Episode Seven
The house’s silence was daunting. It filled me with dread the moment I opened the door. If it weren’t for Alyssa and Maeve, I don’t think I would have gone inside. But it seemed foolish, to let my dark thoughts cast a shadow on what should have been a happy occasion, and their excitement was enough to string me along over the threshold.
I couldn’t help making comparisons between this house and the one in my dreams. In the few weeks I’d been in the hospital, my dreams had almost become more real to me than the waking world. It was strange now, to be back here, to see all the things that were once so familiar yet were now oddly foreign. It was as though I was looking at it through a stranger’s eyes, and the truth of that sat like a stone in my stomach.
“You girls can take the bedrooms,” I said, piling their bags inside the front hall. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Nonsense,” Alyssa said with a shake of her head. “You’re still recovering, Rhett. You need somewhere comfortable to rest. You keep your bedroom.”
I wasn’t surprised by her reaction, but I couldn’t say I was happy about it. Going back to the room where my life had been flipped inside out wasn’t something I was ready for, not without Val beside me. Still, I didn’t have it in me to argue about it. With a grudging smile, I nodded, unsure that I would be able to face my demons when the time came.
“Listen, Alyssa, Maeve…I want you to know that for as long as you’re here, this is your home. You don’t need to ask my permission for anything, and I certainly don’t expect anything more of you than your company. I know this has been hard on you both.”
“You’re family, Rhett,” Maeve said with a soft smile. “You always have been. So stop thinking that you’re burdening us somehow. If we didn’t want to be here, we wouldn’t be. Got it?”
“Maeve, get to those dishes in the sink,” Alyssa ordered, grabbing up a disheveled stack of books and righting them.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Alyssa, you really don’t need to do that,” I began, but she cut me off with a shake of her head.
“Go on upstairs to bed, Rhett. The doctor said that as long as you take your meds and you rest, you’ll recover just fine, and I intend to make sure those orders are followed to the letter. Understand?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yes ma’am.”
But as I climbed the stairs and was confronted with the empty hall above, my smile faltered. Meadow’s door was open, and through it I could see the tangled mess of blankets on her bed. They lay in the same position they’d been left in the night she’d died. The sight of her laying there, pale and weak as she clung desperately to life consumed me. That same, insistent panic I’d felt in that moment hugged me now, cradling me as I stood there near the doorway, unable to tear my gaze away. Immobilized by the ghosts of the past, I stared at those blankets wishing I’d see Meadow’s leg poking out from underneath like it always did.
It was some time later before I had the strength to move on. In my bedroom, more ghosts waited. They hid in the corners and beneath the bed, in the curtains and in the dark space between the jumble of sheets. They cried at me with Valerie’s voice, and I could hear her screaming my name in terror. It broke me, to think of how long she called for me as I slept. Was it one minute? Ten? I pushed the thought away and climbed into the still-rumpled blankets, pulling them around me for comfort. Even after all this time, they still smelled like her. I buried my face against them, overcome with longing.
I wept then. Tears spilled over my cheeks to wet the blanket, and I pressed it close to my face as I sobbed. There was a well of desolation within me, one that seemed unending. My mind touched the memories of that night and I forced myself to relive them, to confront the agony they left behind. I cried until my eyes were fire and my chest was hollow. I cried until my stomach was sick and my body weak. I cried until the tears were all dried up and I had nothing left to give.
Then, I slept.
—
Time often moved differently in the dream world. Some nights when I lay my head down to sleep, I would be in the dream world mere hours before waking again. Other nights, I would spend days in the dream world before the waking world welcomed me back. There was no way to predict how much time I would have there, so it was imperative that I made every second count.
I opened my eyes to the chime of the clock, and the frantic hiss of the train’s whistle. Os Onta. I’d almost forgotten. If it weren’t for the image of the man in black’s eyes seared into my brain, I might have written the place off entirely. But his appearance made me think there was something more to this place, and I wasn’t leaving until I figured out what it was.
The people I passed along the street had lived hard lives. I could see it in the tatters of their clothes and the film of dirt on their skin. They walked past me as though I was invisible to them, never sparing a glance in my direction. They moved around me, born along on some invisible current, silently drowning on a waterless tide. I kept to myself as I made my way past the church and rounded the bend in the road. It led directly to the train station, an old, rickety building of brick and grayed out wood. The station’s gilded doors stood open, and through them I could see white and red checkered tile. As I drew nearer and stepped inside, I realized that the building was especially wide, but not particularly deep. No more than thirty feet separated me from the opposite wall’s doors which led to the platform, and beyond that, the tracks.
A series of benches lined the walls and filled the middle of the tiled floor, butted up against one another to divide the space in two. To the right of me was a wooden desk with golden metal bars that adorned the front, with a sign hanging from it that read ticket purchases here. Though the ticket desk was empty, there were a few men and women sitting at various benches about the room.
Making my way to the desk, I noticed a small golden bell. It sat there as if patiently waiting to be rung, and I placed a single finger over it, gently tapping the top. The bell’s song flitted around the room like a bird caught in a breeze, echoing off the walls before escaping into the city. From somewhere behind the desk there was a grunt and a grumble, then the shuffling of feet. Out of a side door I hadn’t noticed, a man appeared. He had a bulbous nose and slanted eyes, the corners of his mouth tugged downward in a frown. Etched into the pocket of his waistcoat was a name. Erwin.
“Where you headed?” he asked. His voice had a gravelly quality to it, like two stones grating together.
“Your name is Erwin, I take it?”
He nodded.
“Erwin, I’m Rhett. You can probably tell, but I’m not from around here. And I’ll be honest, I have no idea where this train goes.”
Erwin scratched at the gray beard lining his jaw, his eyes thoughtful as he looked at me. “Whereabouts are you from?”
I considered what to say. I could have told him I came from somewhere close, like Os Ovo, but it didn’t seem far enough not to know the lay of the land. I didn’t put much faith in my ability to convince a native of Alta California that I came from anywhere near here, so, in the end, I settled for the truth.
“I come from a place outside of Alta California. My wife and daughter have lived here for some time, but they’ve gone missing, and I’m doing everything I can to find them.”
Pulling the picture from my pocket, I placed it on the desk and slid it toward him. Erwin studied the photograph for a moment before pushing it back at me.
“Never seen anybody that looked like that before,” he said. Even though I’d expected his answer, there was a stab of disappointment at his words. Everywhere I went and with everyone I talked to, every response was the same. Either Meadow and Val had never really been here, or the people of Alta California were hiding something.
“Maybe you could tell me a bit about Os Onta,” I suggested. “Like why all the shops are boarded up, and why everyone in town seems down on their luck?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake. Erwin’s face contorted in confusion, and he tilted his head to look at me, brow furrowed in disbelief.
“You must be from some ways away if you don’t know the answer to that question.”
My heart sank into my stomach. “I am,” I managed, though I knew better than to elaborate.
“Might be that you think we’d rebound quicker, after the war,” he said. “But thirty years later and we’re still fighting. Only this time, instead of fighting soldiers, we’re fighting the poverty the war left behind.”
I wanted to know more. I wanted to know how long the war lasted and why it started. I wanted to know who fought and who won, and how many people had died. But asking anything would have invited suspicion and questions I couldn’t answer, and that was something I couldn’t afford.
“Was much of the war fought here in Os Onta?” I probed. It seemed a safe question for someone from out of state.
“Not much,” Erwin said with a shake of his head. “We lost a lot of boys. Places closed up shop pretty quick, with no one to help run them. Eventually people took to looting and rioting as things got more desperate. Now we’re in a hole too damn deep to get out of.”
I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity, for him and for the rest of Os Onta. The price of war was a hefty one no matter who won, but these people had been suffering and paying the price long after they were due. Still, to ignore the war entirely would be a fatal mistake, of that much I was sure.
“War doesn’t discriminate,” I said after a moment’s silence. “I’m sure you’re not the only ones suffering.”
Erwin’s chuckle was sharp and humorless. “That we’re not. It’s like this all over the place, at least here in Alta California. I don’t know what it’s like where you’re from.”
“It’s much of the same,” I lied. “We fared a little better, maybe. We didn’t lose so many men, didn’t have to close up half the town. But it still touched us deeply.”
Erwin nodded, his smile sad and slow.
“Forgive my ignorance, Erwin. I just…I guess I didn’t realize just how ravaged things would be here. It’s hard to see.”
“Harder to live with, Rhett. Believe me.”
Making my way back outside, I couldn’t help feeling lost. After coming all this way, I thought I’d find something. A rumor, maybe, or a ghost. Anything at all, to let me know that I was doing the right thing, that I was headed in the right direction. But it seemed everywhere I turned there was nothing but desolation and despair.
Os Onta was, in some tragically poetic way, a bitter representation of what my life had become. Years turned to ash as the Ontans waited for the ravages of war to subside, for the horror of their lives to rebound and recover in any way. But it hadn’t, and from what I could see it likely never would. All that remained were the memories of what the city used to be, and when those that lived to tell the tale died, there would be nothing left but boarded up windows, and the whispers of what had once been.
Walking through the city, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was what I had to look forward to. Was this what I was destined for? Wasn’t I just like them, hoping and praying that my life would one day go back to normal? That somehow, some way, my family would return to me, and I would be more than this shell of boarded up windows and whispers of what once was? I’d been out there so long, trying to find my way, trying to find my family because I thought that would somehow bring them back to me in the waking world. And what had it gotten me? Sun-blistered skin and cracked heels. Chapped cheeks and weary bones. As I made my way to the edge of the city, I couldn’t help but glance back. Maybe I was just like them, waiting for some unknowable savior to alter the course of my future. Maybe I was a broken shell praying to become whole.
All I knew for sure at that moment was that no matter what fate waited for me at the end of it all, I wasn’t going to give up hope.
—
Waking up in my own bed was disorienting. For nearly two weeks I’d awoken to the sounds of buzzing lights and beeping monitors. It was, whether I’d realized it or not, the thing that grounded me, that cemented me in the waking world. It was the thing that let me know I was home.
But waking without all of that noise was eerie. The silence played tricks on my mind, lulling me into a strange sort of purgatory where I was neither here nor there, and for a moment I’d forgotten entirely where I was. The moment I opened my eyes it all came crashing back. The weight of it crushed against my chest, the immediate sorrow chasing away any questions I might have had.
I took my time getting up. I wasn’t ready to leave the comfort of my bed, to cast aside the sheets that smelled like Val, to push away the last thing she touched. I wanted to lay there all day, to wrap myself in the ghost of her and forget the nightmare I’d fallen into. When I closed my eyes, I could almost convince myself that she was there with me, that none of this had happened. I let myself linger in the lie for as long as I could, hoping it could heal the tatters of my soul one ragged seam at a time.
When I finally rose and made my way downstairs, I found Alyssa sitting at the table alone.
“Rhett,” she said in greeting, flashing an overly warm smile. “How did you sleep?”
Like shit, I thought, biting my tongue. “Well enough, I suppose. How about you?”
She sighed, the corners of her mouth twitching into a bemused line. “Poorly. I didn’t think it would bother me, to be this close to Val’s things. I thought it would bring me comfort, to feel her little touches all around me. But…” Her words trailed away, and I nodded. She didn’t need to explain. I knew all too well how she felt.
“It’ll get easier,” I said, heading to the coffee pot and pouring myself a cup.
Alyssa scoffed. “Are you sure about that?”
Shrugging, I took a seat next to her. “That’s what I tell myself. I hope that it’s true, though. For our sake, and for theirs.”
“You know, Rhett…I’m grateful you came back to us. I’ll always be grateful for that. But…I just wish I understood why. Why you and not them? What made you different?”
Why?
I’d asked myself that same question a million times over, and I still had no answer to give. I didn’t have an answer for any of it. Not the illness, not the dreams…nothing.
“I wish I knew,” I whispered at last, defeated. “I would trade it all in a heartbeat, you know. I would trade places with either one of them if I could.”
Alyssa’s hand snaked across the table, and she slipped her fingers through mine with a squeeze. “I know,” she said, her eyes glassy with tears. “I know.”
—
“Have you always done that when you sleep?”
Maeve slid the last half of her sandwich across the table at me, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she studied my every move.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“You know,” she said, waving a hand about vaguely. “The whole weirdo eyes open thing. I checked in on you when I went to bed, and there you were laying flat on your back, your eyes wide open staring at the ceiling. I thought maybe you were still awake so I called your name but you didn’t respond. I thought maybe you were doing some kind of weird sleepwalking-without-the-walking thing.”
For a moment, I thought she might have been joking. But the longer I studied her face, the more serious it became.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Maeve,” I said earnestly. “I’ve never slept with my eyes open. Not once in my life.”
“Yes, you have,” she said, nodding emphatically. “I remember it distinctly because I thought it was really creepy. Do you think maybe it’s a side effect of whatever made you guys sick? Maybe you should see a doctor…”
I wasn’t sure what to think. I could see the sincerity on her face, the furrowing of her brow and the shadows of concern in her eyes. If she was right, if I was displaying some strange sleep behaviours, then what other explanation could there be?
“It must be,” I concluded at last, not at all convinced. I pushed her plate away, the momentary hunger that pained me now long gone.
“Are you okay, Rhett?”
Maeve’s voice was so soft, I almost didn’t hear it. I could feel the laughter burbling in my throat, the mania of a man lost. I wasn’t okay, but she didn’t need me to tell her that. She could see it in my eyes.
“I’m here, Rhett. Talk to me.” Her hand was warm as it rested against mine. For a moment, I stared at it, feeling hopelessly torn in two. Would she understand, if I told her about the dreams? Or would she see it as another side affect of my affliction? Would she deign to listen to the ravings of a lunatic trapped at the brink of madness? Isn’t that what I was, after all?
My lips parted, my jaw working silently as if I might confess. I could tell her everything. I could pour my soul out onto the table, let it fill the space between us. I could divest myself of this haunted thing, could shed it as if it were a second skin.
And yet…
Somewhere, deep inside, I knew I couldn’t. The moment I confessed, it would no longer be mine and mine alone. It would be ours, a secret between friends, a clandestine ghost that haunted every interaction. And once it was ours—rather than mine—I would be forced to find the truth. I would be forced to find the meaning of it all, to discover what it really was. Perhaps it was a dream, though I’d had my suspicions that was not entirely true. But the moment I uttered the words aloud, Pandora would be free.
I closed my mouth, pulling my hand away from hers. One day, I would tell her. I would tell her all of it, every last thing. But not today. Today, the dream would remain mine, and with it my hopes could survive.
(Read Episode 8 by clicking the Page 2 Link Below)