Darkness Descends

by J. C. Kavanagh

  Jayden Nanjee sighed. I’m such a loser. She looked out the classroom window while the teacher tried to impart some mathematical theory Jayden could not compute. Three credits short, three failures. My life sucks. All the thoughts of ‘if only’ came back to haunt her: if only I did my homework; if only I studied; if only I attended all my classes; if only if only if only. Having to attend another semester of high school in order to graduate made her feel like a failure. Oh, pity poor me.

  Jayden picked up her pencil and jotted down the equation her teacher presented on the blackboard. They looked like Greek symbols. Probably one of them is, she mused, and decided to concentrate on the task. “Logic,” she told herself. “Math is logic. Logic is Spock. Be like Spock.” Tapping the end of her pencil on the desk, Jayden thought of the Star Trek character and his adventures in places where ‘no one has gone before.’ Her mind began to roam. I’ve been there – to a place where no one has been before. A strange dream world. A place where a sick freak named Richard Hatemore – Dick – does everything he can to prevent you from climbing to the top of the mountain. A place where you have to be creative and logical in order to climb and then fall. To sleep. A small smile came to her lips. I wonder if that guy, Connor, was real or a figment of my dream? He was intense and smart, and quite the handsome dude. And the other boy, the freckle-faced ginger, named Max. He was a boy genius.

  “Is everyone with me?” The teacher’s loud voice cut through her reverie and Jayden squirmed in her chair, sitting upright. “Be prepared for a quiz this week,” he warned. “I’ve given you a heads-up so don’t disappoint me. Or yourself.”

  The bell sounded and Jayden shuffled her books together. Her school day was done and it was time to head home.

  * * *

  The apartment was quiet when Jayden let herself in.

  “Ma?” No response.

  Jayden’s image reflected in the dusty mirror of the small hallway. Her long black hair was plaited in a thick braid down her back and her cream-coloured blouse accentuated her light brown skin. The large green eyes that stared back seemed bereft of hope or joy and Jayden glanced away. There were those who said she had beautiful, striking features – but Jayden disagreed. At home with her mom she felt sad and ugly, inside and out.

  The kitchen was a dirty, unkempt mess. An overfilled ashtray sat on the counter and both sinks were littered with food-encrusted dishes and empty, unrinsed soup cans. A bottle of vodka poked its head out of the garbage can. Jayden picked it up and moved it to the recycling bin. It joined other empty bottles and Jayden winced at the sight of them. No matter how much her mother drowned her bitterness in alcohol, reality rained down on her like a monsoon the next day.

  Yet there were happier times. When she was a little girl, they all lived together as a content young family: her mom, Patty, her dad, Wasiem, who had emigrated from Bahrain, and little Jayden. I was sweet back then, she thought. But not anymore. At Gilmont High School, Jayden was hailed as queen of the bully gang, where she and three other girls ruled as the ‘Bully Biahtches.’ But now there’s just two of us. Only cruel and vindictive Marj Daniels remained to bolster the gang’s nasty reputation. Jackie Vanderpost graduated in June and Barbara Hughes dropped out before the school year ended.

  Jayden slumped into the kitchen chair, overwhelmed with bitterness. The ‘poor-me, pity-me’ emotions swept over her and she soaked up the negativity like a sponge. The black emotion became her wall and her excuse for feeling nasty and inflicting nasty.

  The cell phone ring interrupted her personal pity party. It was her dad.

  “Jayden! I’m coming to pick you up!”

  “But Dad, it’s not Friday.”

  “It is not Friday, that is true. But today I will make your dream come true.”

  “Oh Dad, and now you’re a poet… what say you?” Jayden smirked as she repeated one of her father’s favourite sayings.

  “I’m already on my way!”

  “Dad!” But he had already hung up.

  Jayden stood outside her apartment building, purse slung casually over one shoulder and hands in her jean pockets. Her dad, Wasiem Nanjee was the calmest, most positive person she knew. If he said he was going to make her dreams come true, then, wow! Whatever it was, it was going to be epic. Her dad always had the ability to pull her out of a sour mood, which was more than her mom could do. Even though Patty Watson-Nanjee blamed her ex-husband for all the bad things in her life, Jayden was smart enough to know that her mom’s choices in conduct, in jobs and especially in men, all backfired with supreme negativity. I think it’s her bitterness that makes her drink.

  Glancing at her watch, Jayden tapped her toe on the sidewalk. Moments later, her dad pulled up to the curb in his sleek, SRT Dodge Challenger. His black, wavy hair and perfect smile greeted her as he got out of the car, and he paused to remove the stylish aviator sunglasses covering his brown eyes. Sweeping his arms wide, he gave Jayden a deep hug before opening the passenger door.

  “Today is going to be a very special day,” he promised.

  “Oh yeah?” replied Jayden.

  “Yeah,” said Mr. Nanjee. “We are going to buy you a car.”

  Jayden gasped. “We are… what?”

  “I know you’re working hard to earn your diploma and I want to give you an early graduation gift.” He grinned at her as they drove away. Jayden sat in shock and silence.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she finally blurted out.

  “Well, you can say, ‘You’re the BEST DAD EVER!’”

  Jayden leaned back and clasped her hands together, filling the car with a smile that could challenge the brilliance of the sun.

  “Dad, you make me believe I won the father lottery. You ARE the best dad ever.”

  Mr. Nanjee smiled back. “I found a nice, sporty Jeep for you and I want you to check it out.”

  “A Jeep? I love love love Jeeps!”

  They drove for a few miles while Mr. Nanjee talked and Jayden nodded inanely, grappling with the depth of unconditional generosity from her father.

  Suddenly, her dad pointed ahead. “There’s the dealership.”

  An oversized neon sign glowed across the front of the building, displaying the words “MAXIMUM DRIVE” in large capital letters. There were dozens of cars in the lot and hanging above them were bright red flags, exclaiming RED HOT SALES ZONE. Mr. Nanjee was grinning like a proud father as Jayden got out of the car and he angled his head toward the east side of the building. Parked beside a fire-engine red 1970 Boss Mustang was a pumpkin-orange Jeep Wrangler. “Well, what do you think? Is that you, or is that you?”

  Jayden’s heartbeat tripled and she reached out to support herself against her father.

  This is beyond epic. Pinch me… I’m a daytime Cinderella.

  And then Jayden glanced at the red Mustang. It began to drive slowly toward them, heading for the street exit. As it passed them, the passenger in the car leaned forward and pointed at her. Jayden’s knees buckled and she leaned heavily on her father.

  It can’t be. She blinked and time slowed down. Each second felt like ten.

  The passenger in the Mustang had ginger hair.

  He had freckles all over his face.

  He appeared to be in shock. She suspected her face had the same look.

  Max.

  It was him, the boy genius from her dreams. He was the shy, stuttering, super-smart, freckled, ginger boy who had saved her from the wolves.

  He’s real.

  Max was opening his mouth and, in slow motion, she read his lips.

  “Jayyyyyden.”

  The Mustang drove past them without stopping.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Nanjee was holding his daughter firmly by the elbow. He examined her face closely. “I thought you were going to faint!”

  Jayden stood frozen, not blinking.

  “Judging from your reaction, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t buy you a Benz.” Her father smiled sheepishly.

  Jayden gulped. Her eyes
turned toward the departing Mustang. What does this mean? She shifted her glance back to her dad, uncertain if she should tell him that the passenger in the Mustang was Max, one of the characters from her dreams. She knew her dad believed in the power of dreams and their ability to guide you or show you whatever it was in your life that needed attention.

  “Do you like the Jeep?”

  “Oh Dad, um, yeah. Of course I do.”

  “I was certain you’d love the orange,” he said, pulling her toward the vehicle. “It’s s-o-o-o you. Come on, let’s check it out.”

  Jayden allowed herself to be dragged along, glancing again at the Mustang as it drove out of the lot. Mr. Nanjee stopped.

  “Would you rather have a Mustang?” He pointed to the departing car. “I can double-check, but I’m pretty sure it’s out of my budget.”

  “No, Dad.” Jayden hesitated. “I, um, thought I recognized someone in that car.”

  “Someone from school?”

  “Well, no.”

  It was Mr. Nanjee’s turn to pause. “Not from school. From…?”

  The wind pulled at Jayden’s hair and she tucked a strand behind her ear. The seconds ticked past. Her intuition was screaming at her: trust your dad. She cleared her throat.

  “He’s from my dreams.”

  Before Mr. Nanjee could respond, a deep masculine voice interrupted.

  “The only thing to make that Jeep look better, is you in it.”

  A handsome young man stood in front of them; the logo ‘Maximum Drive’ was embossed on his shirt. He extended his hand toward Mr. Nanjee, shaking it firmly.

  “I’m Joe Mortimer, but everyone calls me Junior.” Junior’s deep brown eyes sparkled at Jayden as he bowed from the waist, one arm behind his back. There were glints of amber in the brown eyes and Jayden was momentarily mesmerized. His white collared shirt and dark pants outlined a body in peak condition.

  Junior extended his arm toward the Jeep. “My lady, your carriage awaits!”

  Jayden supressed a smile while her dad looked distressed. “That’s what I say to my daughter.”

  “May I?” Junior looked inquisitively at Mr. Nanjee, waiting for permission to open the Jeep’s door. “My mama taught me the importance of manners and she’d likely box my ears if I didn’t practice them every day.”

  Jayden smiled. The young man didn’t know it but he sure was making an impression on her father.

  “I thought only my dad and old people used that term,” she responded. “Box your ears. What exactly does that mean?”

  “My old British tutor –” began Mr. Nanjee.

  “My father –” said Junior at the same time. They laughed.

  “You first,” acknowledged Junior.

  Pleased, Mr. Nanjee joined his hands behind his back as a professor might when speaking to a group of students. “My old British tutor – I grew up in Bahrain – used to threaten to box my ears if I didn’t behave. That meant he was prepared to give me a slap upside my head.” Mr. Nanjee chuckled at the memory. “Of course, I didn’t give him cause for that. I was always on my best behaviour.”

  “Then you’re a better man than I,” said Junior. “My father still gives me a whack upside the head every now and then.” He grinned but the grin didn’t reach his amber-brown eyes.

  “Shall we take this Jeep for a test drive?”

  “Sure,” Jayden replied. “But first, do you know who was in the red Mustang that just drove away?”

  Junior looked at her strangely. “That was my mom and my brother. The Mustang is my dad’s car – his favourite classic. Do you know my mother?”

  “No. But I think I know your brother.”

  “Really?” asked Junior. “He just turned fifteen and I don’t think he’d be in your circle of friends. Unless you have a younger brother?”

  Jayden shook her head.

  “He’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong,” Junior added, “but Max is quite the math and science nerd.”

  Jayden felt her head spin and her hearing dimmed. It was Max.

  Max is real.

  Chapter 4

  To Catch a Dream

  “Mommy – I’m h-o-o-o-me!”

  Georgia walked through the back door and into the kitchen. After dropping her backpack onto the floor, she scurried over to the pantry.

  “Not so fast, oh-hungry-one,” said her mom with a smile, walking into the room. “I have a present for you.”

  Georgia squealed with delight. “What ith it, what ith it?”

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick pointed behind her and Georgia raced into the living room. Her daddy, fire station captain Sean Fitzpatrick, stood there with his arms behind his back.

  “Daddy’th not my prethent, thilly mommy!”

  Mr. Fitzpatrick laughed. “No, I’m not, but what I’m holding is.”

  Georgia ran over and pulled on his arm. He twisted to one side and she pulled the other. His arms didn’t budge. “Daddy! You’re not helping me!”

  He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. Then he slowly brought his arms forward and dangled the present in front of her smiling face. Her expression changed from excitement to one of puzzlement.

  “What ith it?”

  Georgia accepted the present and examined it closely. Dangling from a narrow leather band was a round, beaded, wooden hoop filled with looped yarn resembling a double-sided spider’s web. Hanging from the bottom of the hoop were several bunches of feathers. The spider web centre was hypnotic and Georgia remained still, caressing the bright red yarn.

  “It’s a dream catcher,” said her mom, taking Georgia’s arm and walking her to the sofa.

  “Will it catch my bad dream?” asked Georgia.

  “Well, there is a legend, from the Ojibway Native Indian culture, that says these magical creations will catch anything bad in the air and hold it in its web. Even your bad dreams.”

  “Will it thtop the treeth and busheth from talking?”

  Georgia’s mom glanced at her husband. “What did the trees and bushes say?”

  “They told me to cwimb.”

  A clattering of books falling to the floor startled everyone and they looked over to see Connor standing in the doorway, his mouth hanging open and a horrified look on his face.

  “Climb? Did you say climb?”

  * * *

  THUD THUD THUD.

  Georgia inclined her head toward the banging sound, eyes shut. “What is mommy doing?” she thought.

  She blindly reached for Foleydota but her stuffed baby pangolin was not at her side. Opening her eyes, Georgia shuddered. She was not in bed – she was back in that strange land with the talking trees. A full moon sparkled above her, surrounded by wide bands of pale, fluffy clouds. Georgia clenched the arms of her pyjamas in a self-hug, trembling with fear. Bushes and trees whispered around her. She knew what they were saying.

  “But I don’t want to cwimb,” Georgia cried out.

  Choking back a sob, she ran ahead, searching for a place to hide. The full moon brightened the field around her and she noticed streetlights halfway down the mountain. “They are tho far away,” she moaned. “And the wrong way.” The urge to climb was now overpowering and she turned her back on the town’s streetlights.

  “I will walk ’til I wake up.”

  Sniffling, Georgia shuffled forward, using the moon as her compass. Its pocked face hovered above her, outlining the fields and turning the forests into dark shadows.

  There might be thtompy monthters in there. Her six-year-old mind conjured up the imaginary ‘Stompy Monster’ – a creature her brother had concocted. He would pretend he was the stompy monster coming to get her, and stomp his feet loudly outside her room. But when he knocked the magic knock, three single knocks, Stompy Monster would automatically disappear.

  Georgia called out her brother’s name. “Connor!”

  There was no answer – just a chorus of crickets, and bullfrogs and singing trees.

  “I want to wake up,” she said softly. “Or fall b
ack to thleep. Oh, I don’t know what I want!”

  She was on the verge of tears and racked with indecisiveness. With confusion and terror mounting, Georgia viewed the shadow-infested forest. It appeared to be the only way to travel to the top of the squat mountain. But oh, those thtompy monthters. She peered across the field and gasped in surprise at the sight of a small wooden shack at the edge of the field. Maybe someone there can help me.

  Georgia began to run. As she got closer to the shack, the resonating urges of the trees and bushes quietened. Georgia slowed her pace. Why were they suddenly quiet? She was about five metres from the shack when she saw them. Wolves. They were racing out of the forest and across the field. That’s why there’s quiet. Georgia sprinted the final few metres and threw open the wooden door. She slammed it shut and dropped the sliding bolt down just as the first wolf threw itself against the door.

  Georgia screamed.

  * * *

  Connor awoke to see the sun shining across his bedroom, reflecting off the dozens of hockey trophies and medals he had lined up on the shelves above his desk. But it was not the sunshine that awakened him. It was a strange sound and he sat up on one elbow. There it was again. It sounded like a kitten mewling somewhere very close. There was only one thing wrong with that sound. We don’t have a cat.

  Connor got out of bed and padded toward the door. He looked down the hall and listened again. The sound was coming from Georgia’s room. Walking quickly, Connor stood outside her closed door. The plaintive noise was definitely coming from her room. Opening the door quietly, he stepped inside. Georgia was standing at her window, holding the feathered dream catcher up to the early morning sunlight. She was crying in a keening manner, mouth closed, body shaking. Sensing her brother, Georgia spoke.

  “Ith not there.”

  “What’s not there?”

  “My bad dream. It didn’t catch it.”

  Georgia turned to her brother, tears welling in her deep blue eyes and disappointment etched on her young face. She lowered the dream catcher and placed it on the windowsill.