Episode Six
Things in the dream world were starting to feel familiar. The house, the streets leading out past the Alta California signpost, even the series of antiquated apartments that stared at me through my windows. Everything was tainted with an eerie intimacy. It wasn’t just their proximity that bred the feeling within me. It was the fact that no matter where I was when I left this dream world, I always ended up back there when I fell asleep again. Right back in the same place I’d left.
Everything in this world was linear. Time seemed to move just as it did in the waking world. There were no strange jumps from one place to the next, no appearances of places and things I’d never seen before. Everything was as it had been on my last foray through the city, and that left an unsettling knot of worry in the pit of my stomach.
I’d ventured through Alta California on many occasions by then. I spent my days inside the hospital, and my nights roaming the city streets. Though I never went back to Os Ovo, I began to expand my search past the confines of the city I’d come to think of as an alternate version of home. There was Os Oran immediately to the north, a small town rife with crabgrass and towering oaks. There was Uppen Mound a little to the east, past a landmark I’d named the Sandy Ridge. I’d seen the outskirts of Nicoker, where I’d nabbed a map from an old gas station while the attendant was occupied. And, most recently, I’d set my sights on Os Onta. It was, based on my estimation from the details of my stolen map, about a half day’s walk from the house.
In each town, I was careful to show the picture I kept of Meadow and Val. I asked the locals if they’d ever seen the girls, but their answers were always the same. Never seen anyone that looked like that before. To say it was disheartening was an understatement. I felt the fingers of doubt needling their way into my thoughts, sowing the seeds of disillusionment. They were there every time I arrived, and I carried them with me when I left. Yet I clung to my mission like a drowning man to a life raft, unwilling to give in to despair. Finding them was the only purpose I had in life, and abandoning their pursuit was tantamount to condemning them to death. I wouldn’t be party to that, no matter how sick with grief I felt. I could mourn them and at times even envy them, but I couldn’t abandon them.
Folding the map along its preordained creases, I stuffed it in my pocket and began the long slog beneath the scorching Alta California sun. I’d learned after the first few treks to bring some nominal supplies along for the ride. Water was the most important. Even an hour in the sun could make your body wither and dry until it felt as though you were boiling from the inside. But worse than the heat was the thirst. It was an insidious thing. An incessant, nagging need that would not subside on its own no matter how little attention I gave it. The only way to quell it was to feed it, and for that, water had always been of the highest priority.
Other amenities were small, but necessary. A tube of sunscreen, a worn and faded ballcap, a journal and pen, comfortable shoes and light, airy clothes. And, amongst them all, the picture of Meadow and Val. I prized it above all things, and often found my fingers reflexively digging into the corners of my pocket to assure myself it was still there. The edges had worn away beneath my touch, and had long since filed down to a smooth curve. It gave me comfort, to know it was there. After all, they were my purpose in this world.
After a few hours of walking I stopped beneath the shade of what I had named the Black Ash trees. They were unlike anything that existed in the waking world. Their trunks were prickly and dark, a strange combination of ropey bark and biting thorn. They towered overhead, branches spreading and thinning like fingers raking the sky. Their leaves were black and ashy to the touch, so much so that when the wind rustled through them, gray dust fell in a shower upon the ground.
As peculiar as they were, the Black Ashes provided a good deal of shade. Their leaves were wide and full, and I found that they blotted out the sun quite well. I sat for a time beneath them, resting my weary head in my hands. I found myself drifting along the precipice of sleep, but I wasn’t ready to go back. Not yet. There was still work to be done in this world, work that saved me from the feelings of uselessness and unimportance that plagued me when I was awake. Giving my head a shake, I roused myself back to life and opened my eyes.
That was when I saw him. The man in black. It was the first time he’d appeared since my first sleep in this dream world, and the sight of him now was equally as unsettling as it had been then. Though I couldn’t see his face, it was clear his gaze rested in my direction. I stood, hefting the small pack I carried over my shoulder.
“Hey,” I called out to him, taking a step forward. He didn’t move. It was an encouraging sign.
“Who are you?” I shouted, venturing closer by a few more steps. “Are you following me?”
In the blink of an eye, he was gone. It was as if he’d simply disappeared.
Or maybe he was never really there at all, a dark part of my mind whispered. I stared at the place where he’d stood for several minutes before moving on, and though my feet put plenty of space between me and the image of the man in black, I couldn’t seem to erase him from my thoughts.
Os Onta was bigger than Os Ovo, though not by much. It had a similar charm but with a more practical design. At the heart of Os Onta stood a stony church, one with a sagging steeple and a grand clock on its face. Each hour the clock clanged a dulcet tune, and with it came the blaring horn of a train.
Just inside the city’s limits was a sprawling park. The lawn was adorned with a wide fountain, one that had long ago run dry. Inside its bed were scraps of withered leaves browned and curled in death, nestled within a fine layer of silt. An angel stood in the center of the fountain, her once beautiful face now cracked into three parts, her divine smile all the more sad for it.
I took a seat on the lip of the fountain and watched as people passed. It had become my usual method, to sit and watch the people of each new city I visited. I liked to think that it taught me something about them, that it helped me to understand who they were. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I convinced myself that if I understood them, then maybe I could get them to talk.
Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed the map and unfolded it on the ledge next to me. Bit by bit I began to mark the map over Os Onta, tagging every landmark I saw. The church, the fountain, the train station, and so on. I wanted to be thorough, needed to be thorough, because I couldn’t be sure what information would prove useful in the end. When at last I had marked each spot on the map, I folded it and put it back in my pocket.
Making my way to the main road, I noticed a row of shops that lined the opposite side of the street. Most were dark beyond their windows, some boarded up with bits of moldy plywood and faded tarps. Others had their windows cracked and broken, bits of glass still littering the sidewalk beneath them. I walked past them at a distance, unsure of what to make of it all. Was Os Onta a place where the downtrodden found harbor? Was it the safe haven of the destitute and the desperate? Or had something infinitely more sinister happened here?
I mulled over those thoughts as I rounded the corner, and found myself face to face with the man in black.
The first thing I noticed were his eyes. They were hard and unforgiving, two glittering marbles of onyx that stared out at me from beneath thin, sickly looking brows. His face was sallow and ashen, his mouth nothing more than the shadow of a line. Cheekbones rose high and sharp enough to cut. They appeared all the more jagged for the hollows beneath them where dark shadows gathered like inky black pools. Though he was no more than a few inches taller than me, he was broader in the chest, and infinitely more imposing.
“You’ve been following me,” I said. There was no question in my words, only assumption. I fought the urge to squirm beneath the intensity of his gaze as he watched me, his thin mouth twisting into a frown.
“Who are you?” I asked, piercing the silence. “What do you want from me?”
The man in black took a step closer, until his face was mere inches from mine. I could smell pine and smoke on his skin, and it made me shudder. I swallowed hard as he opened his mouth to speak, and his words were sharp as broken glass.
“You don’t belong here.”
—
When I awoke, my skin was slick with sweat. I breathed deep, willing my heart to slow its frantic beating, and I pressed a trembling hand to my eyes. The man in black’s voice rasped in my ear, repeating his words over and over. You don’t belong here. I didn’t have a clue what it might mean, but I did know one thing for sure—I never wanted to see the man in black again.
Not wanting to lay in bed any longer, I rose and dressed quickly. That was when I noticed two sets of luggage stowed near the corner of the far wall. The soft clink of scraping metal sounded, and I turned to find the door swinging wide. There in the doorframe stood Alyssa, and next to her was Val’s sister, Maeve.
“Oh, Rhett, honey,” Alyssa said with a broken sob. She crossed the room at a jog, throwing her arms around my shoulders. Much as I didn’t want to admit it, I took great comfort in her affections. I wrapped my arms about her waist, holding her tight for several moments before letting go.
“Alyssa,” I said, wiping away the sudden wetness on my cheeks. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hi Rhett,” Maeve said, filling in the space her mother left behind. Her lips brushed against my cheek, soft and smooth, and when she pulled away, they wore a grim smile.
“We just went to see Meadow,” Alyssa informed, sitting gingerly on the bed.
“How is she?” I tried to stem the flow of tears as they fell and found myself failing miserably.
“She looks peaceful,” Maeve said, placing her hand on the small of my back. “Like she’s sleeping.”
“So, no change then,” I murmured. “She’s been like that since we got here.”
“I’m sure the doctors are doing all they can,” Alyssa said softly, as if trying to convince herself. “The doctor we spoke with said they’re preparing to do a spinal tap on Val later today. It’s supposed to determine if there’s some kind of infection they haven’t found.”
“They think,” Maeve added, “that if an infection is present, it might have caused the brain to swell which could be causing the coma.”
“At this point, I’m praying it is an infection,” I said with a croak. “Anything that can give us some answers. At least if it is an infection, they’ll have some way to treat it.”
“Somehow I don’t think it will be that simple,” Alyssa said with a sigh. “I’m sorry we couldn’t come sooner, Rhett. I hope you know we were thinking of you every day.”
“And we called for you,” Maeve said, guiding me to the edge of the bed. I dropped onto it, my mind too scattered to argue.
“The nurses never mentioned you called.”
“I’m sure they didn’t want to wake you. The time difference meant we were calling pretty late.”
I nodded absentmindedly, thoughts chasing each other in circles through my mind. “Adaline and Hannah are here too,” I told them. “They were brought in the night we were. I’ve been to see them a few times, to visit with their parents and let them know I’m here if they need anything.”
“How are they handling all of this?” Alyssa asked.
“Better than me, I think,” I confessed. “If I’m honest, I’ve struggled to face them. It’s my fault their children are here in the first place. I don’t know how I can ever make that right. Every apology feels woefully inadequate.”
“I’m sure they don’t blame you,” Maeve soothed. “No one knew this would happen. And they obviously trust you with their girls, otherwise they never would have been allowed to go on the trip.”
I choked a laugh, rubbing at the ache near my temples. “It doesn’t matter whether or not I meant for this to happen. It’s still my fault at the end of the day. I know it, and I know they know it. I can see it in their eyes every time I visit the girls. They’re cordial with me, but I know they blame me. Hell, I’d blame me too, if I was them.”
“Hush,” Alyssa chided. “I won’t hear any more of that kind of talk. You’re my son, and if they want to fight with someone about it, they can fight with me.”
I’d always loved Alyssa. There was a strength of character about her, a toughness that was borne of years alone spent clawing her way through society’s casual misogyny and indifference. Her skin was thicker than iron, nearly impenetrable, and the anger she possessed was enough to burn cities to the ground. When she loved you, she would do anything to defend you. And when she didn’t…well, it was best to stay the hell out of her way.
“I’m glad you both came all this way,” I said, reaching out to touch her hand. “I know Val and Meadow would be so happy that you’re here.”
“I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” Alyssa whispered. “But we’ll be right here next to you for as long as we’re here, and we’ll stay as long as we can.”
The next few days were a blur. I sat at Val’s side as the doctors performed her spinal tap. They said the procedure could be painful, but they doubted she would feel it. I hoped she didn’t, for her own sake. I couldn’t imagine the pain of being trapped in your own body, doomed to feel everything that happened to you while unconscious. That was the stuff of nightmares.
Alyssa and Maeve took shifts staying with me or the girls. It was immensely comforting, to know that even if I couldn’t be with Val and Meadow, they weren’t alone. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could allow myself to rest.
When the doctors received the results of my MRI, they gathered us all into my room.
“I have to say, Rhett, you have a beautiful brain,” the doctor said with a laugh. I had no idea how to respond, but thankfully I didn’t have to.
“Everything on the structural side of things looks totally normal,” he continued. Alyssa exhaled sharply next to me, and her hand on my arm loosed its grip.
“I don’t see evidence of any tumors or damage whatsoever. The only notable change was in the areas where we saw a lot of activity throughout the MRI. Can you tell me what you were thinking about while you were in there?”
I shrugged, brow furrowing in thought. “My dreams,” I said at last. “Ever since I got here I’ve been having strange dreams. I remember I was thinking about them.”
“Hmm,” the doctor mumbled through pursed lips. “That’s interesting.”
“Why?” Maeve asked. “Why is that interesting?”
“Well, usually when our patients are undergoing their scans, there are two core areas that light up. One is the part of the brain that controls construct creation and auditory and visual sensation. Essentially, the components used in imagination. The other part of the brain is the area that controls memory.
“For you, Rhett, there were signs of activation in the temporal lobe, the part of the brain that is used in memory. But there were also signs of activation in the parietal lobe, which is uncommon.”
“And what does the parietal lobe do?” I asked, stomach twisting itself into a knot.
“Usually, the parietal lobe is involved in spatial awareness and recognition. It’s also the sensory powerhouse of the brain. It’s used to integrate our senses and differentiate between them. I think that whatever you were thinking of wasn’t just a memory. To your brain, you were actively experiencing whatever you were seeing.”
A sudden ache throbbed behind my eyes. “What’s the significance of all of this, doctor?”
“Maybe nothing. But whatever you went through might have altered the way your brain processes sensory information, and it’s something I’d like to keep an eye on. But, that’s something we can schedule for, not something you need to stick around for.”
“Are you saying I get to go home?” The idea of it was unsettling. How could I possibly go home when my family was still here?
“We’ve kept you for observation for a week,” the doctor said with a nod. “You’ve been stable and had no relapses or issues that I can see. I’m going to put the paperwork through for you to be discharged. In a couple of hours, you’ll be able to go home.”
Alyssa and Maeve were thrilled by the news, but I couldn’t have felt further from that. Going home was the last thing I wanted. I tried to convince myself that things wouldn’t really change, that I could come and see them every single day if I wanted to. I’d probably get to spend more time with them, now that the nurses wouldn’t be pestering me to get back to my bed. But the prospect of going home, of walking into that empty house alone, it was too much. It felt wrong to go home without them, like I was being unfaithful somehow.
“I’m going to arrange for a cab to take us to your house,” Alyssa said with a grin. “I’m sure you’re eager to go home and sleep in your own bed again.”
I smiled and nodded, trying not to let the hollowness inside me creep out for them to see. I might be going back to my house, but I wasn’t going home.
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