Return to Middle-Earth
Jack woke with a start from a horrid dream and immediately began shooting scared looks around his small New York studio apartment. Everything was as it should be. In the corner there was a small lamp from West Elm casting an eerie shadow on the exposed brick near the window, while his wall mounted television flickered random light from a muted twenty-four-hour news channel into some of the more recessed areas of the flat. He'd fallen asleep while studying. It was becoming something of a habit. It was raining again and he began to realize it was a crash of thunder that had pulled him from his nightmare. He was sweating through his clothes and slightly struggling to breathe. He quickly reached for his inhaler, but it wasn't there.
"Of course it isn't there, Jack." He chastised himself.
Jack had had the unfortunate blessing of a severe case of childhood asthma, but he'd grown out of it when he was in the seventh grade, just before he turned thirteen. Almost ten years ago, he thought to himself. His flannel pajama pants and sheets were soaked through. So drenched were his clothes and sheets that he might as well have had his bed outside in the storm. As he sat there on the edge of his bed trying to steady his breathing he started thinking about the dream he had just had. "The Dream", he thought.
He'd started having the dream about a month ago. At first it was just snippets of what was to come. Small flashes of sight and sound from a war in a time that seemed to him ages ago and in a place that looked like it came from a movie. These snippets, as he called them to himself, should have washed out of memory when he woke or even before, but somehow they'd stuck with him, night after night. Sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less. Now though, the dreams seem to be coming much more frequently than they originally had and with a horrifying clarity.
The room was cold; Jack shivered and tried to shake it off as he reached back over towards his bedside table and grabbed his iPhone to check the time. There was a text message from his ex-girlfriend Olivia asking him to call her, which he immediately dismissed. She had cheated on him some time ago and had been trying to make it up to him sporadically over the last few months. He cared for her, but he knew in his heart of hearts that it was over. He'd never allow himself to love her as he once had, it had crushed him. Olivia was the first person he'd allowed to become close to him since his parents had passed, and even that was only on his terms.
The iPhone also told him something else, it was three A.M. He wasn't surprised, he always awoke from the dream at three. More often than not, he knew that this meant that he wouldn't be going back to sleep. This was the fourth time this week and the third day in a row that he's had the pleasure of being ripped from his slumber. The lack of sleep was regrettable but it wasn't nearly as bad as being alone with his thoughts in the middle of the night.
Jack finished pulling the comforter off of himself and swung his legs out of bed. He pushed his body up on his knees and walked over to the wall of windows that dominated one whole side of his small but nice, industrial loft. He casually glanced back toward the kitchen and noticed a small package on the counter that had been dropped off earlier at his doorstep, but he quickly let it slip from his mind. He turned back and faced the windows once more. It was pouring outside. But it wasn't just rain, there was a near constant flash of lightning with a rumble of thunder that seemed to last for minutes on end. He looked down on the empty street below. There were times in the past, when even at three in the morning the streets would have been crawling with people, but not tonight. Not in a while, he thought.
The storms had become more and more frequent lately. Weathermen chalked it up as global warming but most people agreed that it was more than that, that something else was going on, people were scared. It wasn't just the storms, there were volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, massive brush fires and hurricanes and tornados all at an alarming rate, all across the globe. People were talking, and it seemed to many as if the very earth was enraged and fighting back from the years of abuse from mankind. Even more frightening though, was the other theory, that our great and beautiful earth was simply dying.
As Jack stood there in his pajamas he began to think about the dream he'd just had. He knew it was just a dream but he couldn't shake the feeling that he was deeply connected to it somehow. It wasn't just the fact that he kept having this dream which was a problem in and of itself, it was the fact that whenever he woke, as horrible as the dream had been, he felt as if he was supposed to be there. Like he had a bigger purpose in the dream. He thought back to what was happening when he woke.
He was standing on a stone ledge overlooking an enormous field encircled by a massive stone wall. Behind him was a great and beautiful white tree blossoming in a garden of stone set against a white tower and a high mountain lost to the clouds. To the East in the far off distance, there was a great mountain of fire. Above the mountain there were great swirling clouds of black set in stark contrast of the bursts of bright red magma spewing from the mountain. It occurred to Jack that there was no sun. Somehow he knew, that it never rose. Below him, while he was lost in his thoughts, a great winged beast raced in flight up the front of the giant rock face and towards the ledge that Jack was standing on. The stone ledge which Jack was standing on was only a small part of a massive escarpment. The immense rock face jutted straight out of the mountain and was the shape of a ships keel, a ship that was sailing towards the rising sun. But again, the sun didn't rise here.
As Jack continued to look out across the land in awe and fear and wonder of where he was, the beast drew even with him. He was not immediately frightened but then the winged nightmare let out a ferocious and primal roar. But it wasn't a roar at all, it was more like a deafening screech that seemed to make his heart stall and his blood run cold in his body. It's saliva burning and staining the rock as the beast spit and retched at him as he was standing there. Jack locked eyes with the beast as it flapped his mighty wings and stayed level with him. Slowly it began to breathe and hiss a foul and rotten stench that reminded Jack of dead rats or animals on the streets of New York. An intense wave of nausea swept through him and he thought that he might vomit at any moment.
Suddenly, from behind him, men clad in the most beautiful armor he'd ever seen, with the crest of a great tree and stars on a bright silver breastplate, with rings of tarnished gold and deep midnight blue fabrics and dark crimson red leathers, came racing up beside him. They drew bows and swords and shields, all the while, Jack stood there in nothing but a pair of jeans and Nikes, with a grey, tattered Patagonia hoodie holding a single sword that he had no idea how to use. That's when he noticed him. The beast was not alone. He bore a dark and deadly passenger. A massive man, clad in robes of the deepest darkest black that seemed to absorb all light around him. Upon his head he bore a crown of iron, it looked painful to wear. His face wasn't visible but Jack knew he was staring right at him.
The Black Captain pulled up to his full height upon his fell beast and in a cold high voice spoke directly to Jack, "Too late have you come, there is no hope. The courage you bring is folly and as a false prophet you will be remembered…., All will be lost. For my master's, master has returned."
Jack attempted to speak back but he found that the air had been sucked from his lungs and he was barely able to breath, let alone speak. At that moment, there was a blinding flash of white light from behind him and the giant beast recoiled. In that split second was when he woke up. That's when he always woke up.
Jack quietly broke from his reverie near the window. As in every dream when the Black King speaks Jack's breath is stolen from his chest and he's torn from his dream. Always soaking wet and always out of breath. It's a constant reminder of his childhood ailment. Jacked looked around the room and once again noticed the small box on the kitchen counter. He slowly made his way across the apartment to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. While he stood there drinking his glass of water he realized he couldn't pry his eyes from the small parcel. Jack slowly placed his glass on the counter and picked up the package and began to turn it over in his hands a couple of times.
The package was small, only a couple of inches' square. It was wrapped in what appeared to be butcher's paper, very old butchers paper, it was scuffed on the corners and slightly stained and weathered nearly everywhere. The package was neatly tied off with a bit of old and worn leather. There was no noticeable card or identification, just the package. With an apprehension that he couldn't quite place, Jack began to slowly and methodically unwrap the package. There was not one, or two but three layers of the butcher's paper, each layer in a little bit better shape than the previous. Once all of the wrappings had been removed and discarded, he was left with a small ornate wooden box.
The box was made of some sort of a light grey wood, he suspected it was some sort of ash, but then again he wasn't a woodworker. The box was very light in weight but he could tell immediately that the wood was very strong. Inlaid in the lid of the box with a bright and shining silver was the same great tree and stars from the breastplates of the warriors in his dream. Jack's eyes widened with recognition as he realized what he was looking at, trying as best he could to tell himself it was coincidence. Searching his mind for a time that he might have seen this insignia somewhere other than his dream. He slowly and deliberately lifted the lid back on its small wooden hinges. Inside, set in a bed of deep crimson silk there was a ring: The ring had the shape of two serpents with emerald eyes, one devouring and the other supporting a crown of golden flowers.
Jack was captivated by the ring but he didn't touch it. He left it undisturbed resting peacefully and beautifully the way it had come. Then, for some reason he couldn't explain an intense calm washed over him. Unlike other nights where he'd had the dream and been unable to go back to sleep, suddenly he felt extremely tired. He slowly and carefully closed the small wooden box and gently placed it back down on the counter and walked back towards his bed. Jack drifted off into a deep dreamless sleep. Unknowingly to him this would be the last bit of peaceful sleep he would have for a very long time.
The following morning Jack woke up and to his great surprise, the sun was shining. He rolled out of bed and as he always did and strolled over to the windows and looked out upon the city. People were out and about going on about their daily lives. The overwhelming normalcy of the dawn had pushed the thoughts of last night right out of his mind. With a continuing feeling of calm, he made a cup of coffee in his Keurig and went to put on some clothes to head over to the gym. He didn't have class today so he thought he should at least spend a few hours at the gym and then spend the rest of the morning and afternoon in the library downtown. This had become sort of a Friday ritual for him over the past couple of years. Hit the weights then hit the books.
Jack's parents had drilled both mental and physical health into him his whole life. Oddly, both seemed to come naturally to him. Couple with the good looks of his father and the mild, soft spoken manner and kindness of his mother, he really was in a league of his own. He was a standout lacrosse player in high school and that alone had landed him a full ride to NYU. He'd graduated with honors and received an undergraduate degree in both history and foreign languages and he was now pursuing a master's degree and a year down that path already. While history wasn't exactly a sexy subject to everyone, or anyone for that matter, he felt a great calling toward it, a vocation. Strange as it is for a young man in this day in age, he managed to do all of this without getting into trouble or being distracted. He had friends and girlfriends throughout the years but he never really let himself get to close to anyone. There was always some part of him that was guarded. Some part of him that always kept some kind of distance. Even with those he considered close friends.
When Jack was nineteen and in his first year of college at NYU, his parents decided to take a cruise. When Jack was younger, he and his parents did everything together. With each of Jacks parents having lost their parents well before he was born, he had no other family. So it was out of the question to leave him with anyone else while he was growing up. Jack was their entire life and leaving him at a friend's house while they took a long, and frankly overdue vacation was simply out of the question. However, once he left for college and they had him set up in a place of his own, even though they were still in the same city, they started discussing a trip. Jack could not have been more excited for them. He knew they could use it and he was more than busy with school and his new friends.
His parents had hopped a flight from New York to L.A. and had boarded a small privately chartered luxury yacht bound for the West. The cruise was to travel towards Manilla and then spend two weeks weaving in and out of some seven thousand Filipino islands, stopping at several of the more inhabitable ones throughout their trip. It was supposed to be a grand adventure for them that was long overdue. They never made it. In fact, it's almost like the ship just disappeared off the face of the earth. There was a small international investigation where several countries' coast guard worked together to try to find some sort of clue as to what happened, but in the end they turned up nothing. There was no wreckage or distress call or anything like that. For all intents and purposes it had simply vanished. Sadly, the ship wasn't the only thing that vanished that day. In the blink or an eye, Jack's childhood was gone. His parents were his world, and now they were gone. He'd gone from a boy to a man in single day.
Jack made it to the gym about seven thirty. It wasn't a nice big fancy gym with a bunch of people talking and basically there just for show, it was a rat gym. There were very few machines, with the exception of the elliptical and treadmills. Almost the entire place was dedicated to free-weights with a little nook off to one side for stretching that had some large rubber balls and jump ropes. The benches needed work and most of the mirrors were cracked and chipped, but it was quiet and real. The only people who were there, were there for one thing. To work out and get out. It was heaven to Jack.
"Good morning Danny." Jack said to the squat man at the desk as he pushed through the door to the gym. "How're you this morning?"
The forty something year old man gave Jack a toothy grin. "Oh…, you know me. If I can keep the doors open here and my wife at least somewhat happy then life's pretty good."
"Ha…, it's the simple things Danny." Jack gave the man a quick smile and laugh and continued on his way back toward the lockers, and then on to his workout. The brief exchange would be the only conversation he had while he was there.
Two and a half hours later with a considerable workout under his belt for the day and a hot shower, Jack strolled out of the gym and took off toward the subway to get down to the library to put his mind to work. Sure, he could sit at home on his couch in front of his television and do almost anything he needed to do on his MacBook Pro, but there was something about being in the library that allowed him to go deeper. Being in the library had a way of allowing him to clear his mind, to look at things from another perspective. It could have been the feeling of being present and one with thousands of years of cumulative knowledge or just the fact that most everyone there was actually trying to learn something. Whatever it was, it was where he preferred to be.
On the other hand, and quite possibly more importantly, it gave him the opportunity to catch up with his friend Alfred. These Friday visits had become increasingly more important to him in the years since his parents had been gone. Maybe it wasn't the books and knowledge at all. Maybe the reason he was drawn so forcefully to the library, was to see the old man. The closest thing to family he had left.
For as long as Jack could remember, Alfred had always been around. Jack's parents had been taking him down to the public library since he first learned to read. Every time Jack and his family would go to the library they would always stop by and see the curator of the rare books and manuscripts. Alfred almost always had some sort of trinket or toy for Jack, which only furthered Jack's endearment for the man, and through the years Jack and Alfred had become very close.
Alfred was tall, and old. He walked with a bit of a slouch on a cane made of a light ash, which made him immediately appear shorter than he was. He had long grey hair always neatly pulled back and a long grey beard on his weathered face. Alfred had the most piercing blue eyes tucked behind a set of small round glasses perched upon a larger than average nose. Jack as well as many others always believed that there wasn't much that the old man's wise eyes missed, he always saw more than he let on. It didn't matter what day it was; Alfred was at the library. Seven days a week the old librarian would be there. He wore the same thing every day. A pristine dark grey flannel suit, an oxblood tie and impeccably shined, brown Johnston and Murphy loafers. He was the model of consistency and dependability. Come to think of it, Jack could never remember a time that he'd gone to the library and Alfred hadn't been there.
It was about ten thirty that evening and Jack had been at the library off and on for nearly twelve hours, popping in and out at times to grab some food or coffee. It was common for him to be there after hours with the old man. He would continue to study whatever it was he was working on and occasionally prod Alfred with all manner of questions about anything and everything, while Alfred generally just milled about doing whatever it was that he was doing. Jack had the distinct notion that Alfred just indulged him so he would have some company. Alfred lived alone and had never married. In fact, he had no family at all. It was just another part of the bond the two unlikely friends shared. However, on this night in particular there was a very intense storm raging on outside. There was a sudden flash of lightning and a crack of thunder that brought a very vivid and intense image from the dream to his mind.
"Hey, Alfred?" Jack said in a voice slightly above a whisper to the old man who was nose deep in a large book at the end of a long wooden table.
"Yes…" Alfred said, not bothering to look up from his reading.
A bit sheepishly Jack asked a question that had been on his mind for the last couple of minutes. "Do you put much stock in dreams? Like do you think they mean more than they are at face value?"
The old man leaned back from his reading and removed his glasses. He stared up slightly towards the ceiling in thought of what had just been asked of him. "I would suppose that I've had dreams in the past that I believed were meant to be more than just a dream. Why do you ask lad?"
Jack eyed the old man briefly before speaking. "Because I've been having the same dream, or at least pieces of the same dream for a month or so. I rarely get through a night of sleep without some snippet of it and I always seem to wake up at the same time."
Alfred looked over at the young man with a look of knowing on his wizened face and began to slowly make his way over to where Jack was sitting. The rain and thunder continued to come down in droves outside and the lightning would often cast odd shadows on the walls through the high windows. Alfred made it over to the table and sat down across from Jack. "Tell me about this dream you're having."
The two sat there for what seemed like an hour going over the details of the dream. Alfred would ask different questions and encourage Jack to be as specific as possible in the telling. He would press Jack to remember the smallest of details and often ask for parts to be told again. Jacked had just finished retelling the entire dream for the fourth time when he suddenly remembered the ring. Jack described in detail the ring and the little box that it had come in. He described how the inlay on the box was identical to the armor the men had been wearing in his dream and he asked Alfred if he'd ever seen it in any books before.
Alfred suddenly looked up at him and said very sternly. "I think it's best you be going now lad. I have something that I must see to. I don't mean to rush you off but I've just remembered something urgent that needs my attention."
More than a bit perplexed about the sudden change in the old man's demeanor, Jack did the only thing he could do. He slowly packed up his stuff and thanked Alfred for talking to him and listening to his wild tale about his dream and made his way towards the door. He got about half way to the door and turned back toward Alfred. "Good night, Alf…" But the old man was nowhere to be seen. Jack took one last quick look around the massive hall and so no trace of the man. Jack slowly turned around and left the library.
It was three A.M. and suddenly Jack was once again being pulled from his nightmare. The thunder had been far more loud and close than it had been in nights' past, tonight it was literally shaking his apartment. Jack began to try and clear his head but the thunder continued. It had to be right on top of the building, but then he realized something. No, no, this wasn't thunder at all. There was someone at the door. Whoever it was, was hitting the door so hard that it was making the pictures of his parents rattle on the wall. Jack rushed to the door and threw it open concerned that whoever it was may be in some sort of danger, but as soon as he pulled the door back he was dumb struck.
"A.., Alf..., Alfred?" Jack managed to finally stumble through the old librarian's name.
"Yes, yes lad. I'm sorry to call on you at such at late hour and in such a startling manner." The old man said as he barged through the door and into Jack's apartment.
Jack, still shocked by everything that was happening tried desperately to gather his composure and then asked as calmly as he could "Alfred, what are you doing here, what the hell is going on?"
Alfred looked absently off out the window and through the storm and mumbled something unintelligible to himself before he spun back around to Jack. "We've waited too long lad. We have to go back. We must leave at once."
"Go back where, Alfred?" Jack said almost yelling at him, while the old man again stared off out the windows in some deep train of thought. "Alfred..., Go where dammit?" Jack said urgently.
The old man turned to look Jack square in the face. His glasses were gone and there was a gleam in his eyes that Jack had not noticed before.
"Middle-Earth" Alfred said with a hard swallow.
"Middle-Earth? Alfred, whoa…, what…, What are you talking about, where and what is Middle-Earth?" Jack asked with a touch of fear creeping into his voice.
Alfred placed a hand on Jack's shoulder and began to speak softly to the young man. "The dreams you've been having lad, they aren't just dreams, for I have seen them too. We must go back."
Jack stood there in shock with a mix of fear and bewilderment on his face. Suddenly there was a great crash of lightning and thunder and the whole apartment felt as if it would rip in two. "Alfred!" he shouted again. This time his voice completely awash with emotion.
Jack caught a glimpse of Alfred in a flash of lightning and the old librarian spoke. Though as he spoke, he no longer sounded quite like himself and he somehow even looked…, different. He was no longer slouched over, but standing straight up, tall and strong. "Yes…, Alfred is what they now call me and by that name I am known by but a few. But my real name is Gandalf and by that name I was once known by all."