Archive of Our Own

The gunfight was over. A few too many bullets, a few too many thugs, and one wrong move and a New York minute later - there I was, bleeding out in the middle of a snow-covered street, alone at my own wake. 

I’d seen this scene play out a thousand times in my head, in both my nightmares and my fantasies, but now that it was here, it felt quieter. More intimate. There were no flashing lights and blaring sirens off in the distance, no crowds gawking and whispering. There was no justice waiting in the wings, ready to swoop in and fix it all.

There was just the snow, the blood, and me.

I’d been on the edge for a long time, walking a tightrope between life and death. And as it turns out, falling from that tightrope was the easy part. I'd fallen a lot, since 1998. I'd never hit the ground, and that was what I was approaching now. It was the sudden stop at the end of the fall that killed. And my upcoming stop was looking to be rather fitting for the life I had been living.

The pain hit like a freight train, starting in my gut, radiating out to every corner of my body. A bullet had caught me just beneath the ribs, another in the shoulder. I could feel the blood pouring out, mixing with the ice beneath me, creating a gruesome slush that stained everything it touched with the evidence of my looming demise.

The warmth of it faded too quickly, leaving only a burning cold in its wake. 

My chest heaved with shallow breaths, each one a little harder than the last. Every heartbeat felt like a hammer to the head, pounding away, trying to remind me that I was still alive - for now. But I knew how this ended.

Maybe this time would truly be the last chapter in my story, the conclusion that had been years in the making, my destiny that had been set in stone ever since the death of my perfect American Dream.

And the funny thing was, I wasn't scared. Not anymore.

You could only outrun death for so long before it stopped feeling like something to avoid and started feeling more like an old friend you’ve been dodging at parties.

Sooner or later, he'll catch up with you, and there will nothing left to say but "What took you so long?".

I'd been dodging death constantly since that night, and it looked like tonight would be the night I greeted it with open arms and a warm smile.

The snow fell lightly around me, each flake catching the dim light of the flickering streetlamp overhead, one that buzzed and flickered and cast the kind of light that made everyone look like they were already dead. The snow fell through it in long diagonals. I watched a flake drift into the halo and disappear.

Then another.

Then another.

I used to look up at this damned city and see it as something alive, something beautiful in its never-stilling chaos. Something to love. New York, its towering skyscrapers, shimmering glass that reached up into clouds drifting through the morning sky like they had all the time in the world. Back then, when I looked up with a smile on my face as I walked through the city I called home, there had been hope. A future. A family.

Now?

Now I just saw the cracks in this cursed city. The grime hidden in every shadow. The filth in every smile. The poison that festered and grew just out of sight, ready to claim any who dared speak of it.

The snow was cold. My blood was hot.

I could taste copper, felt it on my lips as I coughed, as I saw my own blood spray out across the pure white canvas that was the snow-blanketed street I lay on.

I knew it wouldn't be long now. 

The world around me started to blur at the edges, like a poorly cut film reel spinning too fast. My thoughts drifted with it, jumbled and chaotic but eventually drawn back to the only thing that had ever mattered.

Michelle. Rose.

I'd been carrying those names for so long they'd stopped being names and become something else. My girls and the American Dream I had shared with them. It had been a good dream, while it lasted. The kind you wrap yourself in at night, pretending everything's going to be okay. Freshly-cut grass, kids playing in the yard, the smell of perfectly brewed coffee in the morning. A monument to two people who deserved better monuments.

We had had it all - the perfect life.

But that’s the thing about dreams. You blink, and they’re gone. In a blink, they had been taken from me. In a blink, they had been dead.

I didn’t protect them - I couldn't save them. That’s what had haunted me, ever since that night in 1998. Not the blood, not the violence - it was the silence that had come after. The emptiness. The knowledge that I would never hear them again. The knowledge that I would never see my little girl take her first steps or hear her speak her first words. The knowledge that I would never kiss Michelle again, never pull her close or dance in the kitchen to music only we could hear.

I'd been chasing those memories for almost two decades, but I only ever found comfort in the whiskey and painkillers.

But now, for the first time in years, I could see it again. That house on the Jersey side. The setting sun casting long shadows over the river. I could almost hear the laughter, the joy. I could feel Michelle’s hand in mine, warm and soft, her eyes shining as she held our little girl. I could see Rose's smile as she babbled and giggled, just as beautiful as the last time I had seen it. 

The world had been so bright back then, and for a moment - just a moment - I let myself believe it could be again.

It was the only thing keeping me going now, the thought of seeing them. The pain was getting worse, spreading like fire through my veins, but it didn’t matter. Not anymore. Every second I was here is another second closer to them.

I could hear Michelle calling to me, a soft smile upon her lips as she reached out for me.

I thought about the life I had - and the lives I had lost. The years in between were a blur of gunfights and grief, a storm I’ve been caught in for too long. I'd kept myself going with the whiskey and painkillers, never giving myself a moment to stop and let everything catch up. Maybe that was why I was okay with this.

I’d done my time in the dark - and now it was finally time to go home.

Another breath, sharp and ragged. My body was giving out, piece by piece. I could feel the tremors in my hands, the way my chest shuddered with each shallow inhale. My fingers twitched, but there was no strength left. The gun in my hand, the one friend that I hadn't failed over the years, felt like it weighed a ton. It was useless now. It couldn't save me from this.

Funny, how the thing I had clung to for so long felt meaningless in the end.

The pain was almost overwhelming now, a wave crashing over me, threatening to drag me under. But I didn’t fight it. What would be the point? Fighting was what got me here. To this moment. To the cold and empty street I was sprawled across and the blood pooling around me. 

It was finally over, and I’d made my peace with that.

There was a strange comfort in the stillness. Like the world had finally quieted down, letting me take a moment to just breathe - even if it was for the last time.

I let my head fall back, staring up at the sky that was untainted by the filth that lay below. The snow kept falling, gentle now, soft like a blanket that guided me to a sleep that I wouldn't wake from. 

It was quiet. Peaceful.

I could see them now. Michelle. Our baby girl. Their faces were so clear, like they’re standing right in front of me, waiting. I’ve spent so many nights chasing ghosts, but this time… this time, they were real.

No one was coming.

The lamp buzzed. Flickered. Came back on.

The snow fell through it.

Honey, I’m home, I thought, as my chest gave one last shudder - as my fall finally came to its conclusion.

And then, the stop. 

My final breath slipped from my lips and then...

The world went still.