With some tweaking, this scene takes place during chapter eleven of Uninvited Guest.
As always, constructive criticism is welcome on my stories.
Trekking through the woods makes a long day during the muggy August weather. Regan is exhausted by the time dusk falls.
The endless hours of searching prove to be futile. They've found nothing. No clue to Dan's whereabouts, no sign of him whatsoever.
Regan isn't sure what he expected, or even wanted, to find. A bloody scrap of a T-shirt caught on a low-hanging branch? Dan's Bob-White jacket, carelessly tossed into the mud as a sign for his disdain of his life in Sleepyside? A handwritten note, informing them of his decision to return to his criminal lifestyle?
Dan's broken body, limbs twisted and eyes sightless-
Regan's stomach lurches. Not that. Anything but that.
He would rather have Dan as a delinquent than have him dead.
Dinner at Elijah Maypenny's cabin is a quiet affair. Regan finds himself lacking the motivation or energy for conversation. The Belden brothers' usual banter is absent, while Jim is silent, his expression a combination of frustration and concern. Tom looks sympathetic but worried, and Elijah himself is closemouthed and withdrawn.
The loudest noise when the boys leave is the evening crickets chirping in the grass. A wave of grief collapses over Regan as remembers Dan telling him, during a family dinner in this very cabin, how much he loved watching night fall over the forest.
"The sun retires, and the stars slowly emerge as the sky dims, like they were just waiting for the right time to come out of hiding," Dan said, his eyes gleaming, with his usual spirit when he spoke of his love for nature.
In the present, Regan closes his eyes for several moments, wondering. Dan . . . where are you hiding?
As Elijah remains inside, Tom helps Regan unsaddle Spartan and Brownie. They work alongside each other in silence, but before Tom leaves, he pauses to reassure Regan.
"We'll find him, Bill," Tom says softly. "I know you're worried, but Dan is a good kid."
"Yeah," Regan replies, unable to keep the sourness from his voice, "such a good kid that he stole Julianna's wedding ring."
"You know whatever Dan has done, he's done with the best of intentions," Tom responds, his tone surprisingly lacking in rebuke.
"I know," Regan says wearily. "That's what scares me. You and I both know where good intentions lead."
"If Dan left of his own volition, he'll come back," Tom insists. "He's a good kid, Bill. You should give him more credit."
"You have more faith in him than I do," Regan returns, finality in his voice. Let him be a criminal, just don't let him be dead.
For the first time, traces of anger are evident in Tom's words. "I know him better than you do," Tom says bluntly.
Regan froze in the midst of his task, stunned at Tom's statement. Not for surprise at the declaration itself, but because he recognizes the truth of it. A distinct wall has developed between him and Dan, one that Regan may have-with the best of intentions-deliberately constructed. Not for the first or last time, regret sears through his being.
"You're right," Regan admits coolly. "I don't know Dan very well at all." His stomach twists as he adds with bitter satisfaction, "I suppose us all being here tonight proves that none of us did."
A small sigh escapes Tom. "Good night, Bill." His tone carries a note of sadness. He leaves, his footfalls a lonely echo in the stillness of the barn.
For the next few minutes, Regan remains where he is, the conversation replaying in his head.
What does it say about him that Tom thinks better of Dan than Regan himself?
Tom's words are painfully accurate: Regan doesn't know Dan, not as a person, not even as a relative. Any denying that is pointless, and Regan is too old to lie to himself or try to convince himself otherwise.
There's too much of himself in Dan. That was the first trait Regan noticed in his nephew during his arrival in Sleepyside. The kid was guarded because he was wounded, fiercely independent because he didn't have many people to rely on and others had failed him too often before. He was stubborn, belligerent, and defensive-not by choice, but because circumstances demanded it for survival.
Just like Regan was, not even a decade ago.
And those qualities of Dan reminded Regan far too much of himself, both as he was at that age, and as he is now. Keeping Dan at a distance was necessary; Regan did not want to have look at Dan and see his past, look at Dan and see himself personified, and then loathe what he saw. It was simply too painful.
In a way, he not only pushed Dan away for his own sake, but for Dan, too. He didn't want Dan to know the bitterness that separated the Regan family, didn't think it right that Dan should learn from a person as flawed as him, who couldn't cope with his past and allowed that to affect his future.
Good intentions.
A void developed between them, one that Regan sporadically maintained out of compulsion-no one could wound him if he kept them at an arm's length.
Acknowledging Dan is a reminder of all the times Regan has suffered-and not just because of his sister. Dan is a mirror, reflecting Regan's past, forcing him to revisit old wounds and question the decisions leading up to this point. Dan is the doorway to memories Regan is not prepared to confront, unearthing darker aspects of himself Regan wishes he could forget.
In Sleepyside, Regan thought he could have a fresh start, reinvent himself, cast aside anything from the past he would rather not remember.
Dan is a living testament that new beginnings are impossible, that the past will chase Regan down and give him a kick in the teeth anytime he might begin to think he can escape. Dan is the embodiment of everything Regan dislikes about himself, everything Regan hated his sister for. Dan is the past returning to haunt him.
It is easier-so much easier-to share a laugh with Jim or lend some advice to Honey, than to have to face Dan. Because it's never just Dan, it's Regan himself, and his sister, irreversibly and inevitably intertwined with who Dan is. And to see Dan is to realize just how many mistakes Regan has made, just how many aspects of himself he wishes he could change. It goes beyond unpleasant or uncomfortable to straight unnerving.
And yet at the same time, Regan knows the way he thinks is unfair to Dan; it's completely selfish to look at another and see only himself. He should allow Dan to be his own person, rather than the living memory of his parents, than the living memory of his younger self, but it's impossible for Regan to divorce the past from the present.
Another one of his qualities that Dan shares, apparently.
Weariness and anxiety seep into Regan's bones, and heaving a tired sigh, he trudges back to the cabin.
Warm yellow light spills out from the windows, pooling to form an oasis of illumination. A pang pierces Regan's chest as realizes were this any other night, Dan would be just returning from evening patrol, the house alight to greet him.
Elijah Maypenny is in the living room, occupying his customary armchair as he holds the newspaper; however, his eyes aren't moving along the lines of text, instead staring fixedly at one spot.
Regan clears his throat, and Elijah starts.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at Dan's room," Regan says quietly. "Just to see if anything is missing or . . . out of place." And to make sure he doesn't have any more stolen property, Regan adds silently.
"Of course," Elijah replies. "Hadn't thought of that myself. Go ahead, Bill."
The sound of Regan's footsteps on the wooden stairs is the only sound to pervade the quiet surrounding the cabin.
Jesus, no wonder Elijah had agreed to take in Dan. Years of living alone in this silence would have driven Regan crazy long ago.
Dan's room is at the end of the upstairs hall, and Regan has to pass by several closed doors to arrive there. Elijah's bedroom is on the ground floor, at the back of the house, meaning these rooms are empty.
How did Dan feel walking past these sealed doorways each day? Had he ever wondered about the story behind them?
The door to Dan's room is closed as well. Regan grasps the doorknob, the metal cool beneath his callused hand, but for a couple of heartbeats, cannot bring himself to open it. He takes a few seconds to steel himself, and then thrusts the door open.
The windows are open.
That's the first thing Regan notices.
The windows are open, as if the occupant has simply gone out for a walk and will be back at any moment.
The evening breeze lightly ruffles the curtains, and fresh pain overwhelms Regan as he remembers the two current options for the fate of its usual occupant. He closes his eyes, letting the ache in his heart subside, and then glances about the room.
The sheer starkness of the room surprises him.
The room is clean and bright. The walls are paneled with a polished hardwood that is pale, almost white. The floor and furnishings are of similar material, maybe a shade or two darker, but not by much. The dorm-length bed frame has the traditional square, paneled headboard and footboard with low posts.
Decoration is sparse. Customary country curtains of Carolina blue cotton frame both of the two windows. The quilt on the bed has a carpenter's color wheel pattern of ivory, dark blue, and medium blue. A large, oval crocheted rag rug of matching colors is settled on the floor in the very center of the room. The various pieces were probably crafted by Junia Maypenny before she passed away.
Regan carefully observes the structure of the room and its fixtures. Other than the bed, the only other furniture is a beautifully carved desk, a tall chest of drawers, and a floor to ceiling bookcase. The desk is in the middle of the same wall as the door, while against the adjacent wall is bureau and at the far end, the closet. On the opposite wall are the two windows, with the bookcase in between, and in the center of the left wall is the bed.
There are no posters on the walls, no picture frames on the desk. The room is tidy, but hardly contains anything beyond the bare essentials. The lack of sentiment or warm color gives the room a cold, empty feeling.
Glancing about the room, Regan slowly makes his way to the closet. He pulls open one of the double doors, noting the full-length mirror on the door's interior.
Rifling through the clothing hangers, the articles arranged by color, Regan realizes he has little idea of what Dan owns. Most of the clothes are black, and the ones that aren't are dark, cool tones. T-shirts, thermals, several light sweaters, a few polos, a number of button-downs. Two suits, one black, one navy, are neatly clipped on hangers. The former, it dawns on Regan, is the outfit Dan was planning to wear at Julianna and Hans's wedding.
Regan's throat feels oddly tight as he continues his examination of the closet's contents.
The shoe rack contains several pairs of work boots, one for winter weather, another capped with steel on the toes. The other shoes are a couple pairs of running sneakers, and two sets of dress shoes, one more formal than the other.
On an impulse, Regan tugs open the other closet door and searched for any containers. Spotting a crate at the back, he pulls it out and rummages through it for a moment, checking for the absence of a specific item to confirm his suspicions. His efforts reward him with a pair of dusty cowboy boots.
Regan stares at the shoes before dropping them back into the crate and return it to its spot at the back. That was something, at least. Dan hasn't brought those with him-Regan's stomach sinks. If Dan hasn't gone back to being a criminal, then he's most likely-
But he ran when Regan saw him. Dan probably just didn't think to stop running to take his boots with him.
Uncertain of what else to do, Regan checks for a number of Dan's favorite T-shirts- Led Zepplin, Metallica, Nine Inch Nails, Aerosmith, and the one with the biohazard symbol-they're all there.
But the AC/DC T-shirt-"For Those About to Rock"-that's missing.
Regan closes his eyes. Of course. Dan was wearing that shirt today before he disappeared.
Where the hell has Dan gone? Is he lying on the ground, hurt, alone in the woods with no one to help him? Is he drinking in a city bar? Or is he already dead-
Stop it. Don't think about that.
Delinquent is still better than dead.
He finds himself at Dan's bookshelf, and then it occurs to him: Dan has always enjoyed recreational reading. Hope surges through Regan as he scans the titles, desperately looking for a hint to where Dan has gone, why his room bears more resemblance to a hotel than a home, or even who his nephew is.
The shelf at eye-level is mostly academic: thesaurus, dictionary, atlas, grammar guide, and a few tomes about nature-plant and animal identification. The shelf above is filled with poem and short story collections. Dan is quite a prolific reader, apparently; Regan can see anthologies by Robert Frost, Robert Jeffers, Edgar Allen Poe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Katherine Anne Porter, D.H. Lawrence, Henry Longfellow, and Lord Byron.
The shelf below has classic fiction such as Dracula, The Crucible, A Separate Peace, The Scarlet Letter, Frankenstein, To Kill a Mocking Bird, The Invisible Man, The Great Gatsby, East of Eden, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy. Dan seems to like old-fashioned horror novels, Regan notices offhandedly.
On the level underneath the classics is fiction of the more contemporary vein. It contains a few installments in series such as Harry Potter, The Secret Country, Nightshade, and The Vampire Files. Others are standalones, such as Blood Oath, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, The Passage, and The Devil's Lieutenant. Here and there are Star Trek novels that Regan is sure are borrowed from Mart Belden. Recurring authors scattered amongst the shelf are Chris Crutcher, Ilona Andrews, Todd Strasser, Greg Herren, Laurie Halse Anderson, Mark Zurbo, and Cherie Priest.
The books are the only objects in the room that give any indication of Dan's personality, the only pieces to the puzzle that is Dan's mind.
On an impulse, Regan reaches for the nearest book-a copy of The Great Gatsby. He flips through the pages on a fraught, farfetched hope of finding any indication of where Dan is, what his plans are.
A plastic edge slips out from the pages: a photograph. His heart thudding at possibly finding an explanation for Dan's actions, Regan slides it back into its original place as he opens the book to that specific section. The photograph is facedown, and before Regan can follow through on his impulse to turn the photo over, his eyes jump to a line of highlighted text on the book's page.
"They're a rotten crowd," I shouted across the lawn. "You're worth the whole damn bunch put together."
The quote has no emotional or literary meaning to Regan, but he supposes it must be of some significance to Dan. Perplexed, he flips the photo to check for any connection, and is staggered by the image.
His older sister.
His fingers holding the photograph begin to tremble, and Regan inhales deeply, trying to calm himself. It's not unusual that Dan would have a picture of his mother to remember her by.
From the looks of it, the photograph was taken when she was still quite young, probably only a few years after she left the orphanage.
Staring at the photograph, Regan tries to quell the fusion of pain and anger swelling within him. As much as he struggles to do right by Dan, Regan hasn't realized the continued intensity of his hostility toward Daniella. My God, he's known that the woman is dead for more than six months now, and he still can't find it in himself to forgive her.
Daniella abandoned him at the orphanage, leaving him to fend for himself, while she was adopted.
Now, Daniel, too, has abandoned him.
In hindsight, maybe he should have seen this betrayal coming.
He's not dead, just a delinquent once more.
But while he had been helpless to take action to stop Daniella from leaving him behind at the orphanage when he was young, Regan knows that at least some blame rests on his shoulders for Dan's departure. If he had been more patient, if he had responded to Dan's attempts to connect with him, then maybe all of this pain could have been avoided.
Would have, should have, could have . . . it's a useless game with oneself that involves unnecessary dwelling in the past, but considering Regan's failures with Dan, he cannot help but feel it's justified.
Daniella leaving was not an outcome he could have changed. Dan, leaving, however, was.
Dead or delinquent . . . whichever one of the possibilities, it's on Regan.
The curtains gently billow as the breeze increases. Regan watches the movement of the drifting fabric as his breathing suddenly becomes shallow.
There's not enough air is this room, even with the window open. He needs to get outside.
Regan turns to leave, before remembering the objects in his hands. He moves to replace the photo in the book, but it occurs to him to just leave it out, let it drift in the wind, just like Daniella and Daniel have drifted out of his life.
In the end, he returns the photo to the original page and replaces the book on the shelf. He strides to the nearest window and raises the screens only to lower the glass, and pushes down the sash, locking it in place. He repeats the process with the second window.
Dan hasn't gone out for a walk. There's no telling when-or if-Dan will be home.
Regan stands in the doorway, scanning the room, attempting to convince himself that he has missed nothing, that everything is in its place. But he wavers in his task as the finality of his actions hit him, and Regan cannot bring himself to survey the entire room.
He leaves abruptly, pausing only to confirm that the door is tight against the frame. He quickly moves to the stairs, hitting the light switch before descending, leaving behind an empty hallway of sealed doors.