by A. M. Rose
Blindspot
Daydream, Colorado ~ book one
A.M. Rose
Contents
Synopsis
Have you visited Daydream before?
1. Drew
2. Mason
3. Drew
4. Mason
5. Drew
6. Mason
7. Drew
8. Mason
9. Drew
10. Mason
11. Drew
12. Mason
13. Drew
14. Drew
15. Drew
16. Mason
17. Drew
18. Mason
19. Drew
20. Mason
21. Drew
22. Mason
23. Drew
24. Mason
25. Drew
26. Mason
27. Drew
28. Mason
29. Mason
Epilogue
Leaving Daydream?
Want to come back for a visit?
About the Author
Want to read more by A. M. Rose?
Synopsis
Standing out in a town like Daydream, Colorado should have been impossible to do, yet somehow Drew managed. All his life he had been the one everyone was looking at when he walked down the street. No matter how hard he'd tried to fit in, fingers pointed at his back and whispers followed his every step. Until it all got too much and he'd left Daydream. For good.
Among all the special people in Daydream, Mason was just a bit more special. He had the ability to see all sorts of things; private conversations, someone's biggest mistakes, and their tiniest, most insignificant moments. But even with this ability to glance into the future, he didn't see Drew leaving Daydream for good. He didn't see Drew breaking his heart. And he definitely didn't see him coming back.
Blindspot© by A. M. Rose
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Formatting done by LesCourt Author Services©
Proofreading and editing done by Contextus©
Cover designed by BCJ Art & Design©
"This work by BCJ Art & Design is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.”
Have you visited Daydream before?
If not, now would be a great time to do it. Click here to grab the short story prequel to the Daydream, Colorado series:
http://bit.ly/DaydreamAMRose
Welcome to Daydream, Colorado
Population: 3048
He had been sitting in his car for the past twenty minutes. Frozen stiff since his heating stopped working a few hours into his trip, he wasn’t sure the cold he was feeling on the inside was the same one he could feel licking at his skin. Through the frost-covered windshield he could see the warm lights glowing on the front porch and the two-seater swing swaying gently as it had been for as long as he could remember.
The house at the end of the driveway was exactly as he left it ten years ago. His house, he supposed. He was born there, grew up in there, and yet, he had always felt detached. Like a photoshopped image of a person with a background that didn’t quite fit. No matter how well it was done, you could always tell that the elements weren’t parts of the same whole.
It was small, beige, with two-stories, a dark-brown slanted roof and a steaming chimney that told him the old fireplace was still being put to use despite endless conversations about switching to electric heating. The small garden to the side of the front stairs was fenced in and blooming happily even in the middle of winter. The same little brass bell was hanging from the bird house his dad had installed when they were kids, hoping that feeding the birds regularly would stop them from eating the seeds he planted. It never worked, but Drew always had the strange feeling his dad didn’t really mind.
He shook the memory away forcefully.
He hadn’t thought about this place in years, purposefully closing the door on every memory and feeling. Here for minutes, that door had already started to break with the force of everything he had been repressing, and he was seconds away from driving away despite everything to keep that barrier in place and save himself the pain.
Would they even care?
He wasn’t a part of Daydream, no matter how hard everyone tried to paste on a smile and hide what they really thought of him. He saw right through it.
“Son.”
His father’s voice startled him from his inner turmoil, and he turned sharply to see him standing just outside his car. It had been ten years, and somehow his father seemed to have aged twice that much since he last saw him. His hair was completely gray and thin, the scraggly beard his mother hated was still assuming a life of its own, growing every which way, and his face was sun burned and wrinkled.
But that voice was still the same.
Drew remembered the booming timbre as his father woke him up for school, he remembered it singing terribly as he tended to his garden… also terribly. He could never really grow anything; they ended up buying all their vegetables, but it made his dad happy. He also remembered the last words he had heard directed at him in that same booming voice as he walked out the door. They resonated in his mind still. And no amount of warmth in it now would silence that echo.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out of the car, stretching to his full height after hours spent in the car. He felt a pang in his chest at the reminder that he almost dwarfed over his father. Years had left their mark on him when, in Drew's mind, he was still larger than life.
“Drew,” the man said, voice shaking and quiet as he crossed the two small steps between them and spread his arms wide. He was going for a hug, and Drew had to fight everything in him that screamed to let it happen, to let his father hold him for a bit and smooth over the rough edges. Just as the tips of his dad’s fingers brushed his shoulders, he stepped back, bringing himself flush with the side of his car. He looked away to avoid seeing the hurt that flashed in those dark eyes that looked so much like his own.
He put his hand out instead, a small concession, one he chose for himself.
“Hi,” he offered, trying to sound casual and relaxed when he was anything but. Nothing about this situation was casual.
His father stared at his hand for a moment, before clasping Drew’s frozen fingers between his rough palms.
“Welcome home, son,” he said, and Drew flinched just slightly at the words, refusing to comment on just how wrong every word of that statement was. Afraid to open his mouth in case something scathing came out, he just nodded and then pulled his hand back to stuff it into his pocket. The warmth on his skin lingered.
“I’m just gonna grab my bag,” he said and turned to his trunk, pulling out a small duffle bag that held a few days’ worth of clothes he’d brought with him. Whatever it was he was doing here; he wasn’t sticking around any longer than strictly necessary.
“Need help?” he heard his dad ask, and he shook his head, hoisting his bag onto his shoulder.
“No, thanks. It’s not heavy,” he said, and they stood there for a tense moment, not really sure how to proceed. His dad was eyeing his bag and looking like he was desperate to say something about the size of it.
“That all?” He didn’t have to wait too long for his comment.
“I could only get a couple of days off work,” Drew said, and his father fell silent for a moment. With a final glance at the bag, he nodded stiffly and motioned for Drew to head for the house.
Drew walked slowly over the snow, pretending like he was wary of slipping and falling over when in reality he wanted to postpone going inside as much as he possibly could. Out here, there was a semblance of normalcy. A scene of a son coming home after a trip and his parents greeting him happily. Once he walked inside, he knew the walls would close in on him, as if they knew he hadn’t been welcome there in years. As if they remembered the final words spoken to him.
He didn’t think he was ready for it.
But his long legs ate up the distance faster than he wanted to, and before he even managed to compose himself, he was standing in front of the door, his father ushering him in.
The heat from the house warmed him up instantly, and his stomach flipped uncomfortably at the realization that the house looked as if no time had passed since he had last been there. Same old paisley rugs decorated the floors, still looking plush and soft. Drew remembered how he used to braid the fringe just to watch it untangle itself. The ‘old dust collectors’, as his father called the little wooden knick-knacks his mother like to pile on top of every available surface, were joined with new ones and as if on cue, the bright cerise feather duster fluttered into the room swishing the invisible specks of dust into the air.
The smell of what he recognized was his favorite meal spread through the house, but instead of making him happy with anticipation, it grated on his already frayed nerves. He wasn’t there to play happy family. Granted, he had no idea why he was there just yet, but he knew it wasn’t to play the role of a dutiful son until his parents deemed it appropriate to let him in on their grand news.
He heard a clatter coming from the kitchen, and his father’s hand pushed against the small of his back making him stumble forward.
“Ray, is he here?” his mother’s voice drifted from the kitchen, and Drew realized that despite all the anger he still carried, it hurt to hear it. Like his father, it sounded just like before. A high-pitched sound that carried far. It made for an interesting childhood, trying to sleep in on weekends and failing to because a gentle conversation over breakfast between his parents sounded like two giants screaming at each other from two separate mountain tops.
“Yes, Vee, he’s here!”
“Oh, my boy,” he heard a loud sniffle and before he knew it, his mother was rushing out of the kitchen, catapulting herself towards him and wrapping him up in a hug he didn’t even have a chance to avoid. He could hear the kitchen utensils still clanking in the distance and it made him shiver. He had been away from magic for so long.
He stood ramrod straight, hands bound to his sides with his mother’s arms, her short hair tickling the skin of his neck and the familiar scent of roses and cooking spices filling his nostrils.
All of a sudden, he was a child again, fingers itching to hug her back and cuddle into her as she told him there was nothing wrong with him and that just because he was different didn’t mean he was any less important than anyone else. He remembered how loving she was and how special she made him feel.
It made the betrayal that came later all the more painful.
With a light wiggle he extricated himself from her arms and crossed his over his chest. He knew it looked defensive, but that was exactly what he wanted. To close himself off. To not let them get to him that quickly with false warmth and kindness. He tried to look somewhere over her shoulder to avoid the tears he caught a glimpse of when she stepped back from him. He couldn’t take it just then. She must have sensed his discomfort because she turned around, walking towards the kitchen and raising her hand to swipe it over her eyes.
“Are you hungry?” she asked, falsely chipper.
He followed her on autopilot.
The kitchen was connected to the small alcove where the dining table was set, and he noticed the same fancy tablecloth his mother used only for special occasions spread on top of it. The plate he had chipped while washing up at thirteen and then later insisted was his favorite was set on the spot he used to always sit in, and a serving bowl of potato wedges loaded with bacon, cheese and sour cream was sat right in the middle.
“Drew?” she prompted him.
“I ate on the way here,” he said. It was the truth; it had been a two-day drive from his apartment so he had stopped several times to eat. It was also spite that sent it on its trajectory towards his mother’s falling face.
“You always had an appetite as a boy, I’m sure you have room,” his father grunted, coming around the back of him and taking his seat.
Taking his lead his mother rallied and began serving. The rabbit shaped salt and pepper shakers began to hop towards him in offering. He stared at their painted ceramic faces with a grimace and used his fork to nudge them along towards his father.
“How was the journey up?” his mother asked. “Was it snowing all the way?”
“The weather was pretty clear until I got close.” Which wasn’t foreboding at all, he thought, slowly sinking into his own seat. He tried to find a position that didn’t make him acutely aware of all of his limbs, but it was impossible.
“It’s been snowing so much this year I wondered if someone cast something that went awry,” Vera joked lightly.
“Right…” He nodded, not really sure what the appropriate response to that could be.
“Was there traffic?” Ray asked, filling in the next silence before it could start.
Drew squinted at him for a moment before answering. “Not really.”
“Good, good. Traffic is hell sent,” he grumbled.
“You’ve experienced it a grand total of once when the traffic light went down on Main Street and you’ve never shut up about it,” Vera chided him, lumping a heaping portion of food on his plate before doing the same to Drew, gifting him a smile. “Don’t listen to your father, you know what he’s like.”
“It did take you a lot of time to get here,” his father said again, and Drew bristled. They shouldn’t know how long it took him to get there. They shouldn’t have even known where he was.
“I had to stop overnight. For safety reasons,” he said in a tone he hoped conveyed just how much he didn’t want to talk about it. His parents must have heard it because they both gave a sharp nod and turned to their untouched meals in silence.
Drew felt like he was in an alternate reality where this was his life. Where he came to his parents’ house for dinner once a week for a catch up, sniping good-naturedly at each other and retelling the same stories for nostalgia. As it was, this bizarre exchange of forced normality was setting his teeth on edge.
Ray began digging into the meal and Drew picked up his own fork, pushing the food around his plate wondering if he was really expected to sit here and eat.
“Do you need more sour cream?” his mother asked, voice so forcefully peppy it was making his skin crawl.
“No, thanks,” he said, trying to keep his composure until he could go to his bedroom and sleep.
He held a stupid hope that it was all a dream, and in the morning, he’d wake up in San Francisco again, in his apartment, between his scratchy blue sheets and lumpy pillows he had been meaning to change for months.
“You sure, you used to drown your potatoes in sour cream,” his mother said, earning a chuckle from his dad because, yes, he used to do that. Ten years ago. He hadn’t eaten most of his favorite foods since then.
“Things change.”
“It’s funny you say that,” his mother said, fully ignoring the bluntness of his tone. “There’s been quite a few developments around here lately, haven’t there dear?”
Ray nodded along. “It’s that Mayor, he’s going senile.”
“Ray!”
“What? Nothing will be the same around here anymore. Mark my words,” he said, pointing a potato wedge at her.
“It was an extenuating circumstance,” his mother cu
t in before his father could start a rant, turning to Drew with another smile. “You remember Mayor Harris, don’t you? He was your teacher in elementary school before he ran for office.”
“You were always getting in trouble with him,” Ray added with a laugh, previous disgruntlement already forgotten.
“Sure,” he said quietly as they continued to reminisce of ‘happier times’ without a single utterance from him.
Every single anecdote sent a pang right to his heart.
He was drowning in flashbacks of sleepy mornings, Sunday lunches and birthday cakes shared at that table. He felt image after image assault his head, and he couldn’t stop them from coming. There were memories in everything he saw; his awful drawings framed on the wall, the gap-toothed picture he took on his first day of school, a family photo of them camping in the woods in Daydream, pretending they were explorers lost in the wild even when the first town houses were within eyeshot.
His eyes caught the largest picture framed above the table, and he bit his lip hard to stop himself from screaming in anger. His parents dressed in their finest clothes, Drew stuffed into an itchy suit and his hair slicked to his head so hard he was afraid it would retreat back into his skull. And around his shoulders, the arm of his brother squeezing hard as he looked at the camera and smiled, his high school diploma clutched firmly in the hand that wasn’t used to drain the life out of him.
