Capítulo 22: Chapter Twenty-Two
Four weeks later…
The first snowfall came during the afternoon. Icy white flakes drifted around the great Troll Tree, swirling around its roots and settling into small clumps. The imagery was beautiful and surreal and many trolls stopped to watch the weather in a curious wonder. It almost seemed fitting that today would be the turning point in seasons, overbearing browns and oranges finally resting under the blanket of winter. Today was also a day of mourning, a day to celebrate life, and remembrance of those lost.
By the outskirts of the village, the entrance to Branch's survival bunker was dug out from the growing snow pile. Many trolls came and left wrapped boxes and woven baskets of food at his doorstep, offering their condolences to the grey troll. Each gift was left untouched and frozen in the ice, hatefully ignored. Branch hadn't ventured outside of his bunker since four weeks ago when Poppy decreed that he was unfit to handle himself out in the open. Since then, he'd locked himself away permanently on his own accord, rejecting everything from the outside world. If they wouldn't let him leave the village, then he wouldn't leave at all.
A soft banging sounded on the bunker hatch, the noise reverberating the walls and making its presence known. Branch was curled up in his bed, sheets tangled around his arms and legs with multiple pillows scattered over the mattress. He opened his eyes slowly and stared blankly at the dark wall of his bedroom, unwilling to move from the nest he'd made. He knew who was at the door because they came every day at the same time, no matter how much he expressed his resentment.
On queue, the creaking hatch opened without the need for an answer and Branch listened to the elevator lurch into motion. The dark troll closed his eyes again and sunk deeper into the mattress, willing it to consume him. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to breathe. He especially didn't want to deal with the tasks on the way.
Another knock came from his bedroom door, two quick raps signaling that King Peppy was coming in. The orange troll twisted the carved handle and shuffled inside, humming and tutting gently while he went over to the side table to turn the lamp on, effectively drowning out the darkness. Branch didn't move, knitting his brows at the harsh light that glowed through the back of his eyelids.
King Peppy pulled his three-legged stool from the wall and settled down next to Branch's bedside, situating himself and clearing his throat. He didn't say anything at first, taking some time to observe his twisted form in the sheets, then after a minute came a deep sigh, "You're not eating again," he commented. "You become thinner every time I see you. Do I need to visit three times a day and put food in your mouth, child? One meal isn't enough; you need to eat even when I'm gone."
Branch turned his face into the mattress, refusing to look at the elderly troll. There was no answer he wanted to say.
King Peppy sighed again and decided to let it go. He touched his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "Well, then… Up you go," he said, "You know the drill."
Branch obeyed, dragging himself out of the covers. He was incredibly slow while the meager amount energy he stored escaped the reserves. Sitting up made him even more tired, if that was even possible. He immediately wanted to lay back down again but Peppy had already shown how serious his demands were over the weeks they went through this routine checkup. The king was warmhearted, patient, and wouldn't put up with any of Branch's stubbornness. So with that, Branch reluctantly slipped his legs over the side of the bed, hunched over. His head swam dizzily and he let Peppy help steady the sway with a strong hand on his upper arm.
"Eyes forward," Peppy said, taking Branch's chin in his other hand and holding it up while peering into his eyes. Branch looked upon King Peppy, all of his emotions lost to the void inside. His pupils were black and lifeless, dark circles hanging heavy under each eye and flowing through to the hollows of his cheeks. His grey skin once had a blueish hue but now, after lifting away over time, it bore a much more pale, ashy tone. Peppy inspected his bared torso, noting his skin color and how his ribs were showing more prominently than normal. Branch's cream pajama slacks hung loosely around his hips, one leg pulled up and bunched around his calve from rolling around for so many hours. After seriously judging his current condition, King Peppy then gently released the troll's chin, letting his head bow back down.
These motions were like clockwork. Every day, Peppy came into his bunker and asked him the same questions about how he was feeling. Every day, Branch dragged himself out of his room and was forced to eat with him, forced to shower, and then King Peppy dressed him in fresh night clothes and laid him back into bed before the sun set. It was like he was being reverted back to his trolling days. The older troll wouldn't let him be and he no longer had the energy to refuse. He was being analyzed and watched, 'just in case'. Branch wasn't an ignorant troll, he knew exactly what Peppy was afraid of. Thinking about how no one could trust him with his own well being made him sick to his stomach.
"Branch," Peppy said to him. "The memorial is being held in a few hours. Do you want me to help you get ready?"
They were in the kitchen now, sitting together at the dining table while the dark troll slowly stirred his spoon in a bowl of oatmeal and fruit, playing with the unappetizing mush. Branch visibly stiffened but didn't respond, ignoring the question. The last thing that Peppy wanted to do was push something emotionally uncomfortable, but he didn't want Branch to regret this choice later on in life. Talking about his mate was a necessary evil he couldn't avoid. "Creek's funeral," he explained again, "I'll help you pick out some clothes and take you there when it's time."
Branch's pointed ears flicked then and his eyes went impossibly darker, a deep scowl setting into his once stoic features. He didn't look up, glaring into the bowl. "I'm not going," he said quietly. His voice was cracked and dry, having barely spoken a handful of words since the tragic accident on the Cliffs of Laurel.
Creek was deemed a victim of manslaughter, his body still missing after some endless days of searching watery banks and digging through rocks at the bottom of the canyon. Instead of being able to help search for him, Branch was under house arrest with the supervision of King Peppy. The first twenty four hours were true insanity. His mind was completely consumed by hysteria, disbelief, and nothing was safe inside his bunker. He tore up books, ripped apart half-finished inventions, overturned furniture, and completely shattered a few of his storage units. He felt a blind fury over many indistinguishable things, his vision consistently blurred by madness and tears. King Peppy did his best to calm him down but it was only after a week of destroying his home that things took a drastic turn for the worse. Branch shut down completely, both physically and emotionally. It was at this point that the troll king truly worried for his health, taking personal initiative in making sure he stayed grounded to reality. If anyone understood Branch's pain, it was him.
Once upon a time, right after Poppy was born, the king lost his wife outside of the Trollstice holiday. She was randomly picked out of the leaves and it left a shocking blow to the entire village, but more so to Peppy because she was his soul mate. The anguish he felt wasn't comparable to anything in the world and he could feel his half-soul slipping away, the promise of death looming over his head. The only thing that pulled him through those dark times was the need to stay for his daughter and his kingdom. He never turned grey, never expressed his negativity or confided in other trolls, and with his own sheer force of will he managed to regain the power to stay alive. He used that strength to save his beloved family, protecting them from another Trollstice for the last twenty years.
Branch was going through the same turmoil he once experienced, though it seemed impossibly worse because he was already grey to begin with, due to his grandmother Rosie's death. No matter what happened, Peppy wasn't going to leave him to deal with these losses alone. He wanted to believe that Branch had the will to pull through but with each day gone, he sadly wondered if they should prepare another casket.
"You should reconsider," King Peppy pressed slowly, watching every shaking breath that exhaled from the troll across the table.
Branch suddenly slammed his utensil down with a snarl, the dishes rattling loudly, "I'm not going," he repeated with his voice raised.
The orange troll didn't even flinch, his gaze still very much soft and understanding. Branch panted from the burst of exertion and released his spoon, moving both palms to his face while a fresh wave of grief rushed through him. They remained quiet, Peppy giving him the time to regain some composure while he stroked his beard idly.
Thinking over the matter, Peppy resigned to himself and gave in, his heart aching for the young boy. "Okay, you win," he said. "You don't have to go. I won't make you."
Branch dropped his hands back down on the table, hot streaks marking his paled cheeks. His eyes were reddened now, looking everywhere but King Peppy's face, and he nodded weakly. The older troll reached over and warmly patted the back of Branch's hand.
"I won't make you, on a few conditions, however," he continued, picking up the spoon and putting it back into Branch's palm. "You're going to eat this and take a nice, hot shower, and then I want you to spend some time out of bed."
"To do what," Branch questioned bitterly, his lips still frowning while he went back to digging at the oatmeal with a little more gusto than before.
"Anything your heart desires. Read a book, draw something, or maybe write some poetry. You haven't done that in awhile."
"I wanna go outside," he said quickly, making Peppy raise his eyebrows.
"Within reason," the orange troll responded lightly, "We can gather your gifts on the upper floor and –," but Branch cut him off.
"Outside the village."
The two were quiet, Peppy matching his stare without budging. Then he shook his head, clasping his hands together on the table top. "Not yet," he said sadly. "I can't let you go out." The troll king knew exactly what Branch wanted – to go out and continue searching for Creek's body. Every able body in the village has already scoured the entire lakeside and even dived to the bottom of the cold waters in an attempt to retrieve him. The grey troll would only hurt himself in his current condition and that was something he couldn't allow.
A blossoming of hatred bloomed in Branch's chest but they spoke nothing more of the matter. Only a quarter of his food could be eaten after that, but Peppy accepted it for what it was and washed the dishes while the dark troll stood in the stream of his shower for what seemed like an eternity. His showers were getting longer each time, reaching forty minutes or more now. It was probably the only time in Branch's day that he felt physically relaxed, the pounding current of hot water attempting to wash away all the ache that he harbored inside.
After King Peppy left him alone again for the rest of the day, Branch stood in the middle of his living area, thinking of what he really wanted to do.
Nothing. He wanted absolutely nothing.
Knowing how determined the older troll was at making sure Branch did as he requested, he decided it wasn't worth the risk to try and crawl back into the covers just yet. King Peppy always, somehow, knew exactly what he was doing and when he was doing it. He rubbed the back of his neck tiredly and went to his bedroom anyway, walking past the clutter and broken objects that littered the floor and hallways. He didn't care that his home was dirty and he felt no remorse for breaking anything. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn't feel the urge to pick anything up, kicking aside strewn clothes and crumples of torn paper out of his path.
Reaching the bedroom, Branch made it to his longstanding mirror next to the closet and dropped heavily to his knees. He breathed and rubbed his eyes, pulling his legs up and sitting with them crossed. As much as he wanted to lay in bed, it really wasn't going to do him any good anyway. Insomnia had taken him in its ugly jaws and the troll was lucky to get a few hours of actual rest a day.
Branch glanced up at himself in the mirror, looking at how saggy his eyes were and how ragged he'd become. His stalk of black hair was tangled in places and frizzy from the shower. He couldn't remember the last time he actually brushed it... Laughing inwardly at his own image, he briefly thought about how ugly he was and if it could get any worse.
Then, his breath caught when his eyes flickered over to a familiar purple troll that flashed in the reflection, just a step behind his shoulder. Branch whipped around and looked behind him with his pulse racing but there was nothing there. His eyes darted around the room briefly, then he put his hand to his chest, slowly turning back around. The extreme excitement put a sharp pain right through the middle of his heart and caught him off guard. His eyes were playing tricks on him… He was really starting to lose his grip on the world, but honestly... he wasn't so sure if it would be such an awful thing.
When he brought his gaze back to the reflection, Creek was there again. Branch stared at his image in the mirror, unable to breathe. The troll was sitting right behind him, close enough that his chest could be pressed against his back. Creek brought his arms around Branch's waist and held him, fingertips splaying upwards over his stomach. The expression on his face was of sadness and regret, like he was trying to apologize without words.
He looked so real. Branch didn't want to look away no matter how much it nagged to turn and check again. There was no way that Creek was actually there, he couldn't feel his touch, but there was a faint pulse coming from where the contact of his hands would be. The very skin of his body was desperately reaching out for the connection. Logically, Branch could conclude that he was only hallucinating. It didn't deter him from wanting to keep the image fresh in his eyes. He touched his fingers to the glass slowly, a jumble of equally happy and angry emotions toiling inside him, rolling over what used to be a mentally barren wasteland until now. He could feel the tears coming again, fighting them away because he didn't want to jeopardize his mind's gift.
"I... miss you," he mumbled to Creek in the mirror. All of a sudden, he regret everything in his life. The heartbreak was coming full force and his lower lip trembled. "We didn't even… get a chance." There were so many things he wanted to say. Branch's mind reeled through all the possible dialogue he never got to express, each string of words battering more painfully than the last.
Creek said nothing, his own lilac eyes shining beautifully. The color was deep and bright, just like how he remembered it. The purple troll raised his hand and placed it to Branch's palm, just a thin sheet of glass separating their touch. The mirage was beautiful, but the real thing was even more so. His chest swelled in affection anyway, the aches and pains of grieving revisiting for the thousandth time.
"I fought you," Branch continued, whispering to the wavering image in the mirror. He leaned closer to the glass and tried to swallow the dryness in this throat. "I said things I didn't mean," he confessed. "I was an asshole. I should've told you how wonderfully amazing you are, or how much I appreciate everything you've done for me... I never got to t-tell you… t-that I love you." Branch clenched his jaw and blinked away the heavy tears. "I never said it. I wanted to say it so badly. Damn it, Creek," he choked slightly over an oncoming sob.
Creek's image faded from his vision and the grey troll felt a moment of panic, gripping the sides of the mirror with both hands tightly. He searched his reflection but it was only himself, staring stupidly for something that was dead and gone.
Branch had nothing left and the realization was a tough pill to swallow. He was the one that screwed up and it cost him another life. He'd blamed Bergens for everything wrong in the universe, but in actuality it was all his own doing. Branch ran from the truths of his actions but they were catching up to him now. He killed his grandmother with his singing, and killed Creek with his uncontrollable anger and stubbornness.
He should've let Poppy handle that Bergen. He should've listened to Guy Diamond and stayed back. He should've listened to his gut instinct instead of running a muck with his emotions. He practically pushed Creek off that cliff with his own hands. He was a menace to the entire troll race.
All of these things bombarded Branch's mind and he slid his palms down the framing in defeat. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. It was happening again, all of the erratic negativity pushing him and taunting him to make actions based on his turmoil. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and stumbled up from the floor, wandering out of the bedroom again to try and get his mind somewhere else.
He was so utterly tired. It felt like these feelings were sucking the very life out of him. It was what he deserved, however. He didn't deserve to be alive like this, but here he was.
Branch rubbed the winter chill from his arms and somehow ended up at the back end of his bunker in his roaming. He shoved open a thick oak door, the screech from the hinges echoing down the drafty halls. In the middle of the tiny room was a simple stand, illuminated by a single hanging bulb that was dingy and yellow from age. Atop the stand sat an unmarked square case with a combination lock. Branch lifted the lock gingerly and stared at the numbered cogs, rolling through the password with the pad of his thumb without any kind of serious thought. He'd done it a million times before in the past so he never quite lost the muscle memory. The lock came undone easily and he dropped it onto the floor with a solid clunk.
Opening the dusty box, Branch reached in and pulled out his trusty remote that controlled all of the Bergen-proof mechanisms scattered inside his bunker and around the troll village. He stared at the controller with half-lidded eyes, giving it a light blow to free some of the accumulated debris from sitting so long untouched.
Ever since Poppy made her peace treaty with her Bergen friends, his inventions were basically outlawed and unusable. There was no need for such traps and protective measures, she told him. Gary had been locked away, untouched for months, and Branch was unsure of why he ended up here to look at it. He pondered to himself, bringing the remote with him while he continued his mindless walking through the shambles of his survival bunker. Would things have turned out differently if he had Gary with him? No, no... Probably not, there weren't any traps or safety nets placed so far outside of the village. He kept wanting to look for an excuse, anything to believe that it wasn't entirely his fault.
The grey troll settled back at the living room, collapsing in his lounge chair and holding Gary to his chest like a sorely missed keepsake. He toyed with the large, red central button above the keypad, chewing his lower lip harshly.
"Maybe it's time, Gary," he said. Branch stopped, listening to the silence and nodded his head in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. Sooner rather than later."
- - - -
King Peppy was on his way back to his pod when he was met halfway by his beloved daughter, her tiny form wrapped up in a large pink sweater and matching snow boots. He put his hands in his coat and smiled at her as she walked up, but the princess didn't return the warm greeting so easily. There was worry in her eyes, lips pursed tightly and cheeks tinged from the cold.
"Couldn't wait until I was home?" he said teasingly.
"I couldn't," she admitted, shuffling her foot in the snow. "I already finished feeding Tilly at the pod, she's just as anxious as I am. I'm sure she knows what's going on though, that firefly is a smart cupcake… I just needed to know if Branch is still doing okay."
"Hmm," the orange troll tilted his head back and contemplated his word choice, casting his thoughts to the sky. Most of the leaves were fallen and buried now, the grey clouds clearly seen through the bones of the trees. Poppy waited for him, wringing her hands together impatiently while her mind concluded the worst. He looked back down and they locked eyes, his voice becoming solemn. "It'll be any day now," he said seriously. "We don't have a lot of time left and there's nothing more we can do to help."
Poppy put her palm to her mouth and closed her eyes. King Peppy pulled his hands out of his pockets and beckoned her in, giving the mightiest of hugs. She sniffled a little and leaned in, squeezing him back tightly. "We shouldn't leave him alone then, let's go back before the ceremony starts."
"Also, about that," Peppy remarked with a weak smile. "He was very adamant about not going, so I said it was alright.
Poppy bounced out of his arms and looked at him credulously. "DAD! How could you?! He has to go. Maybe it'll make him feel better!"
""Everyone heals in their own way, Poppy. Forcing the boy to deal with pain like this could worsen his condition. I was just afraid of aggravating the wound."
"I'm going to talk to him," Poppy said, moving quickly past her father and heading down the frozen path back to the survival bunker. "Maybe he'll change his mind. He can't just not go to Creek's funeral. I swear it'll be good for him."
King Peppy followed the little pink troll, hands clasped behind his back, "I don't think he's going to change his mind, dearest. It might be best to just accept his wishes."
She turned around, looking absolutely befuddled. "How do you think Creek's spirit would feel if the troll he was in love with didn't even show up to say goodbye? Sick or not, Branch's stubbornness is endless! This is something he has to do, I'm positive of it."
"Both of your stubbornness is endless," King Peppy chuckled to himself.
The two trolls squabbled back and forth in an appreciative normality while they discussed details on what they could do to change Branch's depressed state. Each possibility was more unrealistic than the last and it didn't take long for them to hit the wall of uncertainty while coming upon Branch's bunker hatch. King Peppy did his usual loud knocking like before, then grasped the metal handle to pull the door open.
Down below, Branch held his remote tightly and stared at the red button, mouth parted slightly in his mental daze. "What I desire… is..." he told himself. "To 'see you in ten years', if you're still around." Without hesitation, he smashed his index finger into the button.
Suddenly, there were blaring sirens and cranking mechanisms all around the two trolls above ground. Poppy shrieked in surprise and King Peppy jumped away from the hatch just before his fingers got caught, a thick shield of silver metal shooting out from underneath the soggy dirt and snow and covering the bunker door protectively.
"Locking down," came a loud, mechanical recording of the younger version of Branch's voice. It sounded incredibly old, the electrical static crackling through sets of speakers hidden throughout surrounding bushes and trees. Poppy spun around on her feet and tried to figure out what was going on, but the recording helpfully blared its intentions.
"Bergen-proof survival mode initiated! Take that, you nasty Bergens! A-Ahem… In the event that there's still a surviving troll out there – Sorry, see you in ten years! Branch, OUT."
Then, all of the noises stopped and faded into the air. The father-daughter duo stood dumbstruck at what just transpired. Branch had completely locked himself inside, with no way in and no way out.
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