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"I'm taking a walk!"
March's voice echoed through the house, words already a bit slurred from his earlier drinks. Hearing no response, he pulled the door shut behind him. The night time air was cool, and felt light as it brushed through his hair in the breeze, knocking a few strands loose and leaving them to rest on his forehead. He gave a long sigh before finally walking down the few steps out front. The liquor in his hand sloshed in its bottle, following every move he made. He took a swig before finally beginning to trudge up the street. He didn't really know where he was going. He never did have a particular destination.
When passing a few houses and tripping over his feet once in a while as he walked, he settled on gazing through windows. One house in particular made him stop in his tracks. Shadows moved back and forth between windows. They were dancing. They glided back and forth through the room, throwing their heads back in a laugh when one of them seemed to fail a twirl, almost falling backwards. Something about the warmth of it all made March's chest ache and twist into a tight knot. Having lurked enough, he continued on.
He rounded corner after corner, passing house after house. The once full bottle in his hand became gradually more empty. Warm, bright lights beaming out of windows cast March's shadow far ahead of him. He looked down at it as he walked, watching the way it swayed and faltered with each step. His shadow was a strange thing, he almost laughed at it, the way it swayed and stretched. It moved like some strange caricature of himself, one that felt more familiar than it should. He kept walking, noting the differences between himself and this thing that laid his steps out for him. His legs weren't long and uneven like this things were, yet it lurched the same way he did when he stumbled over his own legs.
March hadn't been paying close attention to where he was even going, he just kept walking, so enamored with his own shadow that he didn't realize he'd nearly done a loop. It was so cold out, he was near shivering. He didn't stop though, missing the turn back to his house, instead he went down one more, turning left down a different road. He walked it for a few minutes more, still not paying any mind to where he was headed. That was, until he saw the wide expanse of grass in front of him. His eyes drifted up, following the slope of the hill. He knew where he was. He was all to familiar with the way the road curved and the steps up the hill. He knew this view like the back of his hand and it felt like a stab in the chest.
He'd been hesitant at first, but slowly, he clamored up the hill, trying his best not to drop the bottle in his hand. Once he had finally reached the top, he heaved a deep breath before trying to settle himself onto the ground, falling down more than sitting. The soft grass tickled his hands as it brushed against them. The alcohol burned his throat as he took a long drink. March finally looked around, taking in his surroundings. There were bright lights in every direction as far as he could see. It was almost pretty, the way the shone. If he squinted, they twinkled, almost like if they were stars. Almost. Everything was so quiet here. All he heard was the faint rustling of leaves and a few persistent crickets. it was too quiet.
March's eyes stung and his vision blurred as tears began to well in his eyes. He choked on a sob, his throat and chest tightening in a final failed attempt to stop his weeping. He sat in the waving grass, tears rolling down his cheeks and dropping down onto his jacket. He drained the last of the bottle, losing his grip on it and dropping it somewhere by his side before flopping all the way back and laying in the grass. It was still so cold out, and he was so, so tired. His breathing was slow and his eyes drifted open and closed. He tried to get up, but his limbs were so heavy and hard to move, and laying down felt so nice. He didn't see the harm in just staying there for a bit. His eyes drifted closed again, but this time they didn't open back up.
****
"I'm taking a walk!"
There was a moment of silence before the door latched, leaving the house quiet again. Healy looked up at Holly and just shrugged, continuing to shuffle the deck of Uno cards in his hands. March had been in a mood all day, just sort of moping around the house and complaining to himself. Healy dealt out the cards, seven to each of them. He let Holly flip the top card to start the game. She gave him a competitive glare before finally laying the card down, a blue two. Healy looked at his hand, not a blue in sight, luckily he had a yellow two, which he placed down, returning Holly's glare as he did so.
They played a few rounds, Holly beating him more times than he liked to admit. Healy checked his watch letting out a sigh at the time.
"Alright, it's late enough, let's get this cleaned up."
Holly nodded, grabbing the cards and stacking them neatly before putting them in the box, which she tossed to Healy for him to put on the counter. Healy paused to look out the window, March still wasn't back from his walk. He should go find him, he didn't feel like worrying about him later. He walked back into the main area, grabbing his coat He looked over at Holly,
"I'll be right back, alright?"
She gave a small nod, an understanding, but sad smile on her face. Healy nodded back before heading to the door. It was still a bit warm out, but there was a cool breeze that tickled his face. Healy looked around, unsure of which direction to start in. He took a right, following the curve of the road. March couldn't have gotten that far, right? He had been stumbling around by the time he left, there was no way he could've made it more than a mile or two. Most of the houses still had some of their lights on, illuminating the street in a warm glow. It would've been pretty under different circumstances. He turned left again, following the loop. He still saw no sign of March. Where had he gone? Where would he have ended up and not come b- It dawned on him. That empty plot.
Healy quickened his pace, now with a destination in mind. It didn't take him long to get there, the plot was close to March's house. The grassy hill finally came into view, and on top of it, was March. He was flat on his back, sprawled out strangely. Healy walked up the hill, stopping at March's side. His eyes were closed, the idiot must've fallen asleep. He tapped his shoe against March's leg, trying to get him to stir. He sighed,
"March, c'mon, it's time to go home."
Nothing. He didn't move a muscle. God, he was out cold. Healy knelt down, shaking his shoulders to try and rouse him. Still nothing. Healy caught something glistening in the corner of his eye. A bottle was laying at March's side. Healy grabbed it, lifting it to look closer. It was completely empty. He looked back down at him, his heart sinking. He dropped the bottle, his hands moving to cup March's face. He was cold to the touch.
"March, hey, you've gotta wake up. March. March!"
He looked around frantically. There was no one else out here. He needed to call for help. Healy took his jacket off, draping it over March before lifting him off the ground, grunting as he did so. March wasn't too heavy, but he certainly wasn't light as a feather, carrying him was going to be an effort. He started down the hill, trying to keep as steady as possible. He knew he didn't have far to go, but his arms and legs were starting to burn.
Finally, he reached the front door, shoving it open as quickly as he could. He rushed over to the couch, lowering March onto it before running over to the phone. He frantically dialed 911,
"Emergency, what's your emergency?"
"We need an ambulance, 1271 Stafford Drive, just hurry."
"What is the emergency?"
Healy's response was interrupted by a gagging noise. He dropped the phone, running back in to find March was still on the couch, now convulsing. His front was covered in vomit, which he seemed to be choking on. Healy quickly rolled him onto his side, trying to open his mouth to relieve his airway.
"No no no no no, you stay with me, alright?"
"Mr. Healy?"
Healy whipped his head around. Holly. She shouldn't see this.
"Holly, I need you to go in a different room, alright?"
She shook her head, panic all over her face,
"What's happening, what's happening to him?"
Healy just shook his head, patting March on the back. He didn't even know if what he was doing was really helping. He had stopped gagging, but his breathing was so shallow and slow. The ambulance couldn't come soon enough.
"Holly, can you go wait outside for the ambulance, please?"
She paused, but eventually nodded, grabbing a towel and throwing it over to him before turning for the door. He looked back down at March, wiping his face a bit and continuing to rub circles on his back. He sniffled, mumbling to himself,
"C'mon March, wake up for me. Come on…"
Lights flashed through the windows, casting everything in red. He heard the door open and loud footsteps as the room filled with people who all crowded around them. There was a set of hands on Healy's shoulders, pulling him back from March. He knew it was for the best, but he didn't want to leave him. He didn't like letting go and having to stand by. What if there was some part of March that knew Healy had been there, and now he wasn't.
March was quickly loaded into the ambulance. Holly tried to follow, but Healy put a hand on her shoulder, gesturing towards his own car. Maybe it was wrong, not letting her go with March. He was her dad after all, but they needed their space to work, and he didn't want Holly to have to see that. Healy pulled his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the car. He opened the passenger door for Holly, letting her slide in before shutting it behind her. He settled into the driver's seat, turning the key in the ignition.
The hospital wasn't actually all that far, but the drive felt like it took ages, ticking away at precious time that March might not be able to spare. At a certain point, they could not longer follow the ambulance, turning instead to find a spot to park. Healy pulled into the first empty space he saw, leaving the car haphazardly parked outside the lines. Holly leapt out of the car, racing ahead of him towards the emergency entrance.
Healy eventually caught up, spotting Holly in the crowd of other people. She was looking around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of her dad. He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her out of the center of the room.
"We won't be able to find him right now. They have to make sure he's stable enough before anyone can come see him. Let's go check with the desk, yeah?"
****
It felt like it'd been ages since they'd gotten to the hospital. Healy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd never admit it to Holly, she was scared enough, but he hated hospitals. Something about them had always made him uneasy. Some of the people here were having the worst days of their lives, and it scared him that he might be among them without knowing it yet. All he could do was sit and wait. It felt strange to just sit there. March was somewhere here fighting for his life, but he was all alone. Healy wasn't there to rub circles in his back, and Holly wasn't there to hold his hand.
"You're Holland March's family?"
Healy looked up, pulled out of his train of thought. A nurse stood in front of him, looking expectantly for a response. He nodded, moving to stand up.
"I can take you to see him now. He's stable enough, but not conscious."
Healy nodded in understanding, looking at Holly who stood next to him. Her face was almost stoic, but he saw the crease between her brow and the redness in her eyes. The poor kid, always trying to put on a brave face. They followed the nurse down a few halls, finally stopping in front of a door. The nurse pulled Healy to the side for a moment, speaking in a hushed tone,
"He's stable for now, but keep an eye on her," she gestured to Holly, "He's not looking good."
Healy nodded, moving to join Holly in front of the door. He gestured for her to open it, her hand already on the handle. The door swung open, revealing a single bed in the middle of the room. In it, was March. He almost looked peaceful, like he could just be sleeping, were it not for the tube sticking out of his throat. Wires and tubes stuck out from him in all directions and Healy could see the needles they'd stuck in him, like he was some kind of human pincushion. He looked so small. March wasn't a small man, but he looked dwarfed by the big, empty room, so devoid of life, no longer wearing his usual colorful suit. Rather, he wore a plain white hospital gown that matched the color of everything else in the room.
He glanced back at Holly, who had stayed further back than he had. She'd probably never had to do this before. Not with her mom at least. March had drunkenly confided in him one night, that there wasn't much to be done for his wife once they were able to get to her. There wasn't even a full body to be buried. He stepped back to stand next to her.
"We don't have to stay. Just say the word and we'll. It's okay."
Holly just shook her head, still holding back her tears. She started to move forward, heading for the chairs against the wall. Healy wasn't far behind, settling into the one next to her. They sat silently for a while, just looking at him. Eventually, Holly shifted, moving her chair closer to the bed. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering above March's before finally settling over it. She finally allowed the tears to slip down her cheeks, moving closer to lay the rest of her arm on the bed, resting her head on top of it.
They stayed like that for a while, Holly just looking up at March like if she stared at him long enough, he'd wake up. Healy sat back, gave her space. She needed time with him, and Healy didn't want to crowd her, not now. Nurses came in pretty frequently to check his vitals and such, but they left Holly mostly unbothered. Healy nodded at them as they came in and out as a silent thank you for both letting Holly be, and taking care of March. Holly shifted, sitting up and pulling her hand away from March's. She turned to face Healy.
"I'm going to go get something to drink. You want anything?"
Her voice was quiet and cracked at the ends of her words. He shook his head.
"No, I'm alright."
She nodded, turning and opening the door, taking another glance at March before letting it shut behind her. She was a kid, but she knew what she needed. If she needed a minute to process without staring in the face of what was happening, he wouldn't stop her. There was plenty of time to talk later. Healy sat for another moment, just looking at March. He stood, taking the seat Holly had been in, closer to the bed. He was so much paler up close, the fluorescent lights doing him no favors. Carefully, he placed his hand on top of March's. He was warmer than before, but still, not quite right. He shifted his hand, interlacing his fingers with March's. There was a tightness in Healy's chest. Something inside him told him it was wrong. He tried not to care, this wasn't about him anymore.
There was so many things he wanted to tell March. Like that diner story, the one that March loved to exaggerate his reaction to. There was something important he wanted to change about it; he wanted to tell March that that day in the diner wasn't the best day of his life anymore, it wasn't the only time he felt useful. He wished he could tell him that it was hard to pick out the best day of his life now. All the mornings spent cooking breakfast for Holly and driving her to school and the evenings where they sat in the living room playing a game, taking it all way too seriously, easily beat that day. The second time he'd met March, he'd told him that he liked where he lived, and he didn't want to move. He still liked his place, it was all his, but it was so quiet. When he was there it meant he was alone. He liked March's house because it was March's. He and Holly were the closest thing Healy had to family, and when he was there, they made it his house too. He wished he could tell him that.
He heard the door open, quickly turning to wipe away the few tears he had accidentally let slip. The nurse walked to the other side of the bed, adjusting some of March's pillows and checking his vitals again. Healy let his eyes wander, trying not to catch the gaze of the nurse. He didn't like being watched, not like this. He felt fragile here, like there was something fundamental inside him that would shatter if he knew someone was looking.
When the nurse eventually left, he looked back at March. Something in his stomach twisted and his heart ached. It was different, it wasn't like the warmth he felt in his chest while laughing at one of March's awful jokes, or like the lightness he felt when March and Holly passed out on his shoulders when they watched a movie. This was bitter and painful. It hurt like a wound that had been opened over and over, or the pain you feel in your ribs when you run too much.
The door opened again, but this time it was Holly walking through the door. She held a sandwich and two Yoo-hoos. Holly looked down at her hand before speaking,
"I got you something anyways, figured I'd save you the trip later."
"Thanks," He said with a nod "Sorry, I took your seat."
Holly shrugged, "It's alright, at least he had someone keeping him company." She gave a small, sad smile and glanced down at where Healy and March's hands were still interlocked. Healy sniffled, shifting in his seat uncomfortably and pulling his hand away from March's. He grabbed the other chair, dragging it closer to the bed, and gestured for Holly to sit. She did, handing Healy a Yoo-hoo once she was settled. She looked over at Healy for a moment before glancing back at March.
"I'm glad he has you." She said quietly. Healy opened his mouth to say something, but she kept going. "He was better, for a while. You came, and suddenly he had days where he was happy. Thank you." He didn't quite know what to say, how to express that they'd both changed his life forever in a way that didn't sound like he was just returning the gratitude. Holly leaned her head against his shoulder, getting more comfortable in her seat. Healy did the same, shifting in the chair before resting a hand on the bed once again.
****
Healy was woken up by hands on his shoulders. A nurse was looking down at him, saying something he couldn't understand. He blinked away his tiredness, trying to catch up to the situation at hand.
"Sir, we need you to step out for a bit."
He looked around, confused. The room was filled with other nurses and doctors, all talking among each other. "Why, what's happening. Is something wrong?" He tried to keep his voice quiet, Holly was still asleep and he got the feeling she didn't need to hear this.
"Sir, please, just step out into the hallway."
Healy relented, pulling his had away from March's, waking Holly, and guiding her out of the room. He tried to ignore the pit that clawed away at the inside of his stomach.
"What's happening?" Holly asked, nudging his side. He shook his head with a small frown,
"I don't know." He didn't like that that was the only answer he had, she deserved to know what was going on. She leaned into his side again, still trying to fight off the sleep that clung to her. They stood in the hallway for what felt like far too long. Healy looked at his watch, four forty in the morning. He sighed, how long had they even been there?
Holly tapped him on the arm, getting his attention as a doctor quietly stepped out of the room. There was an air of unease around him.
"Would you two please follow me?"
He led them down a few short hallways. They hadn't gone far, but this part of the hospital was much quieter. He stopped in front of a door, opening it and gesturing for Holly and Healy to step in. It was a fairly small room. It had a very small couch in one corner, but in the center of the room was a desk. On the far side was just one chair, nearer to them were two more. Healy didn't like the feeling of the room. It felt like a kind of suffocating sadness clung to every surface, trying to crawl onto him.
"Please, sit." The doctor said, gesturing to the two chairs as he sat in his own. His voice was even in a way that made Healy uneasy. Holly sat down first, scooting her chair closer to Healy's when he sat. The doctor looked at them across the desk, his hand neatly folded. He pushed the tissues a bit closer to their side of the desk before speaking again.
"This part, it never becomes easier, but I have some very… unfortunate news. Mr. March began to suffer from acute liver failure, and we didn't catch it early enough to stop it. I'm very, very sorry to say, but Mr. March didn't make it. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask."
The room started spinning, Healy felt like he was being sucked straight into the floor. Everything felt heavy, like he couldn't even begin to move due to the crushing weight of it. He looked over at Holly, who sat in stunned silence. "If you have any questions, please feel free to ask." What was he supposed to be wondering right now. What questions should he have. His - March was gone. What was there to ask about. If it hurt? If he was alone? If he was scared?
Before he could bring himself to say anything, Holly was standing up. She turned, pacing for a moment before running to the door, swinging it open and taking a sharp turn down the hall, heading in the direction they'd come from. Healy stood, turning to follow her, ignoring any objections from the doctor, who was trying to follow closely behind him.
Healy slowed down, seeing Holly come back into view. She stood, frozen in front of the door. She was just a step away from the threshold, but her whole body was rigid, refusing to go any closer. Healy approached her, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. She reached for the door handle, turning it and pushing, letting the door swing open, once again revealing that single bed.
March was still there, laying completely still now, his skin more yellowed than before. There was no shallow rise and fall of his chest or monitor beeping, telling them he was still with them. The medical equipment was gone, no IV sticking out of his arm or machine helping him breathe. Holly took small steps forward as she extended her hand. Once she was close enough, she let it rest on March's again, linking their pinkies together as she did so. Healy saw tears start to pour out of her eyes. She sat on the bed next to March, just looking at him.
"He's still warm." Her voice was barely above a whisper, breaking at the ends of her words. Healy inched closer, standing a bit behind her. Before he knew it, her arms were wrapped around his middle and she began crying into his shoulder. He rested a hand on the back of her head, hoping it would bring some kind of comfort. Maybe a reminder that she wasn't completely alone. Maybe she felt like she was though. Maybe Healy had overestimated his own importance and Holly thought she had no one left, like Healy's loyalty was only really to March and he'd pack up and leave now that he was gone. The thought made him feel sick. He hoped he'd done enough to make Holly understand that he loved her like his own.
She sniffled into his shoulder, squeezing her arms tighter around him. Holly choked out a sob,
"What are we going to do?" It hit Healy like a ton of bricks. What were they going to do? What if they didn't let her stay with Healy and instead she got put in a foster home somewhere where he couldn't see her again? He placed his other hand on her back, holding her close.
"We"ll figure it out."
****
Healy turned the key in the door, letting it swing open. Everything was the exact same. The lights were still on and empty bottles were still scattered through the house. It was like everything had been frozen in time. Holly went off to her room without a word, her eyes were red and hollow. Healy walked towards the couch, eyeing it carefully. It was the last place March had been, the last part of his home he may have felt. Healy sighed heavily, turning to reenter the dining area. He sat heavily in one of the chairs, lifting the bag he had been holding and setting it on the table. He sat for a minute, just staring at it. He didn't know if he could bring himself to open it.
After a long time considering, his hand rose, shakily pulling open the bag. On top of the rest of its contents sat a watch. It was a watch he knew all too well. March had worn it every day that Healy had known him. Next to it was a ring. March and Holly had matching ones that they'd each worn on their pinky. He'd make sure to give that to her, as well as anything else she wanted. He carefully laid them out on the table, removing item after item. A wallet, which he'd be sure to give Holly, his keys, a box of cigarettes, the lighter, and a few more random things March had seemingly shoved in his pockets at random. Finally, he picked up a jacket. It was neatly folded, but still smelled of alcohol and the bitterness of vomit. The same went for the shirt and the pants. Finally, he pulled out a pair of shoes. They were well taken care of, but you could see the wear on them if you knew where to look like Healy did. There was a large scuff on the toe of one of them where March had tripped on a curb. He wouldn't shut up about it, how he'd never be able to get that scuff out.
Healy put the bag on the floor, taking in all the items carefully laid out. This was it, the last of March. Now, it wasn't really, but this was everything that he was. Those clean clothes in his closet weren't him. They were neat and organized, all creaseless and polished. March wasn't any of those things, so this was what was left of him. The creases in his jacket from where he'd dramatically draped himself over the couch, complaining about the case they were working on, that scuff on his shoe, all the tiny scratches in his watch from constant wear. That was him.
He knocked on Holly's door quietly, holding the ring and March's wallet. He was ready to turn away and give her space, but the door opened before he could. Holly looked at him, face dampened with tears. Healy extended his hand, revealing the items to her.
"I thought you might want these, they felt important." Holly nodded, gingerly grabbing the items. She held up the ring to look at it closer, her lip wobbling.
"I didn't think I would lose him too," she choked out. Healy opened his arms, letting her lean into him.
"Me either," he whispered. He hated it, seeing her grieving so deeply. It felt wrong to see Holly without the quips and snarky remarks. It meant that something really was wrong, that this all was real. There wasn't any avoiding the truth when people no longer acted like themselves because of it.
"I think I'm going to try and sleep now," Holly stated, stepping out of Healy's embrace, "Thank you, Mr. Healy." He nodded, mustering a small smile. Holly turned, stepping back into her room and closing the door behind her. Healy walked back into the dining room, glancing over at the items before continuing into the living room. He grabbed a blanket and pillow, still waiting for him in their usual spot.
He settled himself on the couch. It wasn't as comfortable as a bed, but the familiarity of it brought its own comfort. Here, things could be normal, if even just for the night. He could pretend that March was soundly asleep in his own room, just down the hall. All could be well again for the night.
****
Planning a funeral hadn't been easy. There were so many steps and so many people to talk to that Healy really didn't want to talk to. Healy didn't want to talk to anyone. In fact, he couldn't remember exactly when it was that he last talked to someone other than Holly. It didn't really matter. Holly had started coming out of her room more. She and Healy had even tried to watch a movie, but they couldn't finish it. It all rang so hollow without March. He wasn't there to loudly commentate on all the character's decisions or steal Healy and Holly's snacks. They hadn't tried again since then, but maybe they would someday.
The funeral was set for tomorrow. A pit grew in Healy's stomach, becoming deeper with every hour that passed. He hated it. A funeral meant that it was final, that it would be a real goodbye. There would be no denying it now that the goodbye would be etched in stone. He didn't want to put on a suit and try not to throw himself into the grave too. He didn't want to pretend that he'd come to terms with the fact that he was gone.
Healy wandered into the kitchen, opening cupboard after cupboard in an attempt to find something to settle his churning stomach. He paused as he opened one. In it, was a single bottle. Healy had gotten rid of all the others a while ago, but he couldn't bring himself to toss this one. It had been March's favorite, saved only for special occasions. He always poured himself a glass after they solved a particularly hard case. He had always been excited to open the bottle again because it meant he'd done something good, something worth celebrating. Healy sighed, closing the cupboard and opening another,
****
The day was fair. There were a few clouds in the sky, the puffy kind that didn't really block out the sun. There was a light, cool breeze that swayed the branches of the tree next to them. The casket had already been lowered into the dirt, yet to be fully buried. Holly stood next to him, looking down at the hole in the ground. They were both stood stiffly, unsure of what exactly there was to do. It was just the two of them. The only other person was the man standing a distance away, ready to fill in the hole when they had said their goodbyes. But what goodbye was there to say to someone who couldn't hear it? What did they say when all the words they had were things they wished they'd said when he could hear them? It seemed that neither of them knew. Maybe it wasn't really about words.
They settled at that. Not exchanging any goodbyes with the box that sat in the ground. The two of them had talked about all the things they missed, the things they wished they'd said. They stepped back, closer to the tree. The man approached, beginning to shovel dirt into the hole. Healy wrapped an arm around Holly, pulling her close. Healy knew there was a chunk of him that would stay in that grave. At least he had something in common with Holly.
Once the dirt was packed in, they approached again. Holly laid a bouquet on the freshly packed dirt. The colors stood out next to the deep brown. She turned, placing another bundle on the grave next to it. Two headstones with the same last name, one less pristine than the other, but undoubtedly loved. Two headstones with the same last name, neither of which should have to be there yet. Two headstones, one much less lonely than it was before.