Thunderland

by Brandon Massey

“You are in a very deep, very relaxing sleep,” Brains said. “And you will answer some questions for me. While I ask you these questions, you will remain in that very deep, very relaxing sleep until I order you to wake up. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Jason, do you remember the watch I showed you earlier?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have that watch in my hands now.” Actually, he did not. “Can you see the watch in my hands?”

  “Yes.” Jason’s eyes remained shut.

  “Great. But see, this is a unique watch. It’s a magic watch. It controls the flow of time. Now, I’m starting to turn the watch hands backward. The hands go around and around the dial, farther and farther back. Can you see the watch hands spinning backward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now something magical is happening. As the watch hands turn backward, time itself begins to flow backward, too. It isn’t ten minutes past eight anymore; it’s now eight o’clock. And now it’s seven o’clock in the evening ... six o’clock ... five o’clock ... four o’clock ...”

  Gradually, Brains guided Jason back in time. He regressed him to that important weekend day in March, about three o’clock in the afternoon, twenty minutes before his calamitous fight with his mother. None of them was eager to have Jason relive his terrible fall out of the tree. If Brains could retrieve the information they sought without having Jason experience that trauma again, they would be satisfied.

  “Where are you, Jason?” Brains said.

  “I’m in my bedroom,” Jason said. “Sitting at my desk.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Reading a magazine.”

  Brains nodded. “What have you done today?”

  “I did my chores, then had breakfast at my grandfather’s. We talked a couple ofhours, and when I left his house, I went to the beach since the weather was nice. I hung out there for a while, skipped rocks across the water, daydreamed; then I came back home. I’ve been in my room reading magazines since I’ve been here.”

  “Did you do anything else? Meet any friends, maybe?”

  “I don’t have any friends.”

  He said that too quickly, Brains thought. As though he wanted to avoid the subject. Almost as though he were hiding something.

  “You don’t have a single friend?” Brains said.

  “No. I told you that.”

  “You honestly don’t have one friend?”

  “I said no, didn’t I? Do you have wax in your ears?”

  “Why are you getting testy about this? I only asked you a simple question.”

  “You asked a nosy question.”

  “I get the feeling that you’re hiding something, Jason. Are you?”

  Jason did not reply. Eyes closed, brow creased, he shifted in the recliner.

  “You have to answer my questions honestly,” Brains said. “Do you have any friends?”

  ‘Why do you want to know?”

  “I want to know so I can help you, Jason. The more honest you are with me, the more I can help you.”

  “I don’t need your help. I already have someone to help me.”

  “Who is that?” Brains said. “Who helps you?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you. You’ll blab it to everyone.”

  “I’ll keep it secret. I promise.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, I promise. Now, tell me: who helps you?”

  Jason spoke in a whisper: “My friend.”

  Brains glanced at Shorty and smiled. Jason had to be referring to the Stranger. It was the only sensible assumption. Filming everything with the camcorder, Shorty gave Brains the thumbs-up sign.

  Brains returned his attention to Jason. “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You have to tell me, Jason. You have to be honest and open with me.”

  “No.” Jason’s lips formed a firm line.

  “Okay. Then tell me where your friend lives.”

  “You can never go there.”

  “Why can’t I?” Brains said.

  “Because it’s impossible. For you, anyway.”

  “Is it impossible for you to go there, too?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can it be impossible for me?” Brains said.

  Jason shook his head. “You’d never understand. Ever.”

  “Does your friend live in this world?” Brains said, aware of how foolish he sounded, but not wanting to leave any question unasked.

  “I can’t tell you that,” Jason said.

  “Is your friend human?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I do, he won’t be a secret anymore. He has to stay secret, always.”

  “All right,” Brains said. “How long have you known this friend?”

  “A long time. Since I was four years old.”

  “Are you close to him?”

  “Extremely. “

  “You said earlier that he helps you. How does he help you?”

  “He’s always there for me,” Jason said. “He knows me better than anyone. I can depend on him for anything.”

  “Do your parents know about this friend?”

  Jason chuckled. “No.”

  “Does anyone else know about him?”

  “No one does. Not even Granddad.”

  “Why do you hide him from everyone?”

  “Because no one will understand him.”

  Brains leaned forward. “I’ll understand him, Jason. You can trust me. Tell me more about him.”

  “I can’t tell you anything else. I’ve already told you too much.”

  “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to give your secret to anyone.”

  “I know you won’t, because I’m not giving it to you.”

  Brains sighed. He took a sip from the water bottle he had placed under his chair. Beside him, Shorty shrugged, mouthed the words good try, man.

  Jason lay in the chair, relaxed.

  Why was he compelled to conceal the important details about the Stranger? What did Jason fear would happen if gave the complete truth?

  Brains had no idea. This entire thing was getting weirder every minute. Because Jason had clammed up, Brains saw no alternative but to move him forward in time, to his fall from the tree. Maybe more clues waited there.

  ‘Jason, it’s now three-twenty on that same day. What are you doing?”

  Tension drew Jason’s face taut. When he spoke, his voice was pained. “I’m arguing with Mom. She’s drunk, and she won’t leave me alone. Why does she keep beating on me?”

  Rather than get embroiled in that mess, Brains quickly moved Jason five minutes forward.

  “What are you doing, Jason?”

  Jason panted. Tears squeezed from his eyes, trailed down his face. “Running away, out the patio door, across the backyard, to the big tree. Mom’s shouting at me to come back, but I’m gonna ignore her, ‘cause she’ll kill me if she catches me. Ijust want to get away for a while, let her calm down some. I jump up, grab a tree limb, then start climbing. Mom’s calling me, but I shut her out; I shut out everything. All I want to do is climb to the top of the tree and forget what happened.”

  As he climbed in his memory, Jason’s face twisted with the effort of his concentration. His breaths came in gasps. His hands clenched and unclenched, ascending the imaginary tree.

  At last, Jason sighed. His muscles relaxed.

  “There,” he said. “I’m finally at the top, resting between a couple of limbs.”

  “What are you going to do up there?” Brains said.

  “Not much. I rest my head against the trunk, look up at the sky, and see thunderclouds. I can smell rain coming, but I’m going to stay up here anyway. I just want to clear my mind and forget everything. I close my eyes, let out a deep breath, and just listen to different sounds around me. Birds, a car honking, dogs barking, the wind blowing. Then, I hear a voice.”

 
Brains literally jumped forward. ‘Whose voice?”

  “My friend’s.”

  “Your friend is talking to you?” Brains said.

  Jason nodded.

  Brains leaned on the edge of his seat. Shorty, too, had moved forward with the camcorder. “What does your friend say?” Brains said.

  Strangely, Jason smiled.

  “He says ...” Jason said, and then his tone abruptly changed, becoming deep, sonorous, and nothing like his natural voice.

  “I’m here.”

  Jason’s eyes snapped open.

  His eyes were white; his pupils had rolled back in his head, as if he were a voodoo priest possessed by an ancient spirit.

  Brains stared at the whites of Jason’s eyes.

  “What the hell...?” Shorty said, and then his words were drowned out by a tremendous boom of thunder, a shattering blast that sounded like a bomb heralding the end of the world.

  Brains shot to his feet. He did not know what was going on, but he had to regain control of the situation.

  Jason lay slumped in the recliner, the whites of his eyes gazing blindly. A thread of drool inched down the corner of his mouth.

  Was he possessed by the Stranger? Could the Stranger do that? Jump inside Jason’s body and take control?

  “Are you there, Jason?” Brains said. “Do you hear me?”

  Jason only lay there, drooling and breathing softly.

  Thunder bludgeoned the night, rattled the windows.

  “Brains,” Shorty said.

  “What?” Brains spun.

  “Check out your watch, man.”

  The digits of Brains’s watch were frozen at 8:31.

  “Has it stopped?” Shorty said.

  “Yes.”

  Shorty motioned to the camcorder in his hand. “The timer on this thing’s stopped, and my watch has, too.” He looked around the room. Beyond the corner they occupied, darkness reigned. “Man, something weird is going on. Can you feel it?”

  “Something does feel different,” Brains said, searching the darkness. He bent down and pulled the .22 out of his ankle holster. He was not convinced that the gun would harm the Stranger, but it was the only weapon he had. “Something’s very different. But I don’t know what it is.”

  Wind slammed into the windows.

  Like Thor’s hammer, thunder smashed the sky.

  “How the hell can this be happening?” Shorty said. “Jason’s been hypnotized, not us.”

  “I don’t know, but I have to wake him up,” Brains said. He turned to Jason. “Jason, you will wake up now! Do you hear me? You will wake up!”

  Jason did not respond. He seemed comatose.

  Brains grabbed Jason by the shoulders. He shook him. “I order you to wake up, Jason! Wake up now!”

  Eyes white and strange, spittle creeping down his chin, Jason remained locked in the trance.

  Outside, a gale shrieked. Thunder bellowed with such power that Brains expected the house to collapse.

  Shorty clicked on the ceiling light. He parted the drapes at a window. “Oh, shit. Look out here.”

  Brains joined Shorty at the window. The overcast sky was the blackest he had ever seen, as black as it might be if the sun burned out and brought endless night to the solar system. Neon-blue lightning flashed and tore across the charred clouds, which churned like the bubbling contents of a sorcerer’s cauldron.

  In spite of the gloom, all of the surrounding homes were unlighted, as though everyone had vacated the town in fear of some catastrophic storm. The neighborhood felt empty, too. It was easy to believe that they were the only living people in the entire city.

  But that was insane.

  Rain struck the glass. Shorty and Brains flinched backward.

  Like a giant stomping on the roof, thunder crashed.

  Fierce winds howled, whined, and skirled.

  A gritty taste had swelled in Brains’s mouth-one he was not accustomed to. The taste of fear.

  Yet fear was justified. Never in his life had Brains heard such bone-rattling thunder, or seen a sky burned as black as an iron skillet. Somehow, the Stranger must be influencing the weather. And if he could command the elements of nature, he was nothing less than a god. Only a fool would not fear him.

  Brains could sense the Stranger’s presence there, too. Somewhere nearby. A tangible aura of power suffused the air.

  “Stand next to me,” Brains said to Shorty. Together they formed a barrier in front of Jason. Brains held the gun before him, arms straight and locked, as his dad had taught him. Although he had trained with firearms for many years, in the face of this enemy he felt pathetically vulnerable.

  Silently they waited.

  Hard rain punished the house.

  Thunder shook the walls as if they were constructed of cardboard.

  Sweat crept down Brains’s back. Beside him, holding up the camcorder in a valiant attempt to film this madness, Shorty had clenched his teeth.

  Another peal of thunder made the floor tremble.

  Then the lights went out.

  Later, when darkness had fallen over the world like a great swatch of purple-black silk, Thomas reached across himself and traced his finger along the side of Linda’s face. His heart clutched. Although they had made love with great passion and tenderness, that act of profound sharing failed to express adequately the depth of his feelings for her.

  Linda’s eyes opened. She touched his hand, kissed it.

  “I love you,” she said.

  “At least you do.”

  She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve accepted something.”

  She bent her arm, rested her head on her hand.

  “Go on,” she said.

  “I’ve accepted the fact that your happiness—and Jason’s—is more important than mine.”

  “Placing your family’s welfare above your own is fine, honey. But are you happy with yourself, too?”

  “What makes me happy is making you and Jason happy. If I can do that until the day I die, that’s enough for me.”

  She laid her head on the pillow. “That sounds nice. But in a way, it also sounds like you hate yourself.”

  He ran his fingers through her curly hair.

  “Well?” she said.

  “I’ll be honest with you. In some bad ways, I’m exactly like my dad. I’ve tried to deny it, but there’s no point in doing it anymore. It’s in my blood. Like father, like son.”

  “Like hell,” she said. “You’re nothing like your dad. You have his workaholic habits, but you’re getting over them.”

  “That’s not all we have in common.”

  “Yes, it is. Listen, Thomas. You’re a sweet, generous, thoughtful man—and your dad isn’t. Stop comparing yourself to him. Hearing you talk like that bothers me, because it’s not true.”

  Her words, intended to be loving and encouraging, were like hammer blows on his soul. Thanks to Big George’s mastery of deceit, Mama had thought the same thing about Big George, though Thomas had known it was an outrageous lie. Big George would sometimes take Thomas with him when he visited his girlfriends, always sealing the visits with the threat that he would kill Thomas if he told Mama. As a boy, Thomas had vowed that he would never deceive his own wife as his father had hoodwinked his mother, but look what had happened. Just as his father had done, now he lived a lie, too—while his wife praised him as a sweet, generous, thoughtful man.

  Like father, like son.

  It was true. Lord help him, it was true.

  His pain at the realization must have been evident, because Linda looked at him with concern.

  “Are you okay?” she said.

  “You’re too good for me, Linda,” he said, shaking his head. “I love you with all my heart, but you’re too damn good for me.”

  She put her finger to his lips.

  “Please, don’t talk like that. I’m not too good for you, you’re not too good for me. We’re perfectly matched, understand?”

 
; He did not reply. She leaned closer. “Understand?” she said.

  “Yeah, baby. I understand.”

  “Good.”

  She kissed him softly, tenderly.

  “Now, if you really want to understand how perfectly matched we are, you’ll make love to me again,” she said.

  They made love again.

  Lying in the darkness, holding her body close, he shut his eyes and slid into sleep. He dreamed that he was seventy years old and living in a nursing home. Sick. Bitter. Alone.

  Darkness filled the room.

  “Don’t move, Mike, don’t you dare move,” Brains said. “Forget about the lights, he’s controlling them, anyway. We can’t be separated, not for one second.”

  “I ain’t going anywhere,” Shorty said.

  The lights clicked on.

  Then they blinked off again. And on again. And off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. Faster and faster, on and off, in mindless repetition.

  Due to his sight being temporarily impaired, colorful shapes swam like schools of fish in Brains’s field of vision. He gripped the pistol tighter. He hoped the Stranger did not attack or do whatever the hell he planned to do. He wanted to be able to see what happened.

  He had the impression, too, that the Stranger was only showboating. The thunder, lightning, wind, rain, this light show—it was like bragging, the behavior of a spoiled brat showing off his toys. Still, Brains’s fear was genuine. Showboat or not, the Stranger possessed awesome power deserving of respect.

  The lights turned on again. This time, they remained on.

  Before Brains could register relief, the bedroom door shuddered.

  “It’s him,” Shorty said.

  Brains swiftly trained the .22 on the door across the room, finger around the trigger.

  The Stranger began to hammer the door. His blows shook the entire door: thud-thud-thud-thud-thud ...

  “Let’s push the bed against it!” Shorty said.

  Brains holstered the pistol and joined Shorty beside the bed. They planted their feet on the carpet, bent down, and pushed.

  The bed would not budge.

  Impossible.

  It was a twin-size bed, encumbered only with sheets and a pillow, but it would not move one centimeter. Brains and Shorty redoubled their efforts, sweated and cursed as they strained, but they may as well have been trying to uproot a tree.

  Brains went to his chair, thinking he could lever it under the doorknob. But the chair would not move either.