Fever Dream Pt. 01: T.L.D.E.

"Siri...call John," she said into her phone, waiting through 3 rings before he picked up.

"Hello?" said the ten-year-old on the other end.

"Hey you! How's the strategy guide working out?"

"Fine. We just cleared the Water Temple"

"Uh huh, and where was the switch for the door?" she asked with a grin, knowing the answer.

"Right where you said it was mom," he sighed, not sounding happy to admit his mother was right, again.

She loudly cackled into the phone so he could hear her elation at being right.

"Honey, I know you just got it this week," she said through chuckles. "But that game came out a very long time ago. I must have watched that game beaten at least a dozen times."

"By who? I thought Uncle Paul didn't like Zelda?" he asked.

"It doesn't matter baby, I just have," she answered, expertly keeping her voice from showing a twinge of emotion at the memories. A skill longstanding, and by now quite refined.

"Just don't stay up too late, and if Conner's Mom says it's time for bed, it's time for bed!"

"I know, I promise. Hey mom?" he asked

"Yeah honey?"

"Can I stay like a couple more days here? Conner's cousins are coming tomorrow, and I haven't seen them in like a year! So Con-"

"Yes honey, that's fine," she interrupted. "Just have Conner's Mom text me with whatever the plan is, and that she is ok with it and that's fine."

"Thanks mom!! Goodnight!"

His excitement always melted her heart. He needed to stop growing up and fast.

"Night baby."

She hung up and set the phone down on the sink. Before leaving the bathroom, she did the ancient ritual of women across the globe: check herself in the mirror. Tall, by a woman's standard at 5 feet 10 inches, she was blessed with probably the best genes she could have hoped for. Slim, athletic build with killer dimensions and fair skin. Jet black hair, green eyes and cheekbones meant for on-screen royalty probably...not that it mattered. Besides professionally, what good did looking stunning do when you stopped saying yes to even a simple date for drinks long ago. She didn't actively try to hide her looks. On the contrary, at the office she was always in the latest labels, the nicest bags, with her hair and make-up expertly done. Even now, in just a slim pair of J. Crew jeans and a very tasteful long sleeved, blue and white striped shirt she was elegant, if a bit on the modest side. In the end, at least in the dating arena, she was just fine living the rest of her life on the bench. She rarely gave it a second thought really.

With her mirror check finished, she smiled sadly and snapped the light off. She was striding back towards the family room when she heard something odd. Stopping, she tilted her head slightly and concentrated for a second. Feint music met her ears, coming from upstairs. Absent-mindedly her body slowly guided her steps towards the stairs as she strained to hear what was playing, and trying to think of which room it could be in.

"...your face is light, and cocaine white..."

She knew that song.

"...I've been erased...from the picture..."

Where did she know that song from?

"...Smoke's filled the air...and I'm struggling to breathe..."

It was coming from way down the hall. That much she knew, but it was very quiet. She had reached the foot of the stairs and was about to step a foot on the first step but she stopped suddenly after a realization. The song and the only room it could be coming from hit her like a train. The pantry, she thought.

She marched with increasing purpose, straight into the family room, turning into the kitchen and to the open pantry door, ignoring the families immediate halt to conversation and inquisitive looks.

"Stella baby, what's up?" her father asked.

"Stella, what on earth are you stomping around for?" her mother sleepily added.

She looked at the rack, and immediately found the one key that should never be out of fucking place. Was today cleaning day? she thought to herself.

"Mom! When was the housekeeper here last?"

"Last week sweetheart, she comes again tomorrow. Why?" Martha asked, growing increasingly confused with her daughter's behavior.

"What the Fuck!" Stella blurted, getting increasingly angry by the second.

"Stella!" her mother practically shrieked, shooting up from her lying position on the couch.

But Stella wasn't listening, she had already exited the area, on her way back to the stairs.

"Honestly George. They become more like you every day, I swear," she mused as she laid herself back down against him, making George, Paul and Tillie chuckle together.

Stella reached the stairs and slowly climbed, getting less angry and more hesitant with each step she took. She loved Circa Survive. Normally she would have smiled and hummed along with the music, but this was an album she would never listen to. Once she had crested the stairs, she looked to her right, towards her parent's room, even though she knew perfectly well the music wasn't coming from there. She turned to her left and it took her only a second to confirm what she had been hoping with all of her might wasn't the case. To her left, at the end of the hall, the farthest door on the right, the one that had no earthly business being open was open, and music was coming from it.

Instinctively, she shifted to one side of the hall, her body sliding against the wall as she practically tip-toed towards her old room*. Their old room. Who in the fuck went in there? Why did they leave the God damn door open? And why, in the mother fucking hell, did they turn on the damn stereo? If it was Paul, I'm going to fuck his ass UP! She thought frantically to herself. As she reached the door, she finally realized she was trembling all over.

"Control...Ok? ...Cool Control...It's fine," she whispered to herself. "I can do this. It's simple, right? Just look in the room, find the key, turn off the stereo, lock the room, murder Paul, and go to sleep."

Normally she would chuckle, but when it came to this room, she had no sense of humor.

She pushed open the door and saw mostly black. She walked into her room on the left, saw the bathroom light on and the smell of a hot shower still in the air. The bathroom light illuminated her room just enough for her to look around and see that on one was there and the window was closed. No intruder. Then she remembered the stereo playing to her right, on the nightstand in the other room. His room. If someone was here, it wouldn't be on her side. But it doesn't even matter because there's no one here.

She took a deep breath to try to stop the trembling.

It's not like I'm gonna just walk through those doors and he'll just be there, 18 years old, reading a book, 'Oh hey Stel! Come lay down and I'll read you this part. Sorry about earlier, I had a final that took a decade longer than it was supposed to,' she thought.

This is stupid!

She squared her shoulders, shrugged her stupidity off and padded through the doors.

This was one of those moments in life. One of those crystalizing moments that go by too fast and yet seem to freeze in time. One of those moments that would eternally etch itself into her mind; Every sound, every smell, every sight in excruciating detail. A small stereo playing his favorite music. A strangely shaped bag with his name on it. Discarded clothes with his scent. In his old bed, sleeping just as peacefully as she had ever seen him, was her dreams come true, or was it her nightmares? She had no idea how long she stood there watching him, maybe seconds, maybe hours. However long it took, the trembling had stopped, replaced only with a stillness spreading throughout her entire body. The stillness came with a price, however. Her eyes flooded quickly with tears, welled over and streamed continually down her face. It was also becoming entirely too difficult to breathe, and unless the darkness was simply playing tricks on her, the room seemed to be closing in on itself. Two instincts started to overtake her mind. One was to bolt from the room as fast as her legs could possibly carry her, while the other was pulling her slowly to his bedside.

The second instinct narrowly won out as she felt herself being pulled to his bedside, lowering to her knees on the floor, to almost level with his face. He was big. Much bigger than she remembered, at least from what she could tell through all the moisture obscuring her vision as the tears simply refused to stop. He wore a t-shirt with something on it, she couldn't tell, but she made out the letters ARMY on his shorts, same as on the bag on the floor. He also had a full, thick jet black beard now, to match his hair, which looked short. Or maybe not short? She couldn't really tell in the dark. She had imagined scenarios of his return hundreds of times. Questions always abounded. His disappearance. The last decade. Why he left. Why he broke his promise. What brought him back. She had had a journal, from therapy, with pages upon pages of what she was going to say to him. Curses she had longed to sling at him, but in this moment, she couldn't think of a single word. Not a single question she wanted an answer to.

She only knew one thing at this moment: she needed to touch him.

She slowly reached her hand towards his beautiful face, but the stillness that had kept her together until now was rapidly diminishing. Her entire body started to tremble uncontrollably, her hand wavering. Breathing was coming in short, staccato gasps as she struggled to regain control. Breaking point should have come when her hand softly reached his cheek. She felt it coming, her body, her mind, her heart, all should have broken. But she didn't. Her hand came to rest on his cheek, and suddenly the trembling stopped. Her breathing still took effort, the tears still came, but most of her body, and more importantly her mind were still. Steady.

As she knelt there, softly stroking his cheek with her thumb, the same questions came to her that had been harbored for ten years, but with a new place. Wonder.

Where had life taken him? Middle-East most likely. Did he have to fight? Was he afraid? Did he have to take a life? Had someone tried to take his? No doubt bitterness would return, but right now these thoughts came as genuine concern.

She couldn't imagine him in some foreign land, armed to the teeth, fighting some enemy. She had spent 18 years defending and protecting him. He was always an easy target for other kids, boys mostly. He was kind, soft, sensitive, and caring. He always shed a tear for those in pain and treated every living thing in his gentle way. More than once, a group of boys his age would have him cornered, threatening or ridiculing him as he cried. She always knew he didn't cry for fear, but because he never wanted to hurt anyone, for any reason. Throughout their entire childhood and adolescence, her knowledge of, and fierce adoration for his gentle heart made her merciless and cut-throat in his defense. No pain was ever bad enough, either emotionally or physically for whoever meant him harm, or attempted to come between them. Blood, tears, words with meanings so sharp they could put a kid into therapy, were her weapons. Knowledge of how far she'd go to protect him was well known on the school yard and in the neighborhood, which meant she was rightfully respected and feared. This meant she rarely, if ever needed his protection back, and she wouldn't have had it any other way. She never wanted his gentle soul to change. It balanced her out.

No doubt he had changed, but right now, he was that gentle boy again. But that was before he left. Old feelings began to resurface now as the initial shock began to wear off.

Promises were made. Life affirming, eternally connecting promises. Words and acts took place that could never be taken back. Horrors had happened to her, and when the time came to cash in on those promises, he had vanished, without a trace. He had betrayed everything they shared, and exactly 24 hours after promising her the world, he stole away the next night, their bond, their promises, their hearts packed with him...and here he was, ten years later, sleeping peacefully, where he should have been the night she needed him most. The trembling had returned, but instead of fear, fury had taken its place. He was wonderful. The most wonderful liar. Just as her anger began to reach the surface, he stirred.

CH. 3

The air rushing past his ears was almost deafening as he plummeted to the rocks below, but he was without fear. Just as his face was about to impact on the hard stone, he flipped himself and landed right on his feet with a sudden thud. He ran over to the body with the raven black hair, hoping against hope that she would be alive. Nothing else in life mattered to him. He reached her and tried to lift her and turn her over on her back, but she might as well have been made of stone herself for how much her body budged. He squatted down and, taking ahold of her, lifted with all his considerable might, but she moved not an inch. He lifted so hard that when she didn't move, he fell back on his butt. He got back up on his knees, and went to grab a hold again, but she suddenly stirred, rolling over to face him.

Her face was like an angel's, soft and tender, with a smile on her lips. She was soaking from head to foot, but when she reached her hand to his cheek, it was warm, dry, and soft. He felt her warmth radiate throughout his entire body, and peace came to him, but only for a moment. He looked into her eyes and saw her continence change. Her smile slowly became a sneer, her warm eyes became filled with rage, and suddenly, he felt fear. The cold ocean spray of the sea around them became harsher, and hot. The stones under his feet burned. The sky went from smoke grey to black and he knew what was happening. Punishment.

He deserved this, and yet he couldn't remember why. He was guilty, he knew, but of crimes he had forgotten, or had he? This unnamed woman, had a name, he knew it. She wasn't an angel, but real, somewhere. Nothing was right. This isn't real. It can't be. None of this is right. I have to get out. I have to...wake up. Please! Please wake me up. PLEASE!!

"PLEASE!" he cried out, at the top of his lungs, as he lunged forward into the dark. he looked this way and that, at first not remembering where he was. There was faint light coming behind him, a radio playing his music, and a gorgeous woman with wide, tear streaked eyes gaping at him from the floor beside him.

"Stella!" he breathed out. He began to reach for her but before he could even start to lean over, she was gone in a flash, barging through the door, letting it slam into the wall and then shut with a loud snap. He surged out of bed, wrenched the door open and flew down the dark hall after her. He began to practically leap down the stairs 4 at a time to reach her in time, but before he could she was already through and out the front door, throwing it shut with another house-shaking slam.

"STELLA! What the hell is going ON!?" he heard a booming, familiar voice call from the room behind him. Suddenly he remembered where he was. Home, only he wasn't the only one here anymore. Stella had been here, that much was certain. She, and the rest of the family, must have gotten home while he slept. Standing in the middle of the dark entryway, he turned towards the family room as a woman he had never seen before walked towards him.

"Stel? Hun wha-OHMYGOD!! PAUL! DAD! QUICK, PLEASE!!" she shrieked in terror, backing into the wall behind her as the thundering of feet meant the rest of the room rushed to her.

"HEY! YOU STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!! DON'T MOVE!" his father shouted in his cop voice as he ran into the room, shielding the young woman.

"Paul, run to my office and get my service pistol and cuffs. NOW!" George ordered.

Without any more direction need, Paul walked briskly towards the office door on the other side of the entryway.

"Honey, what's going on?" Martha said, trembling from behind her husband, hiding herself.

Things needed to be diffused before someone gets hurt, and fast, he realized.

"It's fine Mom," he said in a calm, soothing voice, finally finding the courage. "It's just dark and Dad can't recognize me. Everything's fine."

Martha didn't need any time to recognize her baby's voice.

"JACK!" she cried out, rushing past everyone to her boy, tears already flooding her eyes. In no time at all, he was standing with his mother, crushing herself against him, her arms wrapped around him, face buried in his chest, sobbing. Slowly he reached his arms around her and held her tight, but his head and eyes stayed trained on his father's silhouette. He had had a feeling that this would be his mother's first reaction to seeing him, but his father was another matter.

"Tillie, reach behind you and turn on the light please," his father said in an uncharacteristically uncertain tone.

Light came, washed over the room, and suddenly all was clear. Jack stood, holding his mother close, looking to his father for...something. Anything. He wouldn't wait long.

"Martha, back away from him please." He said in a bold, yet even tone.

"No," she whimpered. "Please honey, he's home."

"Martha, come here. Please." He almost pleaded, but with a tone of finality.

Slowly, she peeled herself away from Jack and, never letting her tear-filled eyes leave his face, back towards her husband.

The tension was palpable and felt by everyone in the room. George cut through it a moment later. Slowly, he walked to his son. Jack was ready for anything. A punch, a kick, a slap, yelling, anything. As his Dad quickly reached for him, he flinched, but he needn't. Before he realized what was happening, his father closed the last couple strides and wrapped his son in his arms.

"My boy...My Boy," He kept repeating as he held him as if he might disappear any second. Not a moment later, he felt his mother come up beside him and the three of them wrapped their arms around each other, locked in a warmer embrace than he had ever dreamed he would receive, suddenly appearing after a decade-long vanishing act. Before he could even try to hold it back, he felt the walls he'd been struggling to prop up break apart, and fall.

"I'm so sorry...I'm so, so sorry..." he repeated between sobs.

They held each other like this for a few moments, all of them, at the very least, allowing tears to stream freely as they relished in the comfort of being together again. After slowly breaking apart, Paul made his way to the three of them, and without even a word, brought his brother in for a warm embrace, also feeling relief at seeing his baby brother home after so long.

After he let Jack go and gave him a tear-filled smile, which his brother returned, Martha approached Jack again. She reached him and put her face and hands on his chest. "Where were you...Where were you..." she kept saying, increasing in intensity until she slammed her fists into his chest. "WHERE WERE YOU?!"

"WHERE. HAVE. YOU. BEEN?!" she shrieked with each strike, but he made no move to stop her or defend himself. He merely closed his eyed and took what he knew he deserved. This continued until, seeing his wife fall to pieces, George rushed to her, clasping her hands, spinning her around and taking her in his arms where she sobbed. All Jack could think to do was stand there, eyes straight ahead on the wall opposite him, his eyes re-filling with tears. No one knew what to do, where to go or what to say for an uncomfortably long time, until Paul finally broke the silence.