Dreams Part 2
*not mine. Author: Rachel Maxwell from the Town of Odyssey. However, author unknown in the long run*
Somebody comes up and puts a carton of eggs and three cans of soup on the belt. Courtney, my cashier, rings it up and rolls it down to me. Eggs in one sack-cans in the other. I hand it to the lady and smile. Automatic. Everything on automatic. Offer to take the groceries for the lady. She gets offended and I feel bad. Automatic. Emma glances at me and I automatically smile. She smiles in a coy little way. I remember Lucy had a nice smile. I wonder what she’s doing now. College? How old would she be now-nineteen maybe? I wonder if she’s still in Odyssey. I wonder how Odyssey’s doing. I heard a good while back that Mr. Whittaker got back from the Middle East, but that’s about the last I’ve heard personally. I get the Times whenever Rachel remembers to send it, which isn’t very often. From what I can tell from it, Odyssey is plodding along just like it always has. Without me. Why does everything go on without me? A man comes up with a cart full. Courtney rings it up. I put it in sacks-bread in one sack, other stuff in other. Cans in one sack, eggs in other. Everything separated. I suddenly feel sorry for the bread and the eggs because they have to be separated from everybody else-even if it’s for their protection. Then I think how weird that is and just finish sacking. I put it all into a cart and push it out the door for the guy. He opens the back door of his car and I put it in. Smile. Have a nice day. Automatic. Push the cart back. Do this all day, till around one when I get a half-hour lunch break. But I don’t eat. I just wander around back in the back, not talking to anybody, mainly because they don’t talk to me, just walking off my hunger. It’s stopped hurting now and is just an empty feeling down the pit of my stomach. I know if I take one bite of something I’ll be reminded of how hungry I am and it’ll start all over again. My head is aching from lack of food. Tomorrow’s payday, tomorrow’s payday. Emma walks around the corner, glances behind her and leans against the wall. She pulls out a cigarette and looks at it for a minute, then at me.
“Got a light?”
I shrug.
“Sorry.”
She pouts, then puts it back into her pocket. I don’t smoke. Too expensive. She stretches, then looks at me again, and her gaze drifts down until she’s staring at my left hand, even though she knows very well that I’m not married. She blinks, moving those long eyelashes, then turns away for a second and I wonder why I’m not running full-speed in the opposite direction. It’s like my feet are glued to the floor. She turns back and looks bored. Sort of a practiced look really, like she spent long hours in front of the mirror achieving that look of boredom.
“What you been up to?” she asks, still bored.
“Not much.” Polite response. “How ‘bout you?”
“Just the regular. Dating a little.”
How do I get into these things? Why me-why can’t she have a crush on George. George likes her and then I wouldn’t get all tangled up in something like this. I just nod and hope somebody will come along and start talking to her or me one, but nobody does.
“You been dating much?” she asks, as casually as bored.
“Not really.”
Maybe now she’ll take the hint and let me leave-but she just takes this as inspiration.
“Yeah? We oughta go eat sometime or something.”
If I could just pay for myself to eat that’d be fine. I had a great job-right after I got out of the hospital. A computer job that paid well enough for me to buy the laptop. But they downsized and I got laid off, used up my savings while I was looking for a job, and haven’t been able to get a decent job since. It doesn’t help my landlord insisting I pay for fixing the apartment when I know that they previous tenants busted the boards, but I can’t prove it and can’t hire a lawyer.
“Maybe.”
Take the hint girl. My mind screams at her. But does she? No.
“Soon.”
“I’m actually kinda busy right now.” With apparently great effort, she stands straight and saunters over to me,.
“Oh are you.”
“Yeah.”
I back away from her, as casually as I know how, and glance at my watch, as if I have to be somewhere.
“What all you doing?”
“I got two jobs.”
“Where else you work?”
“My apartment building-I do repairs and stuff.”
“When?”
“Nights.”
“When do you sleep?”
I don’t.
“I find the time.”
She’s staring up at me (being about seven inches shorter) and batting those too-long extended eyelashes, and I feel like I’m being interrogated, and boy does that bring back a load of memories.
“Make time for me.”
“Uh, I’m really too broke to go on a date right now, maybe, you know, when the economy is thriving.”
I’m turning around and about to just walk away-let her get her feelings hurt, when she grabs my sleeve.
“Richy, why don’t you like me?” she whines.
Nobody calls me that. Nobody. But she just did. I disentangle her fingers from my elbow and shrug.
“I don’t not like you.”
“But you don’t like me.”
“I never really thought about it.”
“Do you have a girlfriend or something?”
Yes. My mind screams-anything to get her off my back. But I made a promise. No more lies.
“No, not really. I just…can’t get in the mood lately.”
Her eyes get wide.
“Are you gay?”
“No I’m not gay; I just don’t have the money or the time to date!” I say, probably several dozen decibels too loudly. She blinks again and shrugs.
“Your life.” And walks away.
I shudder involuntarily and turn to face the wall. If only it was. But it isn’t my life anymore. Somebody else is running it-and I’m not sure I like that, because I don’t even know who that is. All I know is I’m not running it myself or I’d have a good job and enough to eat. My stomach growls again and I growl back. Oh shut up. My eyes water-but not here, not now. I stumble back to the bathroom, surprised there’s not a line, and shut the door. Too miserable to move, I just lean with my back against the door and my feet braced against the opposite wall and cry silently until my break is almost over. Faces flash through my memory.
“There are some things you just can’t make up for.”
“Are you just going to say you’re sorry?”
“You’re one of them computer geeks ain’tcha?”
“You tell me everything. Including the long story.”
“I don’t want him here-he’s not welcome.”
“I forgive you Richard.”
“Sleepin’ Beauty is wakin’ up.”
“No one deserves to be treated like I’ve treated you.”
“Go-just go.”
My head spins and I lean over the toilet and throw up. But there’s nothing in my stomach so I just spit up water (or Mountain Dew), and my stomach heaves, over and over again. I’ve never felt so sick in my life and my eyes are watering, but this time from attempting to throw up something that isn’t there. I stare at the thin stream of spit that’s coming out of my mouth, then close my eyes and drop to my knees in that cramped space, in front of the toilet, just praying it will hurry up and be over. Finally I feel a little better and stand. My left knee hurts and when I glance down I see that I’ve ripped a hole in my pants. Some people pay to buy jeans that are all ripped. I can barely afford to clean the ones I’ve got. I walk out of the bathroom and back into the store, back to work. I feel lightheaded, but keep walking. Emma walks up behind me and touches my aching shoulder.
“You alright Richy?”
“Don’t call me that.” I mumble, staggering.
“You don’t look so great.”
“Get away from me.”
“Are you sick?”
“No. Leave me alone.”
She takes hold of my collar and turns me around.
“Are you playing hard-to-get?”
“No. Cut it out.”
She yanks my head down and brushes my nose with hers.
“I think I like you.”
“Let me go.”
I don’t have the strength to move.
“No.”
“Emma, you don’t want me. I’m an ex- con.”
She grins.
“Really? Cool. What for?”
I don’t want her to think it’s cool. I want her to leave me alone. She needs therapy. I suppose she’s so used to every guy around her chasing her she can’t handle one not. I wonder why I’m not.
“Arson.”
“Cool. I mean-hot.”
“Leave me alone Emma. Get away from me.” I hiss through clenched teeth. She smiles and pulls my head down-planting her lips on top of mine. I can’t move-I’m so tired I can hardly stand much less move my head and will she LET ME GO. It seems like an hour but I finally move my head and she’s smiling at me. “I. Said. Leave. Me. Alone.” Most girls would just get their feelings hurt-but not Emma. She gets mad. Furious. She hauls off and hits me in the face with the heel of her hand. She’s got quite a punch when she’s mad and I feel blood running down my face.
“Want to change your mind?” she whispers.
After that? She must be kidding.
“No.”
“You’re gonna regret this.”
Emma looks at me for a minute, then glares, whirls, and goes off. That girl is used to getting her way. I raise my shirt up to my face and wonder what is bleeding. My nose probably. I wonder if it’s broken again. If it is it’s just gonna have to stay broken-I do not have the money to get it fixed. It would probably be a couple hundred bucks at least, and I have a deductible to meet. I stop the bleeding and walk back out to the store and pass the rest of the day in silence, really too tired to say anything. I leave at quitting time and go back to the apartment building. My mind is fuzzy on what I do really-I think I work on the pipes and pick up garbage, but I’m not sure. I stumble up to my apartment, unlock the door, and walk in. Too tired to undress (again), I pull off my boots and collapse onto my mattress. I’m too exhausted to sleep really-just lie there staring at the ceiling. Good. I won’t dream. But I feel myself slipping-into the darkness-the misery-the nightmare-of sleep. And darkness envelopes me.
Hard cot-how do they expect us to sleep on these miserable cots? I feel the darkness closing in around me. It’s supposed to be this way-it’s jail. I sit up suddenly and nearly collide with Jellyfish-just standing above my bed and staring at me. But now I’m not in the detention center. I’m in the kitchen at Whit’s End, knocking over a plate of dishes. Blackgaard’s smiling, and pulling something out of his pocket and I double over in pain and scream, and my eyes shut. When they open again, I find myself lying in a hospital bed. What am I doing in a hospital bed? Why are all of these tubes coming out of me? Why am I so hungry? How long have I been out? I blink and suddenly am standing in our front door, my jacket slung over my shoulder, Kyle taking up the entire doorway in front of me, not letting me in. He’s murmuring something to the effect of ‘get out’. I’m in Tom’s barn and he’s looking at me and he looks so sad and almost like he’s going to cry and he’s telling me ‘get out’. Get out. Get out get out get out get out get out get out
I wake up screaming those words over and over.
“GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT.” Then realize what I’m doing and stop. I’m sitting straight up and my knuckles are bleeding. I was probably pounding the floor. Great-now my downstairs neighbor will complain too. Get out. I want it out out. I want my past to quit haunting me, I want these memories and faces and voices and conversations out of my head. My fingers are hurting, and when I look down I see I ripped the nail on one of them, probably clawing at the floor. My head and shoulders are covered in sweat. I glance at my watch. Three in the morning. Still time to go back to bed. I lie back down on my back and try to get comfortable, but sleep won’t come. I wonder when the last time I was actually awake enough to undress before bed was. I don’t know-I’m too tired to remember. I wonder how hard my boss would laugh if I called in sick or something. I just need one day to catch up on my sleep-one day. Today’s Friday-no, Saturday. I can sleep in some tomorrow. Course, since it’s Saturday I won’t get to bed till around three in the morning. For one thing it’s hard to get home on Saturday nights, especially with a paycheck in my pocket, and for another, I need to catch up on some work at the building. I think about working late tonight and feel sick again. I’m so tired I feel like throwing up but I can’t. There’s nothing to throw up. I turn over onto my stomach and try to go back to sleep, but sleep won’t come. Bitter and sweet. Sleep won’t come, but neither will the dreams. I sit up and stare out the window into the hazy darkness. I miss stars. I could always see stars in Odyssey at night, but here there aren’t any. Stars always gave me a kind of comfortable feeling-that I wasn’t the only one in the world after all. But now they’re not there and maybe I am the only person in the world. My stomach aches and I grimace. Today’s payday. Today’s payday. I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly and in rhythm. It doesn’t work. I try to relax my feet until the mattress presses into them, I can’t relax-my muscles are so tight I wonder if it’s possible for them to break bones. I toss and turn for half an hour, then finally stand up and go shower. I step into the water. Cold. The pipes are messed up or something. I grit my teeth against the frigid water and wonder how much it would cost to hire a lawyer to sue the landlord. Too much. I close my eyes and think.
“I’m sorry-I didn’t know.”
“Too late.”
That memory makes me smile. I remember Lucy looking wide-eyed at them, then at me.
“Richard, what’d you do to them?”
Maybe she was afraid I’d killed them.
“…are you alright?”
She stood and we walked out into the dark woods. Lucy stood still for a second, chewing on her lip. She was scared. I didn’t blame her. I put my hand out to her and she slowly took it. We walked down the hill that way, our fingers entwined, and I walked her home. Nice kid that Lucy. I remember when I was in the hospital, right before I left she came to see me. When I got out of detention, they gave me something-a bracelet. Said Myron wanted me to have it ‘to remember him by.’ As if I would forget. I couldn’t figure out what to do with it, so I gave it to Lucy when she came to see me that last time. I wonder if she still has it. I kinda wish I could see her again. I wish I could see everybody in Odyssey again. Like that’s ever gonna happen. I kick the knob and turn the water off. My head spins and I steady myself against the wall until the world straightens out again. I climb out of the shower and glance towards the sink at my watch. Nearly four. I snap my watch back on and go back into the other room. I get dressed without really thinking about it. I button up my shirt, staring out the window. Rachel has always teased me because of the way I button up my shirt-I button it up. I start at the bottom and work my way up. I stop at the next-to-top button and lean on the windowsill. The first shades of gray are showing in the air, but all the buildings are in the way and I can’t see where the sun would be. I miss Odyssey. I miss the rural feel-I miss the people. I lean my head against the side of the window and stare out unseeing at the city. After a moment, I breathe deeply and move away from the window. I feel lightheaded, but not especially hungry. It’s as if my body has reconciled itself to not eating and has decided to leave me alone. I chew the side of my cheek and run my fingers through my hair. I sit down on the floor with my back to the wall, staring at the door, and lean my head back. I feel darkness closing in around me.
I feel the cold hardness of the Formica countertop under my fingertips. Kyle is staring at me, blinking his bloodshot eyes and waving the knife. He speaks but I’m not listening-I just run. I run out of the house and am suddenly at Blackgaard’s Castle. It’s a burned out wreck, a shell. I see Blackgaard suddenly, getting in my face and telling me I won’t ruin things. Then he’s gone-and I feel a deep sickness and Tom Riley is sitting next to my ICU bed telling me Blackgaard was killed in an explosion in the tunnel under Whit’s End. He’s dead. I turn my head away and wait for him to leave. When he does I weep bitterly and I can taste the tears. But I’m not in the hospital-I’m outside a burning barn. I hear someone screaming-is it me? The barn fades from vision and I’m in almost total darkness. The only thing I can feel is a small hand clutching mine. The world whirls and I’m in McAllister Park, squatted down on eye level with a short little girl, my fingertips brushing the ground, convincing her to help me. I’m in the hospital standing at the foot of a bed looking the little girl in the eyes and wanting to cry. I’m in my room, hearing Rachel sobbing down the hall and being too much of a coward to help. I hear Kyle smashing something downstairs and cover my ears with my hands and scream to drown out the noise. The room fades and I feel his fist colliding with my jaw-something, possibly a fist or a foot-being thrust into my gut. My breath is gone and I feel his hands on my shoulders and I can’t see a thing now and I’m being slammed up against the wall, over and over again, and Rachel as pleading with him and Mom is crying and I can’t see-and if he breaks my watch I’ll kill him. Noise in the background-what is that? I want it to stop-to stop-to stop-but it goes on and the noise mingles with something else-an alarm. A fire alarm. And my legs are trapped under the machine and they won’t get out and I can’t move and I’m gonna die.
The sounds fade from my mind as I jerk awake, my alarm going off and my fingers throbbing. Sighing, I pull out my phone and turn the alarm off. I’m exhausted. I shudder, thinking of the scenes from my dreams. My nightmares. I shudder, thinking that they are my nightmares. I alone have to live with this weight of guilt. I pull my boots on, then stare at the wall. My head is splitting open. I stare down at the knees of my Levis. My thoughts are slightly disjointed, but I am vaguely aware of pain in my head. It feels like someone split it open with an ax. I can barely think straight. I stand and stagger to the cabinet. Aspirin. I need aspirin. Anything. I find a bottle of Motrin. How much is it I’m supposed to take? A tablespoon? How much is a tablespoon? Why isn’t there a little cup thingy on top? Is it three teaspoons to a tablespoon? Five? I can’t remember. The more I wake up the more it hurts. I can hardly think. I suddenly don’t care how much it is. I twist off the stupid child-proof cap and take a swig. It tastes nasty, but I squint and make it go down. I glance down at the bottle. Half gone. How much was out of it before? Was it nearly that? Just a little? How much did I drink? I feel a little woozy but I think it’s in my head. I brace my hand against the cabinet and put my head down.
Somebody comes up and puts a carton of eggs and three cans of soup on the belt. Courtney, my cashier, rings it up and rolls it down to me. Eggs in one sack-cans in the other. I hand it to the lady and smile. Automatic. Everything on automatic. Offer to take the groceries for the lady. She gets offended and I feel bad. Automatic. Emma glances at me and I automatically smile. She smiles in a coy little way. I remember Lucy had a nice smile. I wonder what she’s doing now. College? How old would she be now-nineteen maybe? I wonder if she’s still in Odyssey. I wonder how Odyssey’s doing. I heard a good while back that Mr. Whittaker got back from the Middle East, but that’s about the last I’ve heard personally. I get the Times whenever Rachel remembers to send it, which isn’t very often. From what I can tell from it, Odyssey is plodding along just like it always has. Without me. Why does everything go on without me? A man comes up with a cart full. Courtney rings it up. I put it in sacks-bread in one sack, other stuff in other. Cans in one sack, eggs in other. Everything separated. I suddenly feel sorry for the bread and the eggs because they have to be separated from everybody else-even if it’s for their protection. Then I think how weird that is and just finish sacking. I put it all into a cart and push it out the door for the guy. He opens the back door of his car and I put it in. Smile. Have a nice day. Automatic. Push the cart back. Do this all day, till around one when I get a half-hour lunch break. But I don’t eat. I just wander around back in the back, not talking to anybody, mainly because they don’t talk to me, just walking off my hunger. It’s stopped hurting now and is just an empty feeling down the pit of my stomach. I know if I take one bite of something I’ll be reminded of how hungry I am and it’ll start all over again. My head is aching from lack of food. Tomorrow’s payday, tomorrow’s payday. Emma walks around the corner, glances behind her and leans against the wall. She pulls out a cigarette and looks at it for a minute, then at me.
“Got a light?”
I shrug.
“Sorry.”
She pouts, then puts it back into her pocket. I don’t smoke. Too expensive. She stretches, then looks at me again, and her gaze drifts down until she’s staring at my left hand, even though she knows very well that I’m not married. She blinks, moving those long eyelashes, then turns away for a second and I wonder why I’m not running full-speed in the opposite direction. It’s like my feet are glued to the floor. She turns back and looks bored. Sort of a practiced look really, like she spent long hours in front of the mirror achieving that look of boredom.
“What you been up to?” she asks, still bored.
“Not much.” Polite response. “How ‘bout you?”
“Just the regular. Dating a little.”
How do I get into these things? Why me-why can’t she have a crush on George. George likes her and then I wouldn’t get all tangled up in something like this. I just nod and hope somebody will come along and start talking to her or me one, but nobody does.
“You been dating much?” she asks, as casually as bored.
“Not really.”
Maybe now she’ll take the hint and let me leave-but she just takes this as inspiration.
“Yeah? We oughta go eat sometime or something.”
If I could just pay for myself to eat that’d be fine. I had a great job-right after I got out of the hospital. A computer job that paid well enough for me to buy the laptop. But they downsized and I got laid off, used up my savings while I was looking for a job, and haven’t been able to get a decent job since. It doesn’t help my landlord insisting I pay for fixing the apartment when I know that they previous tenants busted the boards, but I can’t prove it and can’t hire a lawyer.
“Maybe.”
Take the hint girl. My mind screams at her. But does she? No.
“Soon.”
“I’m actually kinda busy right now.” With apparently great effort, she stands straight and saunters over to me,.
“Oh are you.”
“Yeah.”
I back away from her, as casually as I know how, and glance at my watch, as if I have to be somewhere.
“What all you doing?”
“I got two jobs.”
“Where else you work?”
“My apartment building-I do repairs and stuff.”
“When?”
“Nights.”
“When do you sleep?”
I don’t.
“I find the time.”
She’s staring up at me (being about seven inches shorter) and batting those too-long extended eyelashes, and I feel like I’m being interrogated, and boy does that bring back a load of memories.
“Make time for me.”
“Uh, I’m really too broke to go on a date right now, maybe, you know, when the economy is thriving.”
I’m turning around and about to just walk away-let her get her feelings hurt, when she grabs my sleeve.
“Richy, why don’t you like me?” she whines.
Nobody calls me that. Nobody. But she just did. I disentangle her fingers from my elbow and shrug.
“I don’t not like you.”
“But you don’t like me.”
“I never really thought about it.”
“Do you have a girlfriend or something?”
Yes. My mind screams-anything to get her off my back. But I made a promise. No more lies.
“No, not really. I just…can’t get in the mood lately.”
Her eyes get wide.
“Are you gay?”
“No I’m not gay; I just don’t have the money or the time to date!” I say, probably several dozen decibels too loudly. She blinks again and shrugs.
“Your life.” And walks away.
I shudder involuntarily and turn to face the wall. If only it was. But it isn’t my life anymore. Somebody else is running it-and I’m not sure I like that, because I don’t even know who that is. All I know is I’m not running it myself or I’d have a good job and enough to eat. My stomach growls again and I growl back. Oh shut up. My eyes water-but not here, not now. I stumble back to the bathroom, surprised there’s not a line, and shut the door. Too miserable to move, I just lean with my back against the door and my feet braced against the opposite wall and cry silently until my break is almost over. Faces flash through my memory.
“There are some things you just can’t make up for.”
“Are you just going to say you’re sorry?”
“You’re one of them computer geeks ain’tcha?”
“You tell me everything. Including the long story.”
“I don’t want him here-he’s not welcome.”
“I forgive you Richard.”
“Sleepin’ Beauty is wakin’ up.”
“No one deserves to be treated like I’ve treated you.”
“Go-just go.”
My head spins and I lean over the toilet and throw up. But there’s nothing in my stomach so I just spit up water (or Mountain Dew), and my stomach heaves, over and over again. I’ve never felt so sick in my life and my eyes are watering, but this time from attempting to throw up something that isn’t there. I stare at the thin stream of spit that’s coming out of my mouth, then close my eyes and drop to my knees in that cramped space, in front of the toilet, just praying it will hurry up and be over. Finally I feel a little better and stand. My left knee hurts and when I glance down I see that I’ve ripped a hole in my pants. Some people pay to buy jeans that are all ripped. I can barely afford to clean the ones I’ve got. I walk out of the bathroom and back into the store, back to work. I feel lightheaded, but keep walking. Emma walks up behind me and touches my aching shoulder.
“You alright Richy?”
“Don’t call me that.” I mumble, staggering.
“You don’t look so great.”
“Get away from me.”
“Are you sick?”
“No. Leave me alone.”
She takes hold of my collar and turns me around.
“Are you playing hard-to-get?”
“No. Cut it out.”
She yanks my head down and brushes my nose with hers.
“I think I like you.”
“Let me go.”
I don’t have the strength to move.
“No.”
“Emma, you don’t want me. I’m an ex- con.”
She grins.
“Really? Cool. What for?”
I don’t want her to think it’s cool. I want her to leave me alone. She needs therapy. I suppose she’s so used to every guy around her chasing her she can’t handle one not. I wonder why I’m not.
“Arson.”
“Cool. I mean-hot.”
“Leave me alone Emma. Get away from me.” I hiss through clenched teeth. She smiles and pulls my head down-planting her lips on top of mine. I can’t move-I’m so tired I can hardly stand much less move my head and will she LET ME GO. It seems like an hour but I finally move my head and she’s smiling at me. “I. Said. Leave. Me. Alone.” Most girls would just get their feelings hurt-but not Emma. She gets mad. Furious. She hauls off and hits me in the face with the heel of her hand. She’s got quite a punch when she’s mad and I feel blood running down my face.
“Want to change your mind?” she whispers.
After that? She must be kidding.
“No.”
“You’re gonna regret this.”
Emma looks at me for a minute, then glares, whirls, and goes off. That girl is used to getting her way. I raise my shirt up to my face and wonder what is bleeding. My nose probably. I wonder if it’s broken again. If it is it’s just gonna have to stay broken-I do not have the money to get it fixed. It would probably be a couple hundred bucks at least, and I have a deductible to meet. I stop the bleeding and walk back out to the store and pass the rest of the day in silence, really too tired to say anything. I leave at quitting time and go back to the apartment building. My mind is fuzzy on what I do really-I think I work on the pipes and pick up garbage, but I’m not sure. I stumble up to my apartment, unlock the door, and walk in. Too tired to undress (again), I pull off my boots and collapse onto my mattress. I’m too exhausted to sleep really-just lie there staring at the ceiling. Good. I won’t dream. But I feel myself slipping-into the darkness-the misery-the nightmare-of sleep. And darkness envelopes me.
Hard cot-how do they expect us to sleep on these miserable cots? I feel the darkness closing in around me. It’s supposed to be this way-it’s jail. I sit up suddenly and nearly collide with Jellyfish-just standing above my bed and staring at me. But now I’m not in the detention center. I’m in the kitchen at Whit’s End, knocking over a plate of dishes. Blackgaard’s smiling, and pulling something out of his pocket and I double over in pain and scream, and my eyes shut. When they open again, I find myself lying in a hospital bed. What am I doing in a hospital bed? Why are all of these tubes coming out of me? Why am I so hungry? How long have I been out? I blink and suddenly am standing in our front door, my jacket slung over my shoulder, Kyle taking up the entire doorway in front of me, not letting me in. He’s murmuring something to the effect of ‘get out’. I’m in Tom’s barn and he’s looking at me and he looks so sad and almost like he’s going to cry and he’s telling me ‘get out’. Get out. Get out get out get out get out get out get out
I wake up screaming those words over and over.
“GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT.” Then realize what I’m doing and stop. I’m sitting straight up and my knuckles are bleeding. I was probably pounding the floor. Great-now my downstairs neighbor will complain too. Get out. I want it out out. I want my past to quit haunting me, I want these memories and faces and voices and conversations out of my head. My fingers are hurting, and when I look down I see I ripped the nail on one of them, probably clawing at the floor. My head and shoulders are covered in sweat. I glance at my watch. Three in the morning. Still time to go back to bed. I lie back down on my back and try to get comfortable, but sleep won’t come. I wonder when the last time I was actually awake enough to undress before bed was. I don’t know-I’m too tired to remember. I wonder how hard my boss would laugh if I called in sick or something. I just need one day to catch up on my sleep-one day. Today’s Friday-no, Saturday. I can sleep in some tomorrow. Course, since it’s Saturday I won’t get to bed till around three in the morning. For one thing it’s hard to get home on Saturday nights, especially with a paycheck in my pocket, and for another, I need to catch up on some work at the building. I think about working late tonight and feel sick again. I’m so tired I feel like throwing up but I can’t. There’s nothing to throw up. I turn over onto my stomach and try to go back to sleep, but sleep won’t come. Bitter and sweet. Sleep won’t come, but neither will the dreams. I sit up and stare out the window into the hazy darkness. I miss stars. I could always see stars in Odyssey at night, but here there aren’t any. Stars always gave me a kind of comfortable feeling-that I wasn’t the only one in the world after all. But now they’re not there and maybe I am the only person in the world. My stomach aches and I grimace. Today’s payday. Today’s payday. I close my eyes and try to breathe slowly and in rhythm. It doesn’t work. I try to relax my feet until the mattress presses into them, I can’t relax-my muscles are so tight I wonder if it’s possible for them to break bones. I toss and turn for half an hour, then finally stand up and go shower. I step into the water. Cold. The pipes are messed up or something. I grit my teeth against the frigid water and wonder how much it would cost to hire a lawyer to sue the landlord. Too much. I close my eyes and think.
“I’m sorry-I didn’t know.”
“Too late.”
That memory makes me smile. I remember Lucy looking wide-eyed at them, then at me.
“Richard, what’d you do to them?”
Maybe she was afraid I’d killed them.
“…are you alright?”
She stood and we walked out into the dark woods. Lucy stood still for a second, chewing on her lip. She was scared. I didn’t blame her. I put my hand out to her and she slowly took it. We walked down the hill that way, our fingers entwined, and I walked her home. Nice kid that Lucy. I remember when I was in the hospital, right before I left she came to see me. When I got out of detention, they gave me something-a bracelet. Said Myron wanted me to have it ‘to remember him by.’ As if I would forget. I couldn’t figure out what to do with it, so I gave it to Lucy when she came to see me that last time. I wonder if she still has it. I kinda wish I could see her again. I wish I could see everybody in Odyssey again. Like that’s ever gonna happen. I kick the knob and turn the water off. My head spins and I steady myself against the wall until the world straightens out again. I climb out of the shower and glance towards the sink at my watch. Nearly four. I snap my watch back on and go back into the other room. I get dressed without really thinking about it. I button up my shirt, staring out the window. Rachel has always teased me because of the way I button up my shirt-I button it up. I start at the bottom and work my way up. I stop at the next-to-top button and lean on the windowsill. The first shades of gray are showing in the air, but all the buildings are in the way and I can’t see where the sun would be. I miss Odyssey. I miss the rural feel-I miss the people. I lean my head against the side of the window and stare out unseeing at the city. After a moment, I breathe deeply and move away from the window. I feel lightheaded, but not especially hungry. It’s as if my body has reconciled itself to not eating and has decided to leave me alone. I chew the side of my cheek and run my fingers through my hair. I sit down on the floor with my back to the wall, staring at the door, and lean my head back. I feel darkness closing in around me.
I feel the cold hardness of the Formica countertop under my fingertips. Kyle is staring at me, blinking his bloodshot eyes and waving the knife. He speaks but I’m not listening-I just run. I run out of the house and am suddenly at Blackgaard’s Castle. It’s a burned out wreck, a shell. I see Blackgaard suddenly, getting in my face and telling me I won’t ruin things. Then he’s gone-and I feel a deep sickness and Tom Riley is sitting next to my ICU bed telling me Blackgaard was killed in an explosion in the tunnel under Whit’s End. He’s dead. I turn my head away and wait for him to leave. When he does I weep bitterly and I can taste the tears. But I’m not in the hospital-I’m outside a burning barn. I hear someone screaming-is it me? The barn fades from vision and I’m in almost total darkness. The only thing I can feel is a small hand clutching mine. The world whirls and I’m in McAllister Park, squatted down on eye level with a short little girl, my fingertips brushing the ground, convincing her to help me. I’m in the hospital standing at the foot of a bed looking the little girl in the eyes and wanting to cry. I’m in my room, hearing Rachel sobbing down the hall and being too much of a coward to help. I hear Kyle smashing something downstairs and cover my ears with my hands and scream to drown out the noise. The room fades and I feel his fist colliding with my jaw-something, possibly a fist or a foot-being thrust into my gut. My breath is gone and I feel his hands on my shoulders and I can’t see a thing now and I’m being slammed up against the wall, over and over again, and Rachel as pleading with him and Mom is crying and I can’t see-and if he breaks my watch I’ll kill him. Noise in the background-what is that? I want it to stop-to stop-to stop-but it goes on and the noise mingles with something else-an alarm. A fire alarm. And my legs are trapped under the machine and they won’t get out and I can’t move and I’m gonna die.
The sounds fade from my mind as I jerk awake, my alarm going off and my fingers throbbing. Sighing, I pull out my phone and turn the alarm off. I’m exhausted. I shudder, thinking of the scenes from my dreams. My nightmares. I shudder, thinking that they are my nightmares. I alone have to live with this weight of guilt. I pull my boots on, then stare at the wall. My head is splitting open. I stare down at the knees of my Levis. My thoughts are slightly disjointed, but I am vaguely aware of pain in my head. It feels like someone split it open with an ax. I can barely think straight. I stand and stagger to the cabinet. Aspirin. I need aspirin. Anything. I find a bottle of Motrin. How much is it I’m supposed to take? A tablespoon? How much is a tablespoon? Why isn’t there a little cup thingy on top? Is it three teaspoons to a tablespoon? Five? I can’t remember. The more I wake up the more it hurts. I can hardly think. I suddenly don’t care how much it is. I twist off the stupid child-proof cap and take a swig. It tastes nasty, but I squint and make it go down. I glance down at the bottle. Half gone. How much was out of it before? Was it nearly that? Just a little? How much did I drink? I feel a little woozy but I think it’s in my head. I brace my hand against the cabinet and put my head down.