Chapter Text
Jen Lenivy had many regrets in life. It came with the package deal of being alive. She regretted trying the new seasonal drink at her favorite coffee shop the previous week instead of ordering her usual. She regretted drinking too much during that one house party in her college years and chipping her front tooth after diving off a table. She regretted not buying that Subaru.
But in all her years of living, she had never, ever regretted having a child.
The moment she laid eyes on Dylan for the first time, so tiny and fragile, cradled in her arms as he screamed at the indignity of being born, she knew he was all she ever wanted or needed. She had thought her life was perfect before, but he was that final piece she hadn't known she was missing, sliding in to fill the unknown gap, as if he had always belonged, because he had.
Her whole world, a little bundle of endless possibilities.
It had been her choice to raise a child on her own, another decision she didn’t regret. It certainly hadn’t been easy, but she had treasured every moment she had with her boy, the good and the bad. From his first steps, toddling towards her old cat Fibonacci yelling “Fib! Fib!” (the playful tabby was exceedingly patient with his human's child), to every bruise and scrape that only a growing kid, clumsy and uncoordinated, could get, she had loved him every step of the way. She had kissed away his tears when his schoolmates’ bullying had been too much and had promised him that everything would turn out okay. As Dylan grew into the person he was, every new thing Jen learned about him was one more reason to love him.
The day he had anxiously approached her to tell her that he wasn’t a girl, and she learned that she had a son instead of a daughter, had been one of the happiest days of her life. She had never cared if her child had been a boy or a girl or neither, her love for them wouldn't change.
That day Jen got to experience the joy of seeing his eyes light up when the barber finished cutting his hair, her boy, her son! All she wanted was for him to be happy, and the memory of his blinding smile as they stopped for ice cream to celebrate was one she would cherish for the rest of her life.
None of it she regretted, not a single day.
But now, as she walked behind the officer leading her to the morgue, there was one thing she regretted more than anything else. She never should have let Dylan go to that damned summer camp.
The mortician was already there, ready to greet them with a covered body. Jen knew long before the man lifted the sheet. The fear that had crept into her mind when Dylan never called to let her know he was on his way home had ensured that she was prepared for the worst. But it did not make the blow any softer.
The man removed the sheet, and Jennifer Lenivy’s world, like the body of her son, was ripped apart.
A wild animal attack. That’s what they had called it, and whatever animal had attacked the remaining counselors had spared no mercy for her baby boy. His throat had been ripped out, the torn muscles and tendons revealed for all to see (the necklace she had given him, the one he always wore, was gone. It was gone. He was–). His arms were missing, leaving bloody raw stumps in their place, bone poking through the jagged tissue. Something had feasted on his torso, leaving a gaping hole where it had gorged itself on her son’s flesh (that was one of Dylan’s favorite band shirts, he would be so upset). The only reprieve she had was that his face was left mostly untouched (he still had baby fat in his cheeks) and someone, probably the mortician, had closed his eyes.
She was numb. Detached.
From far away the officer said something she didn’t understand. Her voice responded, but with what she didn’t know. She didn’t care. The officer seemed satisfied, a look of pity on his face as he said something else. The mortician replaced the sheet over Dylan’s de– the corpse and the officer ushered her out of the room.
Through a haze she found herself standing before a different officer. His mouth was moving but she couldn't make out the words. She blinked and found herself in a moving vehicle, the destination unknown. The drive lasted hours, or maybe it was minutes, or seconds, or years. Time had no meaning. Another blink and she was walking into a hotel room, the door closing behind her with a resounding thud. Her bag was dropped to the floor as her feet took her to the nearest bed and she took a seat, staring at the wall.
Distantly she thought to herself that she should be feeling something right now, but all she felt was empty. She couldn’t sit here forever though, there was a lot she needed to do. The investigation was ongoing but she still needed to call the funeral home. She would need to call work and let them know she would be out for the next few days. She needed to call her brother and let him know. How long was she going to be here? She should probably call the neighbors and ask them to look after Schrodinger. Schrodinger, who was probably waiting at the door. It had been two months and the cat would still wait at the door for Dylan to come home at around the time he would normally get off work. But Dylan wasn’t coming home. Dylan was, he was…
Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle her sobs as she slid to the floor, the first of her tears cascading down her cheeks.
Oh god, oh god, her son… Her boy… Her smart, kind baby boy… He was gone, he was gone!
She wrapped her arms around herself, as if any bit of comfort could be given or felt. Her stomach clenched and her throat constricted as the growing pressure in her chest from the heavy weight of her world shattering around her failed to be released.
She had been the one to suggest Dylan apply for the counselor position. She had encouraged him to go when he was nervous about possibly meeting people who had known him before his transition. Was this her fault? Had she sent her baby boy to die?
There had been so much blood on his shirt…had he suffered? Had he known it was going to happen? Had he been scared?
She couldn’t take his hand to coax him to tell her the truth (his corpse had no hands to hold). There were no tears to wipe away from his face. There was no way to fix this. It would not turn out okay, it would never be okay…
She dropped her head to the carpet and a scream finally tore from her throat.
Dylan was dead. He was dead, and she would never be whole again.
Jen Lenivy was many things, but a mother was not one of them.