by TJ Vargo
She returned his smile, her face brilliant with light. "You can talk. You are talking."
Her lips weren't moving. He heard her voice, but her lips weren't moving. This was interesting. Moreover, it was funny. When she cocked her head, as if intrigued by his widening smile, he couldn't help it. He giggled a little, then began laughing when she smiled. She began to laugh along with him. He reached out and pulled her to him in a tight embrace. All those years that she'd come to him. All the darkness and pain and fear he'd shared with her. It all wrapped into that hug and he wanted to hold onto it forever. Finally, she pushed him away, laughing again as he stood in her light. Her mouth (damn he couldn't believe this) - it was still closed as she laughed and this made him laugh again. Her laughter tickled the inside of his head and she wasn't even opening her mouth. Amazing. She was inside there, inside his head, and laughing with such happiness.
An all around brilliance of white light began to bloom from her, growing brighter with each increase in the volume of their laughter. Jackson closed his eyes and wilted at the knees, weak from laughter and trying to catch his breath. That made him laugh even more. Why would someone have to catch their breath in a dream? With his eyes closed he was aware that not only was her laughter in his head, but that an odd light had also taken up residence there. He knew his eyes were closed. Even reached a hand up to make sure. Still, he could see the light as an all around thing that pushed back any vestige of darkness. He thought it should've scared him, but it didn't. She patted his back, mixing her touch with the warm light suffusing into him. Loved it. God how he loved it. Someone must have slipped this dream into his head by accident. Peace and love and harmony. This kind of dream wasn't meant for him, at least it never had been before.
"Can you feel it Jackson? He's not here. For once this is our dream. Not his. Ours."
Enough already. He straightened up, pushing his laughter down to a simple smile. He licked his lips, opened his eyes, and decided to try out the talk without talking bit. Okay now, no talking. Just think it over to her. Here goes. "What is this place? Why are we here?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. The light surrounding her dimmed, leaving him with nothing but the light of the sun in that endless blue sky.
"I don't have the answer to that." She dropped her head and he felt the fear on her. All the happiness he'd had only a moment ago left him as he looked down.
He didn't like the way she did that, becoming frightened so quickly. So scared her light dimmed, showing her nakedness. But he knew what she feared and he said it, his mind throwing out the words better than he could have ever formed them.
"I know. He might not be here, but he's waiting for us when we wake up. He's waiting for us and...." He stopped, not wanting to think of what Nathaniel was going to do to his sister. In this place, however, he already had and she looked up at him, her light dimming until it was completely extinguished. Jackson met her eyes. A hug wouldn't do it this time. Terror broke from deep in her eyes.
"I don't know what to do. I did everything I could to be here with you. I thought I could help you. But it's not you he wants. It's me and I'm so scared."
It was all she could say before dropping her head, her whole body sagging as she wrapped her arms around herself to cover her nakedness now that she was no longer cloaked in light.
Jackson began to hang his head with her when anger overcame him. Nathaniel. Sam Lewis. Frida. The lies. The evil. She'd always been there in his dreams. His sister had looked after him and helped him, comforted him when he was gripped by fear. She never hung her head with him when that was all he could do. He reached out, lifting her chin with fingers that glowed with light. The light startled him, but his anger was locked in. Light seared through him, whiting out everything around them as he brought her face up, forcing her to look at him.
"Fuck 'em. All of them. And especially him. I'm not the rabbit anymore. I'm the wolf. The fucking wolf that is going to bring him down." He pulled his hand back from her and clenched it. Light shot from between his fingers, unable to be contained, blasting out in all directions. It blotted out everything but her eyes. Inside those eyes was a bursting reflection of light as he raised his arms and said, "I'm not afraid!"
The power of those words rang inside his head, then were gone in an instant. Nothing was left but darkness - a sea of black ink pressing in from all sides. His mind was a clean, empty slate.
Jackson became vaguely aware that he was awake. Standing. Sweating. He lowered his arms to his sides. They had been outstretched, reaching up for something in the dark. He expelled a breath he had been holding for some inexplicable reason. He shuffled his feet, hearing the hay rustle beneath him. A light skitter of tiny feet running. Something bumped into his foot and shot away from him. He held his breath, afraid to make a sound. Shit, what am I doing?
Kicking his feet toward the sounds of things running in the dark, Jackson wondered why he had been standing in the dark. He lowered himself to the ground. The pile of hay he had gathered was still in place, and he laid down. Adjusted himself, rolling around a bit to flatten the straw that was sticking him between the shoulder blades. He settled himself and wiped his face with his palm, then held his hand over his eyes while he massaged his temples with a thumb and forefinger. A bright knot of pain throbbed behind his eyes. Something important touched on the edge of his mind, teetering there. His fingertips pressed into his temples. He pulled his hand away and sat up quickly. It was her. In one of those dreams. A dream much different than any he'd had with her before.
It flooded back. How he'd met her. How they'd talked about what they knew lay in front of them. His skin bunched in gooseflesh, trembling in the cold and he scolded himself. There had been something else. Something important. He felt around in the dark, finding the knife and holding it, running his thumb carefully over the blade. Yeah, there'd been something else all right. His jaw clenched. The rabbit had died. A wolf had taken its place.
He sat in the dark. Waiting for the light - any light - to break while he felt the edge of the knife. Shivering and thinking what it meant to be the wolf. Not knowing if he was capable, but not caring either. There was nothing he would be afraid of anymore. He felt the blade of the knife on his thumb and cursed under his breath. He didn't even know her name.
Being in this place - so dark she couldn't see her hand in front of her face, lying naked and cold on a rough pile of hay - was still better than where she'd come from. She laid flat, pulling blindly at the hay to cover herself. Her hand brushed something soft and furry that squeaked, its little feet scrambling over the top of her hand. She pulled her hand back quickly and clasped both hands over her chest, her throat tightening. She could do without the rats, but this is where she had to be. Not under a suicide watch in a mental ward.
It took a few minutes of listening for the rats and not hearing them before she settled back into the hay. She wondered what good old Doctor John was doing. He hadn't been able to continue with his interviews after the incident, but he had talked at her incessantly. He even loosened her restraints once, trying to get her to write answers to his questions. (Just write down your answers and we'll work on getting you back with your mom and dad. Maybe you can even go back to your job. C'mon, let's give it a try, shall we?). After she'd thrown the pencil at him, smiling when the point stuck in his arm and brought a dot of blood to the surface, his talk had changed. She was a very sick woman that would never again see the light of day. A dangerous psychopath that couldn't be let out among the normal people.
She stared into the dark, smiling. Maybe she wouldn't see the light of day again, but she was where she was supposed to be. And, whether he knew it or not, the lives of normal people depended on her. She tightened her grip around herself, shivering. I'm not crazy Doctor. It's real. And if things don't turn out right, you'll find out just how real.
Her skin goosefleshed and she let out a long shaky breath. It would end or begin here. She moaned without meaning to, but stopped, closing her eyes a
nd trying to gather her courage. Jackson wouldn't let the fallen one have her. She had to trust that he would find a way. And, in turn, she'd help him any way she could.
A rustling sound came through the hay and she felt the warm, almost hot fur of a rat as it pushed against her cautiously, letting out a couple of squeaks before bedding down against her leg. She stilled an urge to kick it away and after a few moments grew used to the feel of the animal laying against her, combining its heat with hers. She began to drift back to sleep, releasing her fear of the rat and then heard more squeaks and the rustle of hay on all sides. They came from every direction. Small warm bodies that pushed in against her, burrowing in all around her. Even in her hair, curling up so close to her face that she could hear them breathing as they quieted and went to sleep. She stopped shivering, relaxing in their body heat radiating against her bare skin. Without fear, the fallen one wasn't nearly as powerful. She only hoped Jackson knew that too.
Chapter Twenty
He startled and opened his eyes, jumping to his feet. It took a moment for his heart to slow down, looking all around the room before he was sure no one was there. He dropped his gaze to his hand, feeling the weight of the knife in his white knuckled grip. Anyone checking on him would have seen it also. Dozing off while he held the knife had been a mistake.
"Got to be better than that," he thought, shaking his head while he looked at the knife. "You've got to think. Don't screw it up. You can sleep later."
Rubbing his puffy eyes and yawning he relaxed his grip on the knife and bent down, using the knife to dig a small hole. Sticking the knife in the hole he covered it over with dirt and stepped back, kicking the pile of hay around to cover the signs of his digging. God he was tired. His body ached, shoulder joints popping as he stretched. So tired. But sleep would have to come later. Big things were in store for today. He began walking slowly around the room, trying to shake the dullness out of his head, slapping his arms around his chest to get his circulation going. The damp and cold made it all the harder to move - and he eyed the pile of hay, wanting desperately to crawl back under it and close his eyes. No. It wasn't an option. He took a deep breath and started walking again. She needs me. Get your ass moving and start thinking about how to get out of here.
Halfway around the room he stopped, nearly kicking himself for not having noticed it. That's what woke him. The light. He looked around the room to get a feel for where he was, trying to find a possible way out. Only one door in or out, with walls of huge stone, none of which had a window. So where was the light coming from? He turned to look behind him. There was the source. It leaked into the room, a weak glow sifting its way through the dark from up above. He walked to the wall, putting his hands on the cold stone. About twelve feet up the light glowed from the edge of a ledge near the ceiling.
"Time to wake your ass up pal," he said to himself, moving back a couple steps from the wall, then accelerating and leaping.
His hand touched the ledge and he tried to hook his fingers on it. For a brief instant he had it. He slipped off, powdered rock falling onto his face as he fell, rolling to his side on the ground. Son-of-a-bitch.
Getting back up he brushed the bits of stone and dirt off his clothes and out of his hair, then took a step back and jumped once more. He grunted, barely getting the edges of his fingers on the ledge. But hell, he wasn't letting go for nothing. He even ignored the pain in the cut Frida had run across his palm. Crumbling stone threatened to cause another fall to the floor, so he quickly reached his fingers further back into the ledge. There was solid stone back there, he could feel it on his fingertips. So where was the light coming from? He lifted a hand, completely supporting himself with the other, and felt for the stones on the back of the ledge. He could only manage it for a split second before he had to grab the ledge again with both hands to keep from falling. He smiled. There were spaces back there. Vents cut into the stone, far back in the ledge.
Relaxing for a moment, hanging by his fingers, he breathed deeply. There might be something to see through those vents in the stone. Maybe the stones with the vents were soft and crumbly like the stones at the edge of the ledge. Maybe he could dig his way through them with the knife and find a way out here.
Letting out a long slow exhale as he hung by his fingertips, he gathered in a deep lungful of air and crawled his fingers back toward the vents in the stone. It wasn't easy. Like pulling his weight up a rope with only his fingertips. If he could just get his fingers into those vents... there!
He relaxed, slowing his breathing, letting the cramping in his hands recede. With the fingers of both his hands wedged in the vents he'd be able to hold himself up here for a good long while. But he had to do something much tougher than that. He flexed his arms. No reason to waste time or strength thinking about it. The veins on his neck and arms bulged as he pulled himself up level with the ledge, his elbows cocked and his forearms braced on the lip, holding himself steady by the strength of his arms, trying to get a look-see through the vents.
It was another room. And more than that, he could see where the light was coming from. There was a window in the room. A window off to the left let the morning sun in from the outside world. That could be a way out - if the stone was soft enough for him to dig his way over there. His arms were starting to shake from the strain of holding himself up and he considered dropping down to get the knife when something moved below him in the other room. Something was laying on the floor.
It was her. His sister curled up in a ball, still naked with hay piled over her as she slept. That's why he hadn't seen her at first. Only her hair, long black and matted with dirt and blood, stood out in contrast from the hay. The rest of her skin was dirty enough that it camouflaged her with the hay and dirt floor. Aching as his arms and shoulders were, his muscles singing soprano, he gritted his teeth and pressed his face against the vent.
"Hey!" he whispered harshly.
She rolled over and opened her eyes.
"Hey, you okay?"
She didn't respond, but she did sit up, look at him, and smile, carefully brushing her hair out of her face. Naked and bruised as she was, she showed no shame. Innocent as a new born.
Not much time to continue with the small talk. Jackson's biceps and shoulders were white hot coals, threatening to explode. He talked fast.
"I remember the dream last night. I remember what we talked about." He waited for a response, but she stayed quiet, the smile on her face unchanged. He continued. "I've got a knife. I'm going to try to dig through up here. I just need you to tell me if someone's coming on your side." That dumb smile on her face stayed put. He stared at her, completely at a loss as to why she wouldn't speak. Frustration seeped in along with the fire-like heat spreading through the muscles of his arms. He waited a couple beats, hoping she was only mulling something over. His muscle pain transformed to a numbness, tingling through his knotted arms and shoulders. He couldn't take it anymore. "At least tell me what your name is," he shouted.
She got to her feet, her smile receding. Her eyes looked sad, but still, she said nothing.
"Goddam it," Jackson mumbled, unable to hold himself up any longer. He couldn't even feel his hands enough to let go, but somehow he did and he dropped to the floor in a heap. He rolled into a sitting position and immediately began to rub his clawed hands over his arms, trying to get blood into the cramped muscles. His fingers weren't working too good. His forearms were a roadmap of veins, the skin near purple from lack of oxygen. Cursing to himself, his nostrils flared and his jaw muscles jumped up and down the side of his clenched jaw. Sitting there like a mute while I'm talking to her. What the hell is her problem?
He kneaded a bicep roughly. Damn thing was twitching, beginning to burn as oxygen saturated the tissue. He looked up toward the weak rays of light filtering in from the vent above, then began shaking his head, saying softly.
"Of course she didn't answer. Who the hell would? Talking about meeting with her last night." He slowly stood up, shaking his ar
ms at his sides and rolling his shoulders. "It was a dream you big dummy. A stupid dream. You're talking to her about a dream like a lunatic."
He froze. The ray of light coming through the vent above flashed stronger for a moment, then went dim again with the sound of a door closing. He held his breath, not wanting to make a sound. The soft scuffle of footsteps came through the vent. Someone had gone in to see his sister. A woman's voice floated through the vent.
"Are you thirsty?"
There was a pause, then the voice spoke up louder.
"I have something for you to drink. I have food too. Don't you understand me?"
A man's voice interrupted.
"It won't do any good to yell at her. Her mind isn't all there, is it child?"
Jackson's interest raised up a notch and he pressed against the wall, the cold damp stone pressed against his cheek. The first voice, the woman's, that was Felicia. She sounded tired, maybe even a little tremble in her voice. And the second voice - no doubt about it - that was Kirtland. Not a voice he'd forget. That voice slithered like a snake over dry grass. A small pang of protectiveness rose in him for Felicia. He snorted. She had chosen to be with Nathaniel and all the rest of them. She was only interested in protecting her own hide - no matter what. Jackson shifted on his feet. He couldn't help but think he was wrong on that count, but it didn't matter. It was done, she had made her choice and there was nothing he could do but forget her and move on. When would he learn that people were only interested in helping themselves?
"Look at her arms. Those are the marks of restraints." He chuckled. "And it looks like you struggled against them. They tied you down good, probably had you in an asylum, didn't they?" His voice lowered. "Maybe it was because of your bad dreams, is that right child?"
