Young Writers Society

Second Always Comes Last

Taylor

(23)

______________________

The police had stopped asking around the school. Taylor Ivanov had not.

It was my idea.

I stuck my finger into the buzzer for the third time, pressing my weight from foot to foot, urging. Be home. Be home. We needed time, and that was something that was limited. With every moment the door remained unanswered, was another moment wasted. The bolt on the inside turned and a middle aged woman swung open the heavy wood. Her eyes were heavy and tired. She looked at me for a moment, her face frozen. Her lips trembled just slightly. I scowled, mocking her on the inside. Why? Do I remind you of your son? A figure moved in the background, glancing behind his parent to the visitor at the door. Taylor.

He recognized me instantly, even from all the way down the hall, even from being half obscured. It was easy to recognize someone you associated with the day of a death.

“Mum, it’s for me.” He said, walking up slowly and cupping his mother behind her back, leading her from the door. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it.” He spoke gently to his parent. He treasured her like already broken china that he had spent hours gluing back together again. I watched her slunk back into the depths of her house. I wonder what happens to china broken twice.

“Nazza. What are you doing here.” Taylor no longer made an effort to lay off the suspicion in his voice. He pushed forward out the front door, closing it behind him and cornering us both on the porch. With every day I saw him, he looked older and older. It was one thing no longer seeing him in his uniform, but he had let his hair grow out even further than he had worn it at school, and his chin was spread with the soft stubble of adulthood.

I took a good soaking in of him and ran my steps through my head before I spoke. Timing was everything.

“I have information about the death of your brother.”

I watched his face falter. They were the words he had been praying to hear every day, yet at the same time, they were words no man would ever want to hear. Taylor’s jaw stiffened, and he lowered his voice gruffly.

“What is it? Tell me, show me. I’ll take it to the investigation so his death can finally be justified. I swear those bastards who did it...” He scowled downwards.

“I swear, Nazza, if you did it...”

“Look. I just said I found information. I admit, I was afraid before; but it’s clear hard evidence. I just need to take you to it.”

“Is it the crime scene?”

I took a moment. Taylor wasn’t stupid.

“Yes.”

It didn’t take much more than that. Taylor pulled on a pair of shoes on the porch and shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for something.

“Let’s go then. How far is it? I can drive us in my car.”

I nodded and he pulled out his keys, heading down to the drive of his house. It was a cheap model, the type you’d expect for an eighteen or nineteen year old if they even had a car at all. The brown paint was peeling off the side, but the seats seemed to be freshly upholstered. I let myself into the back seat; it smelt like oven baking. Taylor got into the front and started the engine. It shudder for a moment but then purred smoothly, and Taylor back the car out into the street.

Time. Extra time. Taking the car would give us extra time. But would it give us too much time? I told Taylor to head to a particular train-station.

At first he didn’t speak much, but often took glances at me in the rear vision. It was when we were stopped at a red light that he suddenly decided to make conversation.

“Nazza... I’m sorry for how I behaved at the hospital. I mean, that was pretty mean, picking on you like that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I wasn’t feeling particularly well myself. I was on my way to a check-up.”

“A check-up? At the hospital? What for?”

I raised my head, smiling slightly. I would enjoy this. I would enjoy telling the truth for the first time.

“An MRI scan, and for the doctor to tell me how long he assumes I have left to live.”

“What??” Taylor lurched as the light turned green, catching himself from pressing the accelerator a little too fast. He breathed in heavily.

“What do you mean? Nobody ever said anything about something like that? When did this happen?”

“I never told anyone.”

Taylor sat silently for a few moments, cruising the street silently before asking the inevitable question.

“So... how long did he say you had- that is if you aren’t kidding me.”

I laughed. Softly.

“The doctor has no way to confirm what it is. He has his suspicions. He made a guess spanning a while yet. But I know he’s wrong.”

“How do you now he’s wrong?”

I once again chuckled to myself.

“I know. I know because I have seizures every week. I know because I get light-headed. I get incapacitating headaches. My limbs spasm spontaneously. I lose my memory of large extended periods of time. I lose myself. But the doctor doesn’t know any of this. I hide it. I hide everything. he thinks I’m functioning normally. He knows nothing.”

“Nazza that is really stupid!” Taylor sounded genuinely worried. “You can’t do that, the doctor only wants to help, and if you are having sever symptoms like that then it’s not something you should hide. Why? Why do you do it?”

I bend my fingers one by one. “It’s not something you can understand unless it’s happening to you. The world wants to see me leave in a hospital, treated, examined. I am alive. There is nothing wrong with me. I don’t care if they say I’ll die at this rate. I am alive and they can’t stop me until the end.”

I saw Taylor’s knuckles whiten on the steering. He wanted to argue, but restrained.

“We’re almost there. At the crime scene.” I said. He nodded, taking the subject change with ease.

“Nazza. Since you are suffering... you understand don’t you? This is why you are suddenly helping me. I promise I won’t hold anything against you, even if you know more than you wish you did.” He pulled the car into a size street and parked on the edge outside a factory. “We will solve this together. You and me. we can bring my little brother to justice. I always knew you were different Nazza. You seemed so lonely last year, but sweet and quiet. You may have seemed to have changed, but I know now. You’re struggling.”

We scrambled out of the vehicle and he locked the car, shoving his keys in his pocket. We have lots of time. The timing is perfect.

“Helping me solve his death will give you a great feeling of justice. I know it.” He grinned. “I know that it’s going to be great. You and me together, we can do this.”