Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to Jason Katims, the WB, and Melinda Metz.
Summary: Isabel POV on Alex’s death.
Spoilers: “Cry Your Name”.

My world shattered that night at the Crashdown. It was so unexpected that it completely blew me away.

There I was, looking through prom pictures with Kyle and Tess when I heard the ear-piercing scream. Everyone, including me, jumped up from his or her places just in time to see Maria burst out of the back room. She clung on to Liz like a little girl sticking to her mother on the first day of school. She was sobbing hysterically, but none of us knew why.

But we weren’t in that state for long. Sheriff Valenti slowly came out through the green door of the back room. The look on face was all it took to realize something was horribly wrong. The look…that look will probably stay with me for the rest of my life. He looked so sad, shocked, and dreadful of what he was about to tell us—all at the same time. So many of these grim expressions running across his face as he said those two short sentences:

“There’s been an accident. Alex is dead.”

As soon as those words left his mouth, it felt like my heart—every fiber of my being—was frozen in motion. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like time had stopped, that my whole life was suspended in that one moment and I couldn’t break free, no matter how hard I tried. The thing is that I didn’t try. I was too shocked to even think about trying.

Those horrible words kept repeating in my mind over and over again, until it sounded like a chant, until I could no longer recognize the meaning of the words. That is every word except ‘Alex’.

That word I understood perfectly clearly. All these images in my head flashed by to guide me. Images like a scrapbook being flipped through, noting each situation as the picture flashed by.

I couldn’t connect ‘Alex’ and ‘dead’ together until it felt like someone had stamped every image in the scrapbook with the word ‘dead’. Every picture I looked at had that awful four-lettered word imprinted on it. The scrapbook disappeared and the sentence began repeating once more.

“Alex is dead. Alex is dead. Alex is dead.”

And then, as sudden as it had come, time released its hold on me and I found myself screaming for him; the warm, salty tears flowing down my face as I slowly sunk into the seat. The whole agony in my head had been played out in a fraction of a second, while it seemed like hours to me.

Long after the pounding feeling in my head left, the pain in my heart still lingered. Pain that I couldn’t do anything to save him. He didn’t deserve to die; not that anyone deserved to die, but especially not him.

He was the solid one, the guiding light, he was—my Alex. That’s who he was.

There was no way he could be dead. He wouldn’t just leave me like that. He’d be fine.

***

Things weren’t supposed to happen like that. The van wasn’t supposed to stand still. My brother wasn’t supposed to come out alone.

Why did he look like that? The expression on his face as he slowly stepped out of the van was full of grief, full of sorrow, full of pain. Why? That wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to come out smiling, with Alex next to him, having a megawatt grin pasted on his face.

Everything was supposed to be fine.

So, why wasn’t it?

Where was he? Why were Maria’s shoulders shaking? Why was everyone crying?

It was just a joke after all, right? I mean, he was never in an accident. His body wasn’t in the dark van, inside a black body bag.

No, that wouldn’t make sense. Because it wouldn’t be right.

He was at home. That was it. He was at home, waiting for me to come so he could surprise me with a new song, or a good movie.

So the next thing I knew, I was running through the dark and empty streets, passing the parked cars and freshly mowed lawns. I was running straight to his house, thinking of a good way to get him back for this.

But his house was empty when I got there. Not a sound was heard inside and only one light was on.

But that was to be expected. He was trying to fool me, after all.

So I put my hand on the lock and it clicked open. Slowly pushing open the door, I stepped inside the house. I looked in the living room, but it showed no sign of someone’s presence. I checked the kitchen, the bathroom, and even the closet. Yet no Alex.

Upstairs. That’s where he was, sitting on his bed, facing the door, and patiently waiting to see me.

I ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. His parent’s room was dark and the bathroom was empty. Now I definitely knew he was in his room.

I tiptoed the finally steps before reaching his door. Taking a deep breath, I quickly threw open his bedroom door, flashing on the lights, and expecting his goofy grin to stare right back at me.

But he wasn’t there. His empty bed hadn’t been made yet. His guitar was leaning in its regular place, next to the bookshelf.

But where the hell was he?

“You can stop hiding now Alex.” I called out, throwing open the doors to his closets.

Empty.

“Alex! Come out, come out, wherever you are!” I called out.

I looked under his computer table, under the bed, in the corners, everywhere.

He wasn’t there.

Where was he?

“Alex? You here?”

My voice started quivering. Why did I sound like this?

Maybe he went somewhere…

I opened all his drawers and looked to see if any clothing was missing. But everything was there. His pants, his shirts, his socks…everything.

That didn’t make sense. He was supposed to be here. Where was he?

Spontaneously, I picked up his caller ID. The last number on the little box was mine.

“Alex?”

I thought I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Oh God! Alex! You won’t believe what the Sheriff almost had me thinking. He said that you were dead! Dead, ha! I was so scared that you—“

But when I got there, it was empty.

I slumped onto his bed, the caller ID still in my hand. I didn’t realize what was happening until the tears started falling on my hand. A sob escaped from my throat as the dreadful realization hit me. It wasn’t a joke.

He was gone.

It wasn’t like different-town-gone or even Sweden-gone. It was the gone-for-good kind of gone.

He was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

“Oh God!” I said, unable to control my emotions anymore.

The tears spilled loosely from my eyes. I felt like I was drowning in sorry…a piece of me was dying and I was doing nothing to stop it. There was no point.

***

The day of the funeral, I wanted to beg and plead with him to come back to me, to tell him of the fate that waited for me if he didn’t.

But I couldn’t. It was too late. He was gone.

I half-heard Maria’s trembling voice as she sang “Amazing Grace”. I also half-heard the funeral processions go on and half-heard the words of sympathy people said to his parents, just as I half-heard everything else.

After the funeral, I went with the others to the Crashdown. We were the only ones there, since it had been closed for the funeral. No waitresses would be there to work, anyway.

Liz poured us each a cup of coffee before joining us. However, no one drank it. Quickly, the brown liquid became cold and held the image of murky water. But no one said anything. We just sat there in silence, each of us busy with our own thoughts to care about a stupid cup of coffee.

And then I broke the silence.

“I never got to tell him.” I said.

“Tell him what?” Liz asked, looking up from her cup.

“That I love him.” I said, my eyes filling up with tears again.

“He knew.” Maria said.

“I should have told him.”

***

And I did. That night, I went to his tombstone and told him a lot of things. I told him about my childhood, about the things going through my mind then and when I was with him, but most importantly I told him that I loved him. And I could have sworn I heard him say the same.

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