The chains were cold and heavy, clinking softly as Marco listlessly gathered them around his shoulders. He was ready to let them swallow him whole, to let the guilt become his tomb. He bowed his head, surrendering to the silence.
"You Liar."
The voice was loud, clear, and sharp, cutting through the haze of his despair like a bell.
Marco lifted his head. It was Lily. But she wasn't the gloomy, sneering specter from the dinner table. She was radiant, standing in a beam of soft light, her eyes filled with a fierce, burning love.
She beckoned him. "Come closer to me."
Marco trembled, the chains rattling. "I... I can't. I'm too heavy. I'm too guilty."
"Sure you can," she said firmly.
Suddenly, the scenery shifted. The long mahogany table, the chairs, the plates of rotting meat—they all dissolved into mist. The room was empty now, just a vast, grey space.
Jeremy lunged forward from the shadows, grabbing Marco's wrist. His grip was icy. "No!" Jeremy screamed, his face twisting in rage. "You have to come with us! You don't deserve freedom! You deserve to suffer like me!"
Lily stepped forward. She held a knitting needle from her yarn. With a swift, sharp motion, she pricked Jeremy's hand.
"Fuck off," she said, her voice dripping with motherly authority.
Jeremy recoiled, letting go of Marco. He stumbled back, clutching his hand, tears of frustration streaming down his face. He cursed Marco, his voice cracking. "You shouldn't have left me to die! Why are you not going to stay with me? Why!"
Lily ignored him. She wrapped her arms around Marco, pulling him into an embrace. Instantly, the gloominess of the room vanished. Everything became mellow, washed in the warm, golden hues of a sunset. The air smelled of cinnamon and fresh laundry.
She hugged him tighter. "You deserve love, Marco. You hear me? You deserve it."
The words melted the ice in his chest. The heaviness of the chains evaporated. Marco broke down, crying louder and louder, sobbing into her shoulder like a child.
Jeremy yelled from the corner, holding his head. "Tell him to stop! It hurts! It hurts to hear it!"
Lily looked over her shoulder at the ghost. "I won't. He is my son. He can do whatever he wants. And aren't you supposed to be dead anyways?"
Jeremy let out a scream of frustration. He ran towards them, intent on tearing them apart.
But before he could reach them, a glowing hand reached out from the light behind Lily. It caught Jeremy's wrist.
Jeremy froze. He looked at the hand, then turned around.
Standing there was another Jeremy. But this one wasn't pale or broken. He was glowing, cute, happy, and at peace.
"It's time to go," the glowing Jeremy said softly.
The dark Jeremy gasped. "No... I don't want to! I want him to suffer!"
"You're just a memory now," the glowing Jeremy said, shaking his head with a sad smile. "Fiddling like a child. It's time."
"No! Take him too! Take him too!" the dark Jeremy cried, pointing at Marco.
But the glowing Jeremy simply took the dark Jeremy's hand. The two figures began to merge, the darkness bleeding away into light. The rage, the guilt, the accusations—they all washed away, leaving only the memory of a boy who had sacrificed himself for love. With one last tearful look at Marco, the figure of Jeremy vanished into the light.
Lily turned back to Marco. She smiled, wiping a tear from her own cheek.
Marco lifted his face. It was full of snot and tears, his eyes swollen. He looked at her, his heart breaking all over again.
"I Miss You, Motherrrr!" he wailed, gripping her dress.
"I know, son," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Oh, Marco. Don't do it."
"Do what?"
"Don't drown in the grief. I have to go now. But remember... you shouldn't leave your love just because you are sad. You are supposed to be loving, not grieving now. Colden needs you. You need you."
Marco looked up. He saw the light behind her beginning to fade.
"No! Don't go! Don't go!" he screamed, panic rising in his throat.
Lily smiled. She leaned forward and placed a soft, warm kiss on his forehead.
"You silly boy," she whispered. "I am always here. Forever with you."
She reached into her apron and pulled out the torn, blood-stained cardigan. She waved her hand over it, and in a blink, it was clean—washed, white, and soft. She pressed it into his hands.
"All teary," she teased gently. "Take care of yourself... I, I can't come for a while. But I love you."
Marco clutched the clean cardigan to his chest. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, sniffing loudly. "Yes. I love you."
They looked at each other one last time. The world began to spin.
The golden light faded. The warmth retreated.
Marco blinked.
He was lying on the floor of the dark, dusty room in his old house. The cold hearth was in front of him, filled with old ash. The night had passed. Through the broken shutters, the sky was turning a pale, bruised purple.
A new dawn had arrived.
"Farewell, Mother," he whispered into the silence.
A gentle wind blew through the cracks in the wall, swirling the dust motes. It felt like a hand brushing through his hair.
As he looked down at his hand, a single Tulip—fresh, bright yellow, and impossible in this dead season—fell onto his palm.
*Goodbye, Mothers.*
To be continued.