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[Since he got to Mayfield, Crowe had barely stayed in his home. He always managed to find a way to keep busy so that he could stay out of that creepy house, with its drone for a mother and professional killer for a father, as often as possible.
But for the last few days, he's barely left his room. He skipped school and practice, and his paper route - always delivered with a smile and on time every day for the last three months - has gone ignored. The only time he leaves is late at night, for his town watch duties, but he ended up just sitting somewhere, unsure of what to do. He stays out of the park, his usual hang out, to avoid the gruesome reminders that his friends were still trapped in Westport. That he failed to do anything to bring those people home; that they were still over there suffering through God knows what.
When he returns home at sunrise today, he goes to his room, but the phone keeps ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Wait, could that mean --- okay, something obviously happened. Maybe… maybe the rest have finally…
Picking up the phone, Crowe is treated to one of the many familiar voices of Mayfield screaming and sobbing in utter agony and grief. Startled, he hangs up the phone without thinking, and stares at it, scared.
For a few moments he stands there, a million thoughts going through his head. He tried so hard to do whatever he could to bring those people home safely, to do anything to help, to be any use at ALL, but nothing worked. Everyone just came back to Mayfield a broken mess, and he could do nothing about it.
Nothing.
He walks back upstairs to his room, and quietly closes the door.]
But for the last few days, he's barely left his room. He skipped school and practice, and his paper route - always delivered with a smile and on time every day for the last three months - has gone ignored. The only time he leaves is late at night, for his town watch duties, but he ended up just sitting somewhere, unsure of what to do. He stays out of the park, his usual hang out, to avoid the gruesome reminders that his friends were still trapped in Westport. That he failed to do anything to bring those people home; that they were still over there suffering through God knows what.
When he returns home at sunrise today, he goes to his room, but the phone keeps ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Wait, could that mean --- okay, something obviously happened. Maybe… maybe the rest have finally…
Picking up the phone, Crowe is treated to one of the many familiar voices of Mayfield screaming and sobbing in utter agony and grief. Startled, he hangs up the phone without thinking, and stares at it, scared.
For a few moments he stands there, a million thoughts going through his head. He tried so hard to do whatever he could to bring those people home safely, to do anything to help, to be any use at ALL, but nothing worked. Everyone just came back to Mayfield a broken mess, and he could do nothing about it.
Nothing.
He walks back upstairs to his room, and quietly closes the door.]
