Fandom: The OC
Warnings: Secondary canon character death
Word Count: 614
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I'm making no money off of this.
A/N: Post-The Dearly Beloved (season 2 finale). Betaed by _sybillium. Abandoned WIP.
It was Summer who finally called 911.
Marissa had dropped the gun in shock and dropped to her knees, crumpling into a little ball in the doorway and crying her eyes out; Seth just stood there, too shocked, or maybe too scared, to move. Neither Atwood had budged from their fixed spot, so Summer forced herself out of her frozen stupor and opened her cell phone.
She was surprised to hear the sound of her own voice as she told the police where they were. It wasn’t shaky or broken, but steady, and she was astonished at her own composure.
She hung up. “They’re on their way,” she said, softly, as though it was her who needed reassuring. Seth cleared his throat beside her. “I should call Dad,” he said hoarsely. Wordlessly, Summer handed him her phone.
As Seth dialed, Summer dropped to her knees and held Marissa. Her best friend shook beneath her arms and Summer embraced her soothingly. She wanted to reassure Marissa, tell her everything would be all right, but she couldn’t get the words out. What use would it do? Everyone knew those were empty words.
Summer felt Marissa take a quick gasp of breath. Marissa was quietly mumbling to herself. Summer held her and questioned her silent mantra. “What is it?” she asked, matting down her hair which made her appear even more stunned.
“I’m a murderer,” Marissa sobbed quietly.
Oh god. Oh god. What could she say to that? There wasn’t anything to say. It was true, wasn’t it?
What was wrong with the world? Marissa Cooper was not a murderer. Ryan Atwood was not passed out on the floor of his dead brother’s apartment, with his other brother looking on at loss for breath. And Summer Roberts was not here, right now, in the doorway watching everyone slip away from her as every second passed.
A siren rang out and she forced herself to focus. Seth, who’d stuck her cell phone back in her pocket while she was lost in thought, stopped gasping for breath for long enough to say, in hushed tones, “I didn’t know they’d be here so soon.”
Neither did I, Summer thought, and I don’t know what to tell them.
Suddenly, she felt very old for only seventeen, and she finally understood the way Ryan always felt, with the weight of the world on his shoulders. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe that it all truly was on her shoulders, but the feeling was all real, and it was suffocating.
The police rushed up to the door and started asking questions. Seth began answering them before Summer had a chance, and he was miraculously not screwing up, so she didn’t interrupt. She stared at the floor, the place where Alex’s lamp used to be. In that corner, where now there was so much blood. So much blood. She couldn’t fathom losing that much blood, or even having it in the first place. It was morbid and revolting, but she couldn’t look away.
“Miss? Excuse me, miss?”
“Yes?” Summer responded, dragging her eyes from the spot she’d been staring at to look up at the policeman.
“Were you the one who made the call?”
“Yes, sir,” Summer responded, almost saying Officer and feeling very clichéd.
“Would you all come to the station, please?”
Seth mumbled something and looked at his feet. Summer nodded and Marissa just stared at a fixed spot on the wall with watery, far-away eyes. Summer couldn’t remember ever seeing her so disheveled, even in Tijuana.
The EMS workers barged past them. Summer forced herself not to look back as the three conscious teenagers followed the police silently into their car.