CHAPTER 13 — TO BE ALONE PART III FINAL/ Nov.

FAINT — PART III FINAL

⸻

The hospital ceiling was stained and cracked.

Daley sat on a cold bench, shaking, face buried in his arm.

Dr. Theo crouched beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“We tried everything.”

Daley’s breath hitched.

“Uu… ugh…”

“…no… gr-grandma…”

Nurses lingered behind Theo, watching in silence.

Daley muttered through clenched teeth.

“…I know they hurt you…”

Theo’s head snapped toward him.

“What did you say?”

Daley froze.

His eyes widened. His breath locked in his chest.

“…sniff… sniff…”

Theo lowered his voice.

“Someone did this?”

Daley bolted.

The metal bench screeched as he kicked past it.

“Wait!” Theo shouted.

⸻

Two years later.

⸻

Night smothered F-Class streets.

Trash barrels burned. Dogs barked and snarled. People huddled around heat, half-asleep, half-dead.

A man yanked a starving dog’s leash.

“Shut up already…!”

Daley, twelve and skeletal, sat against a wall.

A bubble-wrap blanket pulled tight around his head like armor.

“…haa…”

⸻

Morning came without mercy.

Daley lay sprawled on the concrete.

A bucket of water slammed over him.

SPLASH.

A drone hovered above, arms spraying like hoses.

“Unauthorized sleepers detected.

Classification: F-Class civilian.

Removal authorized.

Reason: Public obstruction.”

People shouted. Swore. Scrambled.

“What the hell is wrong with you—?!”

“No warning?!

Daley dropped to his hands and knees, soaked, chest tightening.

“…hff…”

⸻

Later that day.

A porridge shop.

An old photo frame sat crooked on the fridge.

IN MEMORY — DAD

“Careful,” a woman said softly.

“It’s still hot.”

Daley ate without slowing.

She watched him, uneasy.

“It’s been a while…”

“I thought maybe you hated my cooking.”

No answer.

“You’ve lost weight…”

She hesitated.

“You’re not still… looking for them?”

Daley kept eating.

“You’ll get yourself arrested,” she whispered.

“…or even killed.”

Daley pressed the bowl to his face when he finished.

Then he looked up.

“Look,” he said quietly.

“Up.”

She followed his finger, confused.

The sun burned overhead.

The sun falls west. That’s not coincidence.

Daley scraped the rim of the bowl with his finger.

“They shut her case,” he said.

“Called her a wandering woman.”

“Like that erased what they did.”

He swallowed.

“Everyone saw her.”

“Not one helped.”

He slid the bowl forward. Final.

“We’re all to blame.”

Daley lifted a trash bag over his shoulder.

“…thanks. For the free meal.”

The cracked bowl sat alone on the counter.

The woman stared at it, speechless.

⸻

Night.

A small room.

His grandmother’s glasses rested on a nightstand.

A fresh apple lay beside them.

A lamp behind it—burned and dead.

⸻

Later.

Daley dragged one foot along a dirt path

Blood dotted the ground.

His arm hung useless. One eye swollen shut. His ribs screamed with every breath.

He stood before two graves.

His hand trembled around an untouched apple.

“…hff… khh… haa—”

He slammed the apple into his forehead.

“…ttk…k..ss…”

The graves loomed ahead.

Marin Lauer Daley II — A family man who stood for his own beliefs.

Beside it, a dirt patch marked by a plank.

Shellney Mae Daley — I miss you grandma.

“…everyone forgot…”

“…but I remembered…”

A memory flashed—

Six-year-old Daley on his grandfather’s lap.

Jaw tight. Eyes locked on the door.

This government doesn’t need us.

Daley raised the apple.

Bit down.

Juice burst across his lips, red against red.

“…grnd…m…”

He collapsed forward.

The apple core rolled onto the grave.

The sun fell west.

It kept falling.

⸻

To be continued…

⸻

Long ago.

A B-Class rooftop.

Five-year-old Daley lay on his back, pointing at the stars.

His father laughed beside him.

A life the boy once lived.