Writing: Lindsey and Sean

    Lindsey and Sean are fresh off the press, this likely one-shot bit for them having been completed not ten minutes ago. I haven't written something of this length in one sitting in a bit now.

    The inspiration for this one is a bit humorous, actually. Last night, I watched the latest NCIS episode, titled Shabbat Shalom, and I'm not going to give away any spoilers, but suffice it to say there were some rather devastating losses. Those devastating losses provided for one aspect of this idea, but the spark was struck this afternoon when my mother accidently knocked one of my favorite mugs onto the floor, breaking it.

    I ended up going dumpster diving in our trash can for the pieces because I wanted to put it together again (yes, only after she'd already thrown it away) and in the process, Lindsey and Sean slowly manifested.


    Sitting at the island in the kitchen, Sean listened as his mother talked to Miss Angelo, able to piece together most of the conversation despite only having one half of it.
    “Of course, Margaret, I’ll send Sean over,” she was just saying, and he lifted his head from the laptop before him in anticipation of a task, despite the hour.
    It was nearing one in the morning and they’d gotten word via Miss Angelo that their neighbors, the Donovan’s, had both been shot and killed in a deliberate attack on their lives. Their daughter, Lindsey, hadn’t been home at the time, as she’d been at the library, and had been the one to call 911 upon returning home.
    The call from Margaret Angelo, Mr. Donovan’s secretary, had come an hour ago while she’d been at the hospital with Lindsey. Sean’s father had since gone to bed, exhausted from his long day, and none of his brothers had yet returned home for summer vacation from college, so it was he and his mother still awake, unable to sleep with the weight of the news they’d received.
    While he had never been particularly close with the Donovans – they’d had one female child and he had his brothers to play with instead – his mother had often asked Mrs. Donovan over for coffee and to talk, so their families could be said to be good friends.
    “I’ll call you as soon as he gets back,” his mother assured once again, her voice soft and tired, and then she set the phone back in its cradle.
    Sean closed the computer’s lid, putting it to sleep, and waited for her to speak her request.
    Lily Bracken’s face was lined with her grief over the loss of her friend, but she was beyond the point of tears for the moment. Her son knew that it wouldn’t remain that way for long in the coming days as they readjusted.
    “Margaret said that Lindsey left the hospital half an hour ago and she’s not answering her cell phone. She probably went home, but Margaret is unable to get away from the hospital right now. She would like for us to run over and check if Lindsey made her way back to the house or not.”
    Sean frowned, thinking. “Aren’t the police still there?”
    “Likely, yes, but it’s doubtful that they’d try to stop her from going inside if she shows up and Margaret wasn’t sure who to call to check with about Lindsey.”
    “Alright, I’ll run over real fast.” He got to his feet and went to kiss his mother’s brow before going to find his coat.
    The woman followed him to see him safely out the door. Sean knew she would’ve gone herself, but she wasn’t about to go out in her bathrobe and slippers in the dead of night to face the police.
    “It’ll be okay, Mom.” The young man assured with a partial smile before he opened the front door and stepped out into the cool night air.
    Cicadas were out in full force, their familiar cadence from his childhood creating a chorus he’d learned to ignore. He walked down the front walk to the connecting sidewalk and turned left toward the Donovan house. Even from here, five houses down, one could see the flashing of the lights atop the police cars illuminating the trees and surrounding homes.
    Sean wondered for a brief moment if they were even going to allow him inside, but knew that he would at least have to try. If Lindsey got in, then it would mean they’d ascertained that the shooter or shooters had long since fled.

    While he’d seen his share of crime shows, none of them had really prepared Sean for the site that awaited him when he stepped into the Donovan home through the remains of their front door.
    Bullets had chewed up the walls and décor until it hardly looked like the home he remembered from accompanying his mother on her last visit just a week prior.
    “Lindsey?” He called cautiously, forcing himself to walk through the shattered glass from a table in the entryway that crunched as he stepped on it.
    The policeman he’d spoken to had informed him that she’d arrived twenty minutes ago and they’d given her access to the house, aside from the part where the shooting had taken place, in the living room.
    He stopped at the entrance to the living room, which was cordoned off with yellow-and-black police tape, and listened for any sounds of Lindsey’s presence. There had been no lights on upstairs when he’d looked while outside, so he assumed she was still downstairs.
    The sound of a drawer being opened drew Sean to the kitchen with slow footsteps. It seemed wrong to make too much noise right now, both because of the deaths that had occurred mere hours earlier and because he didn’t want to startle Lindsey.
    Miss Angelo had given no comment as to her emotional stability right now, but Sean figured it was going to be something near what he would be feeling if it were his parents lying dead in a hospital right now. The thought alone made his skin crawl and he focused on making his way through the destroyed home to the surviving Donovan.
    The only lights on in the kitchen were the ones over the sink and stove, but they were enough.
    Lindsey was rummaging through her mother’s desk that sat between the kitchen and dining room, but her movements were sluggish, almost unfocused.
    “…Lindsey? It’s me, Sean Bracken? Mom sent me over. Miss Angelo called and she’s worried about you.” He approached slowly, trying not to liken this to an encounter with a spooked animal.
    She didn’t seem to see him and her high, curly ponytail fell forward as she bent to check a lower drawer. Sean had always wondered how long her hair would be if it didn’t curl so tightly.
    “Lindsey?” He tried again, coming closer but keeping his movements slow.
    The young woman, barely eighteen if he remembered correctly, murmured something that he didn’t catch even as she seemed to find what she was searching for.
    The super-glue in her hand didn’t make sense to him, but it probably held some significance to her grief-addled mind. He was standing directly in her way when she straightened and turned to continue with whatever mission she seemed determined to carry out.
    Sean hadn’t recalled how pretty Lindsey had gotten in the past few years, but he was remembering it very quickly when face to face with her.
    “I have to fix the mug,” she whispered, but her gaze wasn’t on Sean’s, instead staring straight ahead, through him.
    “What mug, Lindsey?”
    “Mom’s mug. She must’ve dropped it. It’s her favorite.” The young woman replied and Sean was quickly coming to see how unfocused she was.
     Her eyes, usually very bright and annoyed when directed his way, were dull, and her face was almost entirely blank. Sean tried to think how to handle this situation.
     “How about this, Lindsey. I’ve got some good glue at home, so we’ll collect up the pieces and go to my house so we can fix it there.” The words would’ve been patronizing in any other situation, but they were needed in order to get his message through.
    “Mom and Dad will be worried if I’m not here,” Lindsey said with little inflection, but she made no move to sidestep him to continue to her goal.
    Sean found himself tongue-tied again and he ran an agitated hand through his hair. He didn’t want to lie to her about her parents, even if she didn’t remember any of this conversation, but he didn’t want to have to remind her of the truth.
    Why couldn’t Mom have come? He asked himself, watching Lindsey helplessly.
    “I’m sure everything will be fine,” he said at last. “Let’s just go see my mom, okay? Leave the glue on the counter and show me where the mug is.”
    Lindsey responded to the command with listless movements, placing the object in her hand on the stone countertop before leading him around the island in the center of the kitchen to where the remains of a white mug lay. It’s ivory shards were decorated with colorful outlines of flowers that Sean could see appealing to a woman.
    “Can you get me a plastic Tupperware, Lindsey? I want to make sure I get everything.” He asked, crouching down beside the shattered glass to begin gathering the pieces up.
    Thankfully, the Donovan’s had the hard plastic flooring instead of tiles, so it was in several large pieces with a few smaller chips that meant it shouldn’t be too difficult to put back together.
    He wasn’t sure it would ever hold liquid again, but he would make sure it at least looked like it had in its ‘glory days’.
    A clear Tupperware was placing next to the mess on the floor and Lindsey knelt to begin placing the mug’s remains into it. She was being careful, but with the proximity, Sean noticed how her hands were shaking and goose bumps covered her skin.
    He just needed to get her back home before everything came crashing down and she snapped. Mom would be more suited to deal with the fall out than he would.
    It didn’t take long before the destroyed mug was collected. Sean spotted a familiar jean jacket laying on the dining room table that he picked up for Lindsey.
    “Where’s your purse, Lindsey?” He said, drawing her gaze to him.
    She regarded him blankly for a long minute, arms crossed over her stomach. “In my car. Sean, I’m cold. Why is it cold in here? Mom hates it when it’s cold.”
    He didn’t say it was because the front door and living room windows had all been shattered by gunfire, merely offering her jacket to ward off the chill.
    When he started for the front exit and Lindsey didn’t follow, even at prompting, Sean returned to put an arm around her shoulders and guide her forward.
    Outside, the police didn’t question their departure. The chief that Sean had talked to on the way in wanted to know where she’d be at, and after giving the man their address, Sean asked that an eye be kept on Lindsey Donovan’s car. It was parked not too far down the road and the officer agreed to do so.
    Lindsey didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but Sean could feel her beginning to tremble beneath his touch and hurried them on home.
    The tears were just beginning to pool in her eyes as he directed her up the front steps.
    With much more coherency than she’d been showing in the last ten minutes, Lindsey looked at him and croaked, “My parents are dead, Sean.”
    Any words he might’ve tried to muster got stuck in his throat and he merely nodded.
    Lindsey began to cry as he eased the front door open and led her inside by the hand, the sound of her sobs drawing his mother in moments.
    “Lindsey—“ she said, her own voice breaking as she held out her arms for the girl.
    It was the only prompting she needed and Sean watched as Lindsey buried her face against his mother’s shoulder and was finally overcome by the night’s happenings.
    Turning, he closed and locked the front door, then went silently to the kitchen with the container of leftover mug. He wasn’t going to do anything with it at present. Lindsey might want to rebuild it herself sometime in the future, otherwise he would’ve started right then and there.


    And that's that.

   As for other news, those who have enjoyed the Kelsey/Marks bits I've written in the past might be excited to hear that I am considering a continuation scribble for them, though I can't promise how many more of such blurbs I've got left for them. One or two more, for certain.

   I hope you enjoyed this particular scrawl of mine. Please feel free to leave feedback and if you are an OYANer on the forum, you can always drop a comment on PenWielder62's profile page thing with your thoughts. Thank you so much for reading.

   Ad astra per aspera.
   To the stars, through difficulties.