Melt

by Christopher Motz

  "I've always been your friend, Greg," Brandon said. "I'll be your friend again."

  When the lightning flashed again, they were gone.

  Chapter 14

  When Greg reached Parkland, the sky had brightened from black to dark gray. Clouds hung low over the sleeping town and mist crept across the streets in a diaphanous curtain. Streetlights burned brightly; the Parkland Diner was ablaze with light as early risers scarfed down eggs and bacon with their morning coffee. A woman walked her dog further down the block, watching suspiciously as Greg stumbled onto the sidewalk and nearly fell. He waved as she turned and hurriedly dragged her dog back inside the house.

  The rain had become a fine drizzle. Greg folded his arms over his chest and shivered. He stepped into the street, crossing to the diner when the blare of a car horn broke the silence. Tires squealed on wet asphalt as a pickup truck veered away, nearly running him down. Greg lost his footing and fell to the street, but once he was there, he couldn't get back up. He heard several pairs of feet run toward him, heard voices, felt people gathering around and hovering over him.

  "My God, Dale, did you hit him?" a woman shouted.

  "I didn't hit anyone," a male voice replied. "He was just standing in the middle of the goddamn road."

  "Probably a junkie," a man muttered.

  "Someone call an ambulance. This boy is going to need medical attention."

  Greg didn't care about medical attention. All he wanted was to sleep.

  "Christ, is he dead?"

  "He's breathing. Call 911 for Pete's sake."

  The voices droned and followed Greg into the darkness.

  He needed to warn them, needed to tell them what had happened in Ditchburn.

  When he was carried away, and the voices of concerned citizens grew muffled through the ambulance door, Greg finally knew he was safe. He slipped deeper and deeper, his injuries forgotten.

  He'd tell them all what had happened. He'd save them from the same fate that had befallen him and his friends.

  If only he could make them believe.

  ***

  The light was so bright it hurt Greg's eyes.

  He was warm and dry and resting comfortably in a bed that smelled of fabric softener. He wasn't under any illusion that he was at home, in his own bed... he knew he was in the hospital. After what he'd been through, there was no other option.

  A mounted television in the corner of the room was playing The View at low volume. Greg turned his head and hissed at the pain in his shoulder; he blinked several times to clear his vision and gasped when he saw hunched figures standing next to his bed.

  He smelled his mother's perfume.

  "Doctor, he's awake," she called. "Doctor!"

  "Mom?"

  "Oh my God! Gregory! Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

  A man stepped inside, brushed his mother aside, and immediately began checking Greg's vitals.

  "No," Greg said. "Don't touch me."

  "It's okay, son," he replied. "I'm just checking your heart. You had quite an adventure by the looks of it."

  "An adventure? No... stop touching me."

  "Honey, please," his mother said. "Let him do his job."

  "No! You're fucking murderers! You're all murderers."

  "We might have to put him back under, Mrs. Sullivan," the doctor said. "He's only going to aggravate his injuries."

  Greg tried to leap from the bed, but couldn't move his arms or legs. He'd been restrained.

  "Let me go," he shouted. "Why did you tie me down? Let me out of here!"

  "It's okay," the doctor said calmly. "We had to restrain you so you didn't hurt yourself or anyone else. You gave Doctor Kursch quite a shiner."

  "Please, stop fighting," his mother pleaded.

  ...stop fighting...

  "I know who you are. All of you! I know what you're doing." Greg pulled against his straps to no avail.

  "We're only trying to help you."

  ...trying to help you...

  "You're going to KILL ME!"

  "Kill you?" the doctor asked. "Why does he think we're here to harm him?"

  "I don't know," his mother said. "He was never like this."

  "He's never had any previous psychotic breaks?"

  "No, nothing like that."

  "We didn't find any drugs in his system, Mrs. Sullivan. Something else is going on here."

  "Of course something is going on, you alien fuck!" Greg said. Drool ran from his mouth and spittle flew everywhere as he flung his head from side to side. His struggles gave him nothing more than a headache.

  "We're going to give him a sedative," the doctor said. "He'll be awake and aware, but he'll be much calmer. Maybe we can figure out what's going on once we talk to him calmly."

  "I don't want to be CALM!"

  It didn't matter what Greg wanted. A nurse jammed a needle into his IV tube and pressed the plunger.

  Within seconds, Greg felt himself entering the fog of sleep. He walked the border between being awake and dreaming as he felt his mother's hand lightly caress his cheek.

  Her warm, comforting hand.

  ***

  Greg's eyes fluttered open and he breathed a sigh of relief. The room was empty.

  He was still in the hospital, but he was alone. He remembered fragments from before... of seeing his mother, of the monotone doctor pressing his freezing stethoscope to Greg's chest. He tried to move but quickly realized he was still restrained.

  "Goddammit, let me out of here," he said. His voice was calm and lacked conviction. The drugs he'd been given still coursed through his system.

  When his mother entered the room, he shrank away and began crying.

  "Baby, you have to tell me what's wrong or we can't help you."

  "Everything is wrong... you're wrong. You're not supposed to be here, Mom. You're dead."

  His mother's face paled. She frowned, pulled up a chair, and sat next to his bed.

  "I'm right here," she said. "I've been here since they found you. I'm not going anywhere."

  "Please, don't make me one of them... one of you."

  "What are you talking about? You're safe. Everything is fine now. You're going to be fine."

  Greg turned his face away and wept. His mother comforted him, running her hand through his hair, squeezing his hand, offering soft assurances. She wiped a tear from her eye before he could notice.

  "What's happening to me?" he asked.

  "You're okay. You're going to be just fine, but you have to talk to me. Why'd you run away? Where did you go?"

  "I didn't run away," Greg said. "I know what happened..."

  "Then tell me," she begged. "Tell me what happened."

  "I can't... I can't remember everything. Ditchburn is gone... everyone is dead."

  "I'm not dead, Greg. I'm here. Do you feel that?" She rubbed his arm with her fingertips, just like she'd done when he was a baby. "What do you remember? You can tell me."

  Greg swallowed and shivered as a chill ran down his spine.

  "Everyone in town was murdered... you, Dad, my friends. All killed and replaced with fakes."

  His mother exhaled a trembling breath and squeezed his arm tighter.

  "Your father wanted to be here," she said. "He's on business, but he knows what you're going through and he sends his love."

  "Mom, I don't know what to believe. It's all so real. Ditchburn was leveled."

  "Honey, Ditchburn is still there, trust me. I had to fight the traffic on Block Street just to get here."

  "Block Street is gone... everything: the Silver, the 'Stop-And-Fuck,' the..."

  He watched his mother's face wrinkle at the expletive, but she didn't scold him.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I just can't believe it was all in my head."

  "They found you in the middle of the street," she said. "Some guy almost hit you with his car."

  Greg shook his head and shuddered. "Mom, I swear, it was all so real."

  "I know, it's okay, Greg. You're okay
now."

  He started crying and couldn't stop.

  When the sedative dug its claws in, he faded out.

  ***

  When he awoke, his head felt clearer and most of his pain had diminished to a dull ache.

  His mother sat in the chair next to his bed reading one of her stupid romance novels about throbbing organs and heaving bosoms. Greg always thought those books were kind of gross and wondered what his mother got out of reading them.

  His arms and legs were still tied to the bed, but he'd gotten used to it. He felt miles away. The details of Ditchburn's demise burned in his brain. If it hadn't happened, why could he still smell the smoke? Why could he still hear the screams of the dying?

  "Mr. Sullivan," a man said as he entered with a clipboard. "You're looking much better."

  His mother closed her book, stood, and walked out with a nod.

  "I feel better... I think. Is someone going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

  "I'm Doctor Straker," he said. "I've been your doctor since you arrived." He flipped through several pages on his clipboard and nodded. "Well, we didn't find any sign of drugs in your system..."

  "I don't do drugs," Greg said. "I don't even like the smell of pot."

  "Did anything happen on Friday afternoon that made you feel anxious or nervous?"

  "No, I mean... I asked Lizzie Gennetti to a movie, so I guess I was a little nervous, but what does that have to do with anything?"

  "There's a reason you were wandering in the street at six in the morning," Doctor Straker said. "We're trying to figure out what that reason might be. Can you tell me anything about Friday night?"

  "I can tell you a lot of things about Friday night, but you already think I'm crazy, so what's the point?"

  "No one thinks you're crazy, Greg."

  "Then why the fuck have I been strapped down since I got here?"

  "When we're sure that you're not going to be a risk to yourself or our staff, we'll gladly untie you."

  Greg knew there was no point arguing. The sooner he understood the situation, the sooner he'd be able to get out of here.

  "Tell me everything you remember," Straker said. "Whatever details come to mind."

  Greg told him everything: from Lizzie being killed at the Silver, to the television report, to getting information from the Wildflower soldiers, and finally of his escape into Parkland. Straker listened to every word, nodded when he thought he should, scribbled notes into his file. When Greg finished his story twenty minutes later, Straker stood and left the room, leaving Greg with more questions than answers. Why was no one telling him what was wrong?

  He closed his eyes and listened to voices in the hall. When he opened them, Brandon stood next to his bed, smiling and clearly worried.

  "You scared me to death," Brandon said, trying to make light of the situation by adding a nervous laugh. "What the hell happened to you?"

  "You tell me," Greg replied. He was still terrified by what he remembered, but Brandon was Brandon. He'd know his best friend anywhere.

  "You came to my house like a madman, ranting and raving about monsters. I actually called Lizzie to ask her what had happened, but she was as clueless as everyone else."

  "Lizzie... she's alive?"

  "Of course, she's alive," Brandon said. "You left her at the Silver and came looking for me. I didn't know how to help you, man. I'm sorry. I called your Mom... I didn't know what else to do."

  "Your parents... your sister. They're okay?"

  "They're fine. I mean, Denice is still an asshole, but that's never going to change."

  Greg giggled and shifted to get more comfortable.

  "It seemed so fucking real," Greg said. "How could it all have been in my head?"

  "Stress does crazy things to people," Brandon said. "You just lost your shit. It happens. You're going to be fine in no time, but your Mom said you might have to stay here for a little while, ya know? To make sure nothing is wrong with you."

  "I'd say there's definitely something wrong with me," he said, but his attempt at humor fell flat.

  "All you have to do is rest. You'll be back to school in no time. Lizzie has been asking about you, and Eve is worried..."

  "What? Eve? How the hell do you know Eve?"

  "Dude, calm down. We've been dating for months. Of course, I know Eve... in more ways than one," Brandon laughed.

  "She's one of them," Greg whispered. "P-21. She's the first."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "She killed you! She fucking killed you... why don't you remember that?"

  "Killed me? Do I look dead to you? I know you guys aren't exactly buddies, but jeez, man, get a grip."

  "I saw it all," he said as tears spilled down his cheeks. "Why do I remember it if it never happened?"

  "That's above my pay grade," Brandon said. "Do you want me to get your doctor?"

  "No. I just want to be alone for a while, okay?"

  "Whatever gets you better and out of this damn hospital. I hate this place... it smells funny."

  Brandon patted his friend on the shoulder. He smiled before walking away, but the worry on his face was evident.

  "Brandon," Greg said.

  "Yeah?"

  "If anyone asks, tell them I'm okay. Tell them I fell and bumped my head or something."

  Brandon nodded. "Yeah, man. Whatever you want."

  Greg was left alone again to sift through the memories of what he'd experienced.

  He felt like he was trapped in one of those annoying dream sequences that lazy writers used to advance a weak plot. Or like a twist ending of some crappy soap opera like the ones his grandmother used to watch on television.

  "My God," he said. "I went and lost my mind."

  Knowing that none of it really happened didn't put his mind at ease, it made him feel worse.

  He cried himself to sleep, hoping that when he opened his eyes, his false memories would be gone.

  He only wanted to go home, see his friends, be normal.

  But would he ever be normal again?

  Chapter 15

  Five days had passed and Greg was still sleeping for large parts of the day. No one had conclusive answers as to why he'd gone to fairytale land, but his doctor seemed to think exhaustion and dehydration played a major role in his break from reality. Greg had never heard of anyone having hallucinations from dehydration, but his doctor was paid well for his knowledge on the subject, and if that's what Straker said was wrong, then it was good enough for Greg.

  It was Friday. A week since his brain had checked out and fed him an alternate reality where aliens and government conspiracies were more than just videos on YouTube. After seven days of talking with his mother and Brandon, seven days with visits from Jonas and Lizzie, he finally knew what they all knew - Greg had gone batshit crazy. It didn't bring him comfort, but it was better than the alternative.

  On Wednesday, the doctor had finally removed the restraints from Greg's bed. For the last two days, he was free to leave his room, go to the bathroom on his own, walk outside for a breath of fresh air. His every movement was watched by nurses, but it was better than being confined to his bed twenty-four hours a day.

  He was leaving tomorrow.

  Greg had read the newspaper several times, looking for any mention of what he thought he remembered about Ditchburn, but there was nothing. Someone in Arizona had won a massive lottery jackpot; an NFL player was arrested on robbery charges; the Ditchburn High Honor Roll had been posted, but Greg's name was absent as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary... nothing even the slightest bit strange.

  He watched reruns on television of old sitcoms and became a fan of Match Game '78. He watched the local news and weather to find out what was happening outside, watched the latest celebrity gossip, saw more of the Ellen show than he'd ever wanted to see. When he stumbled on a Twilight Zone marathon, he changed the channel. He wasn't ready for that just yet.

  Greg ate dinner alone - a colorless slab of meat on a
plastic tray - and reclined in his hospital bed. He still had a few crossword puzzles in the book Brandon had brought the day before. It was something to pass the time. He wasn't allowed to have his cell phone. Straker had forbidden it. He wanted Greg to get better before jumping feet first into the social media wasteland. At first, Greg had put up a fight, but after a few days of being away from Facebook and Twitter, he realized he didn't need them. How many times can anyone scroll through a newsfeed full of flat-Earth commentary, Atheist memes, and plates of someone else's dinner?

  A little before five that afternoon, Greg's mother came for her afternoon visit. Yesterday had been the first time Greg had spoken to his father since everything happened. It was only on the phone, but it was something. He promised Greg he'd be there on Saturday when Greg came home. He told Greg he loved him, and that his long trips away from home were going to be a thing of the past. Greg wasn't about to hold his breath, but there was something different in his father's voice that he hadn't heard in years - true compassion.

  It had only taken Greg a brush with insanity to make his father pay attention again. In the end, maybe it was worth it.

  "Are you excited to go home?" his mother asked.

  "I'm excited to sleep in my own bed, that's for sure."

  "I think Brandon is on his way. You're lucky to have friends like him."

  "I know, Mom. I hope I didn't fuck it... mess it all up."

  She scowled playfully and sat next to him. "It wasn't your fault, Greg. Brandon knows that. Oh, he's bringing that girlfriend of his. Eve. Pretty little thing, but strange."

  Greg laughed. If only you knew, Mom.

  It had taken Greg several days to forget the Eve he remembered. The way Brandon talked about her made him sound like he was in love, and Greg didn't want to make things even worse by constantly showing his mistrust of his best friend's girlfriend. The more he thought about her, the more he seemed to remember who she really was. He wished his true memories would stop playing Hide-and-Seek so he could move on, but his doctor had already informed him that it would likely take time to regain all his memory.

  "Turn on the TV," his mother said. "There's something I want to see."