaged in an attack,” Chris explained softly as Peter scowled, wondering how he missed the star before.
“Okay, so,” Peter frowned, closing the drawer and turning back toward the living room, a hand lifted to rub at his brow in frustration. “I don’t know what to do next. We can’t call mom and dad because you know they’ll freak out. I can’t get in contact with Caspian because I stupidly don’t have his number, and I--”
“Who’s Caspian?” he heard Chris cut him off, clearly having not heard the name until just then. Oh, oops. Peter sometimes forgot that Chris was often away and probably wouldn’t know who Caspian was.
“Oh… he’s… Michael’s friend… sort of,” he mumbled, grimacing up at the ceiling for some kind of better explanation than that. “He and Michael have been hanging out a lot.” Thankfully for Peter, that was all Chris seemed to need to hear because he didn’t ask any more questions on the topic.
“Why aren’t we telling mom and dad?” Chris asked instead.
“You know they’ll freak out. Mom will cry. Dad will do something ridiculous. The last thing Michael needs is for the whole Navy to come looking for him, as efficient as that would be,” Peter said with a sage nod.
“A missing person's report, then?”
Peter made another face, knowing that it might end up coming down to that. He was worried about Michael, and he didn’t want to embarrass him, but he also didn’t want him to be found, dead in an alleyway somewhere.
“Maybe… he went to Jupiter?” Peter suggested, knowing how serious it would have gotten if they ended up filing the report Chris suggested. He opened his mouth to say something else, when he heard the vibration of Michael’s phone on the counter. Quickly, Peter went back into the kitchen to see who was calling, the name Caspian lighting up the screen.
“I can’t answer,” he said to the vibrating phone, pulling his own away from his ear so Chris didn’t think he was talking to him. Although he supposed it was weird to be talking to anything else when he already admitted to being the only person at home. “Caspian is calling again,” he explained into his own phone before Chris could voice his concern. Damnit, Michael… was all he could think of as he once again attempted to answer the call from Caspian, only for it to fail.
“Hey, my flight is starting to board,” Peter heard Chris say, and he drew his attention back to him. “I should be in the city in the next hour. I’ll meet you there, okay?”
“And don’t tell Paris!! She’ll tell everyone,” he said in exasperation as he heard the sounds of an airport announcement in the background.
Once the call disconnected, Peter had nothing to do but stand and wait for something to happen and hope that Michael would somehow magically make his way home and apologize for losing track of time.
Caspian tried calling again shortly after the first time.
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Posted: Wed Jul 27, 2016 9:49 pm
Word Count: 1075
It wasn’t until late afternoon that Chris finally got to Michael’s house. Thankfully, part of his delay had been to pick up some fast food for them, since, as Chris probably suspected, Peter had been too worried to really bother making himself anything to eat, and was surviving off of cereal.
“Sorry, I had to call Paris,” he explained as he made his way into the house, placing the bags of cheeseburgers and fries onto the counter, and passed the soda he got for Peter to him. The sound of Chris’s voice made it obvious that he’d had a difficult time convincing Paris that he needed to go somewhere other than home after being away for almost two weeks.
Peter quickly dug into the bags, pulling himself out a burger and dumped the fries out on the immaculate counter, as Michael wouldn’t have it any other way. Not that anyone really cared for Peter’s opinion, but if someone asked him what he thought about Michael’s house, he would say it was definitely boring. It looked more like a house set up for show, rather than a place that someone lived. Peter put his own personal touches to the room he claimed as his own, but the rest of the house was only the essentials and pointless decorations that Michael obviously didn’t pick out for himself.
It reminded Peter a little of a home someone in Witness Protection would be living in.
“Well, I tried sending Michael a message, but he hasn’t responded. I’ll try again in a little while I think,” Chris said as Peter stopped, mid-bite, and swallowed a larger piece of his burger than he probably should have, leaving him to cough and slurp at his drink to try and clear his throat.
“Oh my god, that’s right, you can send messages,” Peter sputtered, staring at Chris like he’d never seen him before, to which Chris just stared awkwardly back, a fry halfway to his mouth. “You need to send a message to Caspian,” he said, and then quickly followed up with, “His senshi name is Remus.” He knew that Chris would question why he thought he could send a message to a civilian, but Peter could see the understanding in his eyes when he said that Caspian was a senshi, too.
“Remus?” Chris repeated, moving to rummage through some of the drawers in the kitchen to find a pad of paper and pen. “This is Michael’s friend? Does he know where Michael’s house is?” he asked, just wanting to make sure he understood exactly what he was going to be doing.
“Yeah, yeah,” Peter quickly waved him to hurry. “Write something like, ‘Hey, don’t freak out, but we can’t find Sess. You seen him?’”
Chris gave him an exasperated look and did not write that, but instead wrote: This is Sessrumnir’s brother. If you see him will you please have him contact me. Thank you. Valhalla
Once the message was finished, Chris removed the ring from his finger so he could press the signet seal against the page, watching as the piece of paper disappeared into thin air, on its way to the civilian half of Remus, who would hopefully receive it with little trouble.
“We should still file a missing person’s report,” Chris said with a small sigh, collecting the note pad and pen to place back into the drawer, when Michael’s phone started vibrating again.
“Damnit, Caspian,” Peter hissed in frustration as he saw the name flash on the screen. He grabbed the pad of paper and pen out of Chris’s hand and scribbled down: OMG That won’t work!! He left his phone and I can’t answer it!! He then snatched for Chris’s ring, before Chris could stop him, and pressed the flat part against the page as Chris had just done with the other message.
Naturally, nothing happened.
“Ugh,” Peter whined, pushing the page back to Chris so he could do it, ignoring the look of distress his brother was giving him.
Once Chris had the piece of paper, the message was crossed out and replaced with: He doesn’t have his phone with him. We are at his place.
“You can’t answer it?” Chris asked, waiting until the second message disappeared before he reached out to pick up Michael’s phone to try and answer the call, himself.
“Oh, yeah, sure, I never thought to try to do that,” Peter rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Of course I tried answering his phone! Last night when Marissa called-- uh…” he stammered, glancing away from the odd look on Chris’s face and lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “They hang out at the bars sometimes. I don’t know! Anyway, he has it locked. As if anyone actually calls him.”
“Don’t say that,” Chris said with a frown, setting the phone back down on the counter when his own attempt failed. Peter thought the tone of Chris’s voice sounded a bit guilty, as if he too was realizing that they might have let Michael down more than they ever intended.
“Wanna place bets on how fast Caspian will get here?” Peter mumbled lazily as he leaned against the counter to pick at the rest of his burger, the guilt he was feeling before starting to rise up and eat at his stomach again. He could see Chris stare at him and then shake his head.
“No, I’m going to call the police to get the report started,” Chris said, moving away from the counter with his own phone. “We’ll probably want to check the local hospitals, too. And probably the DMV to see if there’s any record on his car being towed. I can try to call the companies he has his credit cards with to see if they’ve been used, but I doubt they’ll give me any information.”
Peter sighed and went to wait by the door, the rest of the food left untouched. Hopefully Caspian would know what to do, or have a better idea of where Michael could be hiding. Sure, he felt bad that he didn’t know his brother as well as he would have liked, but thankfully it seemed as though Caspian actually cared about Michael in a way that Peter wasn’t used to seeing from others.
Hopefully this wouldn’t be the point where Michael pushes the one good thing he has away.
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