"It's All Just a Bad Dream"
The dreams came so frequently that he dreaded the moment that Lylat dipped beyond the horizon, darkening the skies over Corneria City. Even though the cityscape would take alight, it was so far away from him—a lifetime away, where the rich got to sleep in mattresses that did not sag to one side and smell like beer and waste. Where the rich could afford new toys, not just hand-me-downs from the next oldest cousin. Where the rich got to have at least two cookies with their dinners, not just one, and not ones that were partially soggy on one side. Andrew hated it when his mother gave him a soggy cookie. It just was not fair.
They lived in the slums, wedged in an area where the buildings were shortened and run down. The darkness seeped into the alleyways between the buildings, and pipes leaked onto the cracked roads. A chill ate through the walls, which had not been looked at for repairs since he had been born. He only knew that because his mother talked about how the cold made her achy and sick to her nose and throat. They coaxed and cared for the fire in the fireplace, letting it warm the living room where his uncle always liked to sit on the old recliner, a newspaper in his lap. It did not reach Andrew's small bedroom, however, and so he was left with a pounding heart and two sheets, stained and frayed at the ends.
He tried his best to stave off sleep, but the time on the playground had worn his bones out. His legs ached from running, his mind was wearied from studying. There was weight on him, squeezing every ounce of willpower that he had left until he felt the faint pull of slumber. Andrew shook himself awake, his tail curling around himself. He told himself he had to stay awake and tried to think about things like maybe saving up enough allowance to get a bike. He clung onto his pillow and to the ratty creation his late grandmother had made for him when he had been born. It was vaguely in the shape of a monkey, but its tail was falling off.
Sleep overpowered him after some time of struggling. He drifted into the land of fantasy and fiction. The dreams never came suddenly. They always phased in and out. He walked from the bus stop, splashing purposefully in every puddle. The rain was cold against his pale fur, but he did not mind it at all. He watched as the droplets settled into his fur, marveling at it with childish wonder. Somewhere in his subconscious, the better part of him felt a flicker of fear when he reached the door to their house. He pulled it open all the same, and heard the roaring of an argument.
Glass shattered the moment he entered the room, his father enraged to the point he was salivating. Fangs exposed, he shook the broken bottle at Andrew's cowering mother. Its pointed end was already stained red. Andrew screamed as he did every time he saw this, shrill and loud. His father's eyes turned to him, burning amber with malice that sent shivers down Andrew's spine. The first step thudded and he felt its sound vibrant into the very fibers of his own being. His father's hand, shard of glass poised overhead, loomed over him like an executioner's scythe.
"QUIT YOUR CRYING, BOY!" snarled his father and Andrew realized his tears were freely flowing onto the off-white carpet.
"I'm… I'm sorry!" he sniffled.
Blood dripped from the glass and onto the floor. Andrew tripped as he scampered backwards, towards the door. The wind was howling now, the grey skies pouring forth their own tears. A crack of thunder shook the frame of the humble home, and illuminated his father's face. His mother's sobbing began to drown out the deluge outside. The shard lifted over his father's head, red droplets oozing down and onto the boy's face.
"Please, don't!"
"Andrew!"
His uncle's voice cut through the nightmare and Andrew bolted upright. Chest heaving, he could vaguely make out his uncle's face in the darkness, but when he could, he began to melt into tears. His uncle pulled him into a hug, and Andrew embraced it fully. They sat like that for some time, until the last tear had been shed from his eyes.
"Another dream?" his uncle asked him. Andrew always liked how his uncle's voice sounded.
"Yeah," Andrew sniffled.
His uncle squeezed him again, with such a force that Andrew's shoulders scrunched together. "All will be well. He will not get to you again."
"I-I know…" Andrew said, rubbing the snot away from under his nose. He remembered how the police had taken away his father after one of his more belligerent tantrums. It had come after a night at the local bar. Andrew shivered as the memory passed over him. It had been three months. The days had ticked by slowly and his subconscious chose to relive the moment again and again. Each crash of the bottle, each shout and scream drove the boy a little closer to the teetering edge of madness. He tried to blot out the world by hugging his beloved uncle again, burying his face into his beard.
"Uncle Andross?" Andrew asked and his uncle's dark eyes fell upon him with tender care. "Is it true what Mama said earlier today? Are we really moving?"
"Yes, my boy. We will be. I have a suite in the residential district of Corneria City—the other side of town," Gestalt Andross said to him with a pat on his head. "I have the funds to put you into a better school. You will have a better life."
"Is it because you're a doctor? I heard doctors make a lot of money…" Andrew thought aloud, rubbing his chin. "When I grow up, I want to be like you… I wanna be a doctor!"
His uncle gave a humored chuckle. "That would be something, wouldn't it…" One of his large hands came over Andrew's head, ruffling his fur. "Study. Become strong. And if things get in your way…" His voice skirted off for a moment, as if he were thinking of something. "Well, be stronger than whatever tries to stand in your way."
"I'll try my best!" Andrew said with a grin.
"That's my boy," Gestalt said with a smile.
Andrew fell back asleep after his uncle had left the room. The slumber that came for him was blissful, full of dreams that did not matter and did not have an impact upon him. He made it through the next day as any other day at school. Recess was full of running about the jungle gym, the black pavement under foot full of cracks and holes. Classes were blown through, his daydreams taking him elsewhere, to the thought of living with his uncle in his ritzy suite on the far side of the city. It seemed too good to be true, but if his mother was right, then they would be moving in a week.
By the time he got off the hoverbus, the dreary skies had begun to weep. He did not mind it though and unfurled his umbrella. It was slightly too big for him, as it had been his father's before his imprisonment. Andrew listened to the music of the rain around him as he walked, taking utmost care to splash in every puddle and grin barbarically at the mud that splattered his rugged jeans. He felt the cold but he savored it. It sparked life in his limbs and he splashed more fervently than before, soaking his legs up to his knees.
Andrew opened the door and the sound of his mother washing dishes greeted him. He smiled at her, folded the umbrella up, and closed the door behind him. The boy made his way back into his room, tossing away his wet jacket and kicking off his shoes. The furious steps of his mother alerted his ears and she shook a ladle at him.
"You're tracking mud through the house!" She scolded. "And take those clothes off! You're going to catch a cold!"
Andrew did as he was bid, changing into a green-knit sweater. His mother had him sit at the table to work on his homework. Mathematics were his strongest suite—vocabulary and Lylatian his weakest. He started with the math first and finished it quick enough so that his mother allowed him some fruit gummies for a treat. It was two hours before his uncle came in, similarly drenched and similarly chased with a ladle by Andrew's mother.
"Stop tracking mud!" Mrs. Oikonny howled and Gestalt held up his hands in defense.
"Calm! Calm! I am taking off my shoes, Sister," his uncle said quickly, leaving his wet business shoes by the door to dry. "How is your homework coming along, Andrew?"
"It's going good!" Andrew exclaimed.
"You mean… it's going 'well'," his uncle corrected him lightly.
"Uh… yeah! It's going well!" Andrew grinned and Gestalt removed his hat and overcoat on the way to the spare bedroom. He had been staying there since the incident three months ago.
"Marlene, is that Grandmother's special soup I smell?" his uncle's voice could be heard from the back.
"It is," Andrew's mother said with a beaming smile. "And it's almost done. Andrew, can you please help set the table?"
Andrew removed his homework and aided his mother as he was told. When the soup came from the kitchen, it was steaming in a giant bowl—enough to feed the meager family for the next few days. Andrew was quivering with excitement. His mother's soup was the best. It was an undebatable fact. He scarfed it down with vigor, nearly scalding his tongue as he did so. When his dinner was done, then he went back to his studies, until they were done and he was free to play with his toys until bed.
Night draped its cloak over Corneria City, as it did after every red and orange sunset. Andrew busied himself with his toy gun, firing cushioned, fake bullets at the target he had set up down the hall. He shot an inch past a vase his mother cherished and when she poked her head into the room to glare at him, he decided to relocate to his room. He stayed there until she came again to tuck him in for bed. He brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas, which were blue and had planets on them. Their cloth was soft and warmed him as he snuggled into his bed.
"Goodnight, Andrew," Marlene Oikonny kissed him atop his forehead.
"Night, Mama," Andrew said and pulled the sheets up to his shoulders as the light came off. He closed his eyes and when he thought about his fear of the nightmare, he reminded himself about how big and powerful his uncle was. Bigger and stronger than his nightmares. He smiled and nestled his face into the pillow.
Sleep had almost come for him when he heard the faintest siren. Andrew rolled over and waited for it to pass by, like all the other ones had. The alarm's scream became louder… louder…Andrew closed his eyes tighter to try to blot it out but they did not go away and through his window, he could see lights. He told himself it would pass.
But they did not.
Footsteps scuffed against the broken and uncared for pavement. He could hear voices outside, barking orders. Andrew sat up in his bed, and thought about their neighbors. He tried to reason that something was happening next door. But curiosity took him over and he scurried out of the bed and towards the window. Delicately with one finger, he peeled down the blinds and stared at where the Cornerian Police Force hovercars were lined up along their humble road, sirens silenced but lights pulsing. The officers were approaching their front door, armed with blasters.
A knock came and Andrew's heart stopped. There were a series of muffled shouts. No reply. Then more muffled shouts and Andrew could hear steps from within the house. He thought to dive back into bed, but he was confused. Was his father back? Andrew covered his mouth and shrank against the wall in thought. His trembling legs made their way to the bedroom door and he cracked it open, peering at where he could see his mother in the hallway. She moved towards the entryway, but not long after she had vanished from his view, there was a loud crashing noise. Andrew hid back in his room and he held himself with gripping fear.
"Corneria City PD! I have a warrant for Doctor Gestalt Andross!" a commanding female voice tore through the household and Andrew could only feel confusion.
There was a thunderstorm of boots and shouts. He could hear his mother crying out like she had when his father had one of his episodes. Andrew ventured out of his room, wandering brown eyes moving to the living room. Each of his steps was filled with dread, but he continued on. There was a loud thud and he could hear the sound of metal clanking.
By the time he had reached the living room, his uncle was being handcuffed, pressed roughly against a wall by two dogs. One was a female with long brown fur and a white blaze. The other was a yellow-haired dog with floppy ears, his muzzle scarred. As three more officers moved about their house and rummaged through their belongings, Andrew saw his mother crying on the ground.
"Sister… Sister…" his uncle tried to soothe her. "This is a misunderstanding… I will be back…"
"Doctor Gestalt Andross! You are under arrest for the murder of Doctor Vixy Reinard-McCloud," the female officer said coolly, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you dare speak, sign, or even utter will be held against you." She turned him around, growling all the while. "You better hope they don't find you guilty, or I swear, I'll have them exile you."
"That's enough, Officer Lane," the worn and haggard voice of a hound said, stepping into the house donned in full crimson military regalia. Andrew's eyes widened at him and he signaled for the other officers to cease their search. "That's enough. We have apprehended the suspect and now we must depart. My apologies, ma'am…" He tipped his hat to the sobbing Marlene Oikonny on the ground.
"He d-didn't… H-he'd never… Vixy was his friend!" Andrew's mother wailed.
"Marlene…" his dear Uncle Andross said gently.
"Tell them… tell them you didn't do it!" Marlene cried, burying her face into her hands.
"We will see to it that justice is done," the hound said. "Fear not, if this is a misunderstanding, we will get to the bottom of this immediately." To Andrew's uncle, the hound said, "Come on, Gestalt, I know you're better than this dreadful scene. Let's get you to city jail so we can sort out the truth."
"Yes, General," Gestalt said in a low voice.
As Officer Lane escorted the doctor towards the door, he tossed a look over his shoulder, towards Andrew. There was desperation in his face, and for a moment, Andrew had a sinking feeling in his chest. His uncle was the kindest man he knew—was he really capable of murder? Andrew tossed the thought away a few seconds later. No, he just could not believe it.
"Uncle…!" Andrew cried out, feeling the tears suddenly fall from his eyes. He sank to the ground next to his mother, one of his arms wrapping around her shoulder tightly. The officers looked down at him with their merciless eyes. For the first time since his father's arrest, he felt powerless and afraid. His nails dug into his mother's fur and skin but she did not seem to notice.
"They can't take you!" Andrew sobbed. "They can't… Stop! STOP!" He wailed and tried to grab onto the General's leg.
The hound glanced down at him with sad brown eyes. "I'm… I'm sorry, boy. This is just how things have to be."
"You can't take him! That's my uncle! That's my uncle!" Andrew was dragged along with each step but eventually his weak arms released the dog and he landed in a crying mess on the ground, smelling the dirt and grim of the carpet along with the frosty air of the night storm. For all of his pleading, the officers did not yield.
"All will be well, boy!" his uncle shouted over his shoulder, the rain pouring in a vain attempt to drown out his words. The officer moved him along and out the door, but the last words came out even over the distant booming of thunder. "It's all just a bad dream!"