Author's note: My big thanks go to my beta-reader Dabrota . Without her this story would look a lot different. All errors left, especially story-wise, are completely mine. Timeframe: Between Season 2 and 3.
I've written this story in response to the 'Dead Zone Photo Challenge' on The Dead Zone Fan Fiction Community.
---------
Toys in the Attic
The last beams of the autumn sun fell through the kitchen window and the red glow dipped the room with a beautiful light. Johnny Smith watched the gorgeous sunset only absentmindedly, absorbed in his own thoughts, while cleaning up the dishes he used for dinner.
When the phone rang, he put the plate he'd just finished scrubbing in the rack on the countertop. Hastily, he rubbed one of his hands dry on his jeans and picked up the phone that lay behind him on the counter.
"Hi, Bruce," he said, while he clamped the phone between his shoulder and his ear so he could reach for a towel to dry the dishes.
"Hi, Johnny! How is it going, man?" Bruce answered in his cheerful voice.
"Well, it's going," Johnny answered and grabbed one of the plates off the rack. He had long ago given up pretending to be in a good mood while talking to Bruce. His friend wouldn't buy it for a minute anyway. He wondered when it was that he became transparent like a glass house.
"Why am I not surprised? Sitting in that big empty house every night is not what the doctor ordered, my friend," Bruce scolded. "You and I need to go out for a drink. Right now. I'm coming to pick you up, all right?"
"Not so fast, man. Now, it may come as a surprise, but I would actually love to go out for a drink tonight. More than you can imagine. It's just that I really need to sort through the stuff in the attic. The fundraising toy flea market for the Bangor orphanage at the Faith Heritage Foundation is tomorrow afternoon. Sarah is coming by in the morning to pick up the things I want to donate," Johnny explained while putting away the flatware.
"But she told you to do that over a week ago!" Bruce sounded unimpressed.
Johnny sighed and closed the drawer. He turned around to lean his back against the countertop as he took the phone into his hand again.
"I know. I've been putting it off over and over again. I hadn't really been in the attic at all since... well, actually since long before the coma. Mother used to keep literally everything, so I expect to find my whole childhood up there, you know? And I have been rather busy lately, to get over the things I've lost. I really don't feel like digging up memories that I already have forgotten." Not to mention the fact that he most probably wouldn't dig up the good memories. He seldom did.
"Well, I could come over and help you, if you like," his friend offered.
"Nah, thanks, man. I really think I should to do this by myself," Johnny replied.
They exchanged good-byes and Johnny closed the connection. His eyes lingered on the headset for a few seconds then he put it back in its station on the wall and switched on the light. The sun had almost vanished behind the skyline by now and it started to get dark in the room.
Maybe I should call it off after all, Johnny thought, returning to the remaining dishes in the sink.
Popping one of Bruce's X-Files tapes into the VCR and slouching on the sofa was very tempting. He could tell Sarah that he'd changed his mind and wouldn't donate anything this time.
He had to laugh about the idea.
That was the lamest excuse ever. He wouldn't hear the end of it from Sarah. Or Gene. It made him realize there were worse things than a little trip into the past indeed.
When he'd finished cleaning up the kitchen, he wondered if there was anything else he had to do. He'd spent the whole day weeding the garden, fixing the gateway, cleaning the car, doing the laundry and generally bringing the house into order. He realised he'd finally ran out of things to do to avoid the inevitable.
John smiled in defeat.
Coward.
There was no reason to behave like the world would come to an end. He had a good childhood. There was nothing to worry about. Why not simply embrace it and have some fun?
Before he started to change his mind again, Johnny grabbed his cane and headed for the broad stairwell in the foyer that led not only to the sleeping rooms on the first level, but also to the attic one floor higher.
He'd been on the top floor of the house just once shortly after moving in. He'd decided back then to leave the upper level closed down as it was. The house was way too big for a single household, even with only the ground and the first level in use. If he had a housekeeper things might have been different, but after a brief consideration he'd discarded the idea. Another person cleaning the furniture and stirring the fragile peace of his own property was not worth the use of the whole house.
When he'd finally reached the end of the stairs on the top floor he paused for a moment and glanced down the hall. The light from the lamps on the staircase illuminated the otherwise completely dark floor only slightly. He could see door after door until the corridor vanished into the darkness. A small shiver ran down his back and unconsciously he gripped the sliver handle of his cane tighter. Up here the house suddenly felt as big and empty as it really was.
He cleared his throat to shake off the growing uneasiness, then he turned around and faced the heavy wooden door directly in front of him.
"Let's get this over with."
He opened the door and stepped into the large storage room.
-------
A few hours later, Johnny had to admit to himself that he was having a really good time. He sat in the midst of memories from the seventies and eighties, trying to decide what to keep for old times' sake and what to give away.
To his relief not all of his old things triggered visions and those that did turned out to be rather pleasant. Such as his old baseball glove that brought him straight back into the garden behind the house where he and his friends had enough room to practice pitching after school.
Or the old children's cooking set he'd gotten for Christmas when he was six. Not that plastic crap they sold nowadays, but metallic pans and pots, which you could put on a real stove and heat up. He'd hated it with a passion since he'd thought he deserved a better present from Santa Claus than 'women's stuff'. At least until his mother showed him what he could actually to do with it. Like making hot chocolate or pudding. After that she had a hard time getting him out of the kitchen again.
When he'd touched the old bluish cooking pot he had a vision about the day when he and Sarah had tried to make pudding with it, their first time alone. They had almost set the kitchen on fire. He'd totally forgotten about that and the renewed memory brought a smile to his face. It had been nothing too serious, just a darting flame out of the stove. But they had scared his mother, who had come into the kitchen that exact very moment, half to death.
Or Sarah's 'Mastermind' obsession. She'd loved that game so much and had wanted to play it over and over again. He'd never understood all the buzz about it and considered it highly overrated. What's so exciting about finding out the right colour combination? He'd usually figured it out after the first round, but decided to cheat most of the time, stretching the end of the game as much as possible. He'd always loved to see that big grin on Sarah's face when she won a game.
John spotted his old roller skates at the bottom of the trunk he was in the process of emptying. Wasn't that the pair he'd used to learn ice-skating? After a hint of hesitation he picked up the roller skates and found himself sitting on the stairs under the porch in front of the house. He could see flowers blossoming in the garden, the sun was shining brightly and birds were singing in the trees. He guessed it was spring, maybe early summer.
Suddenly he heard a screech, a thud and the clatter of wood hitting concrete, followed by a cry of frustration.
When he turned toward the noise he saw himself as a boy, laying sprawled on the ground in the middle of the driveway. His father stood just a few feet away, his arms crossed before his chest, a rather skeptical look on his face.
"You need more patience, Johnny. If you don't take your time to find the right balance with that stick, you will keep falling flat on your face," he chided his son.
"Oh, Dad! I'm never going to learn this," childish stubbornness colouring the boy's voice.
"Don't be ridiculous. Giving up just like that? You were the one who wanted to get on the ice with the older boys next winter. That won't happen if you don't keep practicing."
"Hockey is stupid anyway," he pouted, while peeling himself off the ground.
"Hey, come here," his father went down on one knee and waited until little Johnny obediently rolled directly in front of him. "The only thing that would be stupid is, if you give up trying now. Giving up is never an option. Do you understand me?"
Johnny just looked at him and nodded.
"Good. Now get into position. All you need is to find your own rhythm..."
After a few more tries he really had found the rhythm that his father had been telling him about. The next winter had been such a blast. He'd loved playing hockey ever since. One of the things he missed most after his accident.
The driveway vanished and was replaced by the solid walls of the attic again.
Johnny sighed. He wasn't in the mood for regrets. Looking around the large room he realised what a mess he'd made. The sheets that had covered the trunks and cupboards lay in a pile near the door, almost all the drawers were pulled open by now, toys scattered around the floor. The storage room had turned into what looked like a vintage Toys'R'Us. He couldn't believe how much stuff had been hidden in here all these years.
He'd already filled up three boxes, carried them down the stairs and put them next to the entrance, ready to be picked up by Sarah in the morning. The fourth box stood beside him, as he sat cross-legged on the floor, now flipping through a bunch of Batman and X-Men comics. He was wondering briefly if it wouldn't make more sense to put them on Ebay, instead of donating them. Twenty-five-year-old comics surely had their price.
Yeah, but what's the point in donating, when you decide to keep all the good stuff and just give away the junk, Johnny mused and decided to put the pile into the box that was already half filled by now.
When he turned towards the carton the movement caused a sharp pain in his right leg. Sitting on the floor for almost an hour hadn't been such a smart idea. He changed his position and stretched his legs. When the blood started to circulate again and the pain faded, he grabbed his cane that leaned against the cupboard next to him and hauled himself up. After a few tentative steps he decided to end the little nostalgia trip and pack the last box. Bruce would get a fit if he knew that he had been crouching around the attic for almost four hours now.
There was only one last cupboard to go through anyway. The first two drawers were empty, but when he opened the last one a smile spread over his face.
"Hey, buddy? What are you doing in there?" He was looking at the best friend he had when he was in kindergarten. The one that had shared his bed for longer than he would admit to anyone. Mr. Bear, as he'd christened him when he was three years old, was a brown teddy bear with fluffy fur. He hadn't seen him in at least twenty years. The teddy still wore the light blue sweater that Johnny's mother had knitted to cover up the nasty gash on his belly from a wild chase through the garden that had almost ripped him in two pieces.
He reached down into the drawer and pulled the teddy out for a closer inspection. As soon as he held the bear in both hands it started to dissolve and vanished. Along with the rest of the room.
Another vision.
But this one was different.
Johnny was standing on an empty street. The street in front of Sarah's house to be exact. The buildings looked abandoned for years and the fading paint on the walls was already in the process of peeling off. Shattered windows. Some houses missed a few shingles, the whole roofs of others had given in under the weight of decay. The grass of the adjoining park was brown and sparse, the dead branches of the trees reaching lifeless towards heavy clouds that covered the sky, preventing the sunlight from touching the earth.
Johnny felt anxiety building inside him and it made his skin tingle.
Silence hung like a heavy curtain over the town. Nothing to be heard but the whisper of the wind and occasional thunder in the far distance. The eerie twilight only interrupted through the faint sheet lightning on the horizon.
Unreal. That's how this felt. And it slowly turned anxiety into fear. What was going on?
When the surroundings finally faded back to the familiar sight of his attic he stumbled back and crashed into the furniture behind him. Wide-eyed, he stared at the bear that was now in his hands again.
"What...?"
Not wasting a second thought he threw the toy into the open box.
Johnny was shaking from the unexpected experience and tried to catch his breath. He ran his hands through his hair and crossed them behind his head, trying to stifle the raising panic.
Calm down, man. Control your breath, he tried to convince himself.
After a while the shaking lessened and his breathing became more even again.
Where had this vision been coming from? And what did it mean? The whole thing had felt terrifyingly like the post-apocalyptic visions he had before. But this had been the first time he had envisioned familiar surroundings. Why had he seen Sarah's and Walt's house?
He eyed the teddy suspiciously, who lay now harmless on a pile of other toys. What had triggered that vision? Why the teddy? He had to admit, he wasn't too eager to find out.
"You, my friend, are going nowhere but in the trash."
He didn't dare to pick him up again, so he decided pragmatically to get rid of the whole box he'd thrown him into. With a little bit of hesitation he touched the carton, but nothing happened. Johnny sighed with relief and closed it.
He grabbed his cane, clamped the box under his arm and almost fled the room. He would clear up the attic later. Whenever that might be.
Outside the late autumn night was bristling cold, but Johnny was thankful for the cold breeze on his heated face. He put the box besides the garbage cans. The garbage collection was due tomorrow anyway, so he would be rid of it soon. The impressions of the last vision were still whirling through his head, even though he knew dissecting it was pointless. He wished he had an idea how to distract his mind from working overtime.
Sadly his VCR had lost all it's former appeal and calling Bruce would include a lot of explaining and company he had no need for right now.
He wondered if he would find any sleep tonight.
-------
It was a beautiful winter day in Cleaves Mills, with only a few single clouds interrupting the endless blue sky. The sun had been shining brightly all day, reflected on the thick blankets of freshly fallen snow that covered the ground, buildings and trees.
With a smile Johnny watched the people on the streets following their daily business, while the children were playing in the white powder. Their laughter floated towards him through the air like a light breeze.
It was one of those few days each year everyone would call perfect.
Who could've imagined everything would be gone in one single moment?
The change came without a warning, without a chance to escape, or even to take cover.
Suddenly and unexpectedly all sound stopped, as if somebody had pressed the mute button.
The silence was followed immediately by a blinding light and a howling wind, which ripped through the air with the strength of a tornado, tearing everything apart.
Johnny shielded his face with his arm from the wind, but was wrenched from his feet when the storm reached him.
He didn't know how much time had passed, but after a while the wind finally died down. Johnny slowly lowered his arm and sat up.
His eyes went wide.
Everything was gone. The houses, the street, the cars and the playing kids. Everything. All he could see up until the horizon were thick layers of dust and debris. The heavy clouds that covered the sky now were in steady motion, brewing thicker by the minute.
It started to snow.
But it was neither cold nor wet.
Johnny reached out to touch the substance raining from the sky. He let it run through his fingers, watching it float to the ground.
Not snow. Ashes. It was raining ashes.
He looked up into the sky, but couldn't see where it was coming from.
Johnny felt no panic, no fear, no devastation. No feeling of defeat. Instead, he felt inside as dead as the world looked outside.
For a moment he tried to decide what to do. Then he started walking. No specific direction. It didn't matter, everything looked the same. He didn't know how long he'd been walking when he noticed something move in the far distance. He altered his direction to take a closer look.
When he reached the petite figure that had caught his attention, he could hear it softly humming a song, ever so faintly. The voice belonged to a woman. She was sitting on the ground, wearing a grey and filthy coat with a hood over her face. All he was able to see were strands of matted dark hair. The small figure was rocking back and forth, cradling a bundle in her arms.
He just stood there for a while, watching her. She didn't seem to notice.
Finally, he went down on one knee, cleared his throat and spoke in a low voice: "Hello."
The humming stopped as did the rocking. She became very still, but didn't look up.
"Who are you? Can I help you? Can you tell me what happened?" he continued with urgency in his voice.
She still didn't respond.
He reached out to pull back the hood. When he did, more dark hair flowed out from under it and piercing blue eyes bore into him.
He recoiled from the sight and tried to catch his breath. Recognition caught him by complete surprise.
"Sarah."
There was no mistake. It was her, sitting in front of him. Her face was dirty and pale. She looked very thin, making her frighteningly lifeless eyes look even bigger than they usually were.
She just stared at him. No word was spoken. After a while she looked back at the bundle she was protecting and started rocking again, continuing her soothing song.
"Sarah. What happened? You gotta tell me what's going on," Johnny begged for her attention, but was not successful. "What are you doing? Please talk to me, Sarah!"
What was it that she was protecting in her lap? What was so much more important than talking to him?
Out of an impulse he grabbed the blanket and pulled it open.
His heart skipped a beat. He couldn't breath. A terrified sob escaped his mouth.
Sarah was protecting JJ! The eyes of his son were closed, the skin of his face grey, his cheeks hollow. He didn't move. Wasn't conscious. Or...
"JJ," Johnny whispered. "Sarah, you need to tell me what happened. Is he okay?"
He reached out with a trembling hand and touched the boy's neck in search for a pulse.
Nothing.
"Oh, my god," he nearly choked on the realisation. His heart crumbled under the wave of grief that tried to crush him. His son was dead.
Finally, Sarah looked up again. Her voice sounded tired but full of bitter reproach.
"You failed us Johnny, you failed us all."
"No!"
"How could you let this happen? Why did you let everyone die? Why did you let our son die?"
Suddenly JJ's eyes snapped open and he started to speak, "It's all your fault, daddy."
-------
It's all your fault, daddy.
Darkness.
Silence.
Heavy breathing.
While the seconds passed, Johnny got a shaky hold on his surroundings. He was sitting upright in his bed. His hair and shirt were soaked with sweat. His pulse racing. Wide eyed he stared into the dark room.
A nightmare.
Deep breath. Another.
You need to calm down, man.
It didn't work.
With shaking hands he moved through his damp hair. His mind was in turmoil, lasting impressions, the effort to grasp reality in a whirlwind of chaos.
Splitting headache.
John groaned and pressed his hand on his forehead. He knew it was just in the beginning stages and would get worse by the moment.
Eyes squeezed shut.
Then, he blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision. The silhouettes in the near dark room still nothing but a blur.
He needed to get out of the bed. Maybe fresh air or a glass of water.
Johnny turned to the side of his bed, swinging his legs over the edge. Blindly, he reached for his cane that leaned on the nightstand.
He staggered when he got up, his legs felt like jelly. Leaning unsteadily on his cane, grateful for its support for a change. With careful steps he started for the bathroom.
A glass of water sounded like a good beginning.
-------
The bright light of the bathroom felt like needles piercing his brain, breaking through the barrier of his squinted eyelids. He leaned heavily on the sink, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He couldn't shed the terror he'd brought with him out of his nightmare and the blazing headache was preventing him from calming down. His rattling breath refused to slow.
John stood like this for maybe a minute. The sweat that had soaked his blonde hair was drying and left it ruffled and spiky. He was wearing just a dark blue shirt and boxer shorts, his bare feet cold on the white bathroom tiles. There were goose bumps on his skin, but he didn't notice.
It hadn't been a vision. Just a damn nightmare. Nothing to freak out about, right? So why didn't he start calming down? It couldn't be both, couldn't it? Couldn't it?
Surely, his mind just tried to make sense of the vision he'd had the evening before. Trying to find answers to what he'd seen when touching the teddy.
Whom are you trying to fool here, Mr. Smith? he thought mockingly.
This was not about finding answers. Not tonight. This was plain and simple. The nightmare was trying to bring the vision into context with all his fears. The fears he lived with each day, the fears he did not talk about with anyone, the fears he tried to keep buried as deep as possible, the fears that would paralyse him, if he wasn't careful.
Responsibility and Failure.
His hands were gripping the border of the sink tightly, his knuckles turning white. A tear squeezed its way through his closed eyelids and a sob escaped his throat. He couldn't control the raising panic.
"Why?" his voice a raspy whisper.
He opened his eyes and stared into the mirror, sick of the face that looked back at him. His sight was hazed by the building anger that was fuelled by the panic that was burning his soul.
"WHY?" he shouted in desperation.
Another choked sob crossed his lips and tears filled his eyes while he tried to control his voice.
"Why do I have these visions without ever getting the slightest hint how to proceed?" his voice wavered. Talking to his mirror image, as if it could offer an answer. "How should I know what to do? Right now, everything I do, seems to make it worse. Bruce tells me that's ridiculous," a cynical smile hushed like a shadow over his lips. "Yeah. Is it? I don't know how and I don't know why this is happening to me. So how can I be so sure that I'm on the right path? What if I'm not preventing but causing it?" The memory of Christopher Wey showing him that cover of Newsweek magazine still vivid in his mind. "What if all of this will be my fault?"
He kept staring at his mirror image. The face streaked with tears, dark rings under the eyes. The skin looked pasty white from exhaustion. "I wish you'd died when it was your time," he pressed through clenched teeth.
With one swift motion he raised his hand grabbing the still full glass of water he'd placed on the sink after only one sib, smashing it into the mirror. With relief he saw his face in the mirror crack and break, bursting into a million pieces of shattered glass. He didn't even notice the glass of water broke in his hand, crumbling from the impact and the pressure of his fingers. He still held what was left of it in a tight grip, the water running down his arm, mixed with blood where the shards had cut his hand.
The sudden adrenaline surge let him sweep the shelf in front of him clean. Within a few moments the bathroom had turned into a war zone, everything turned upside down. This emotional outburst had disappeared a fast as it had come, leaving him exhausted and drained. He leaned against the tiled bathroom wall, closed his eyes again and slid to the floor. He barely noticed the burning sensation created by the small chips of glass that covered the floor, piercing his naked feet. At least his headache had retracted along with his outburst of anger, leaving a dull pressure behind his eyes. He hugged his legs tight to him and rested his head on his arms.
He didn't move for a long time.
-------
The door bell was ringing. Once. Twice. Three times.
Johnny hadn't moved from his sitting position in the bathroom for hours.
Please stop ringing, he thought.
He knew it was Sarah. He knew she had a key. She'd tried to give it back to him a couple of months ago, but he'd refused. Maybe she would think he wasn't home, fetch the boxes in the foyer and just leave. He wasn't in the mood to deal with her right now.
Finally, she entered the house.
"Johnny?" he heard his ex-fiancee's voice from below.
A few moments later there was the sound of footsteps on the stairwell. She was coming up.
What have you been thinking? Of course she's coming up. It's Sarah. She would never just leave.
"Johnny, are you home?"
He was still considering how to react when he heard movement on the other side of the door. She must have seen the bathroom light as the door wasn't completely closed.
When he heard the door opening, he straightened himself and leaned the back of his head against the wall. Facing her was the least he could do.
"Johnny? Are you..." Sarah started, but when she saw the mess on the floor, the shattered mirror, she halted mid-sentence. "Oh, my god. John? What...what happened?" With a few steps she'd crossed the room and was kneeling beside him.
"Mom? Have you found him? I will be late for the soccer match!" JJ's voice was coming up from the foyer.
Sarah's eyes were full of concern, when she shouted back to her son, "Yes, JJ! I'm coming in a few moments. Get in the car and wait for me, will you?"
Then, she concentrated again on the man before her, "Are you alright? What happened to the mirror?" Johnny didn't respond. He still hadn't come up with a good explanation.
"Oh, no," she continued. "You cut yourself! Let me see..." When she reached for his hand he tried to move away, visions were the last thing he needed right now. But when her cool hand touched his skin there was nothing, but familiar comfort.
"The cuts are not that deep and the blood has already dried," she said, after a short inspection. "You really need to wash it out though, there could still be little glass fragments hidden inside the cuts." She looked up from his hand and mustered his face. "How long have you been sitting here? You look like you've been up all night."
Johnny just shrugged. There was no way he would ever tell her the reasons.
"What's wrong, Johnny? Please tell me," her voice started to sound scared.
"Nothing. It's nothing," he tried to reassure her. "It's... I just had a really rough night. It's nothing I can't handle. Don't you worry about me, will you?"
"Not worry about you?" a strained laugh escaped her mouth. "What do you think I do? All the time? And don't say it's nothing. You're such an awful liar."
She reached out and touched his cheek hesitantly. Trying to give some comfort, not sure how far to go.
The light touch still triggered no vision and he leaned into it, seeking consolation through her closeness. He then realised she hadn't been so close to him in months. Not since...
On a sudden impulse he grabbed her, holding her tight.
A kiss on her dark hair, a kiss on her cheek. Before she was able to react he kissed her on the lips. He'd half expected she would resist. She did, but just for a second. When their kiss deepened his worries about the nightmare vaporized and he finally started to feel safe again.
Until the vision came to an abrupt halt.
He was still sitting in the bathroom. Alone. It took him a second to realise what had happened, then he heard someone entering the house.
"Johnny?" he heard Sarah's voice from below.
A vision. The kiss that still lingered on his lips. Just a vision.
No matter how much he was longing for it, he knew he couldn't let it happen. The only result out of such a mindless impulse would be complications both of them didn't need.
There was no reason for Sarah to know about this mess.
"Johnny, are you home?"
When he heard her on the steps he scrambled to his feet, donned his bathrobe and hurried towards the door. The moment Sarah was about to enter, Johnny snatched the handle, opened it slightly and squeezed through the opening. He closed the door, not giving her a chance to glance inside. He crossed his hands in front of him, hiding his injured hand in the bathrobe.
"Hi, Sarah." A forced smile.
"There you are," she said, a little bit perplex. "I rang the doorbell three times. Didn't you hear me?"
"Three times? No, I didn't. Well, I was about to take a shower. I guess I didn't hear you through the closed door. Sorry." He hoped she wouldn't question his lame excuse.
"Mom? Have you found him? I will be late for the soccer match!" JJ's voice was coming up from the foyer.
Sarah looked back to the stairs, which led to the ground level while answering her son, "Yes, JJ! I'm coming in a few moments. Get in the car and wait for me, will you?" Then she turned back to Johnny with a frown on her face.
"I told you I would come by at eight o'clock to pick you and the boxes up," she said. "Don't tell me you forgot about the soccer match they have organized before the fair starts."
"No! No. Of course not," he lied. He'd completely forgotten about it.
"But why are you not ready to go? Did you oversleep?"
"No.Yes!"
God, what am I doing?
"Yes, I did. I didn't sleep very well last night and I'm having a terrible headache. Would you mind just taking the boxes? I really don't feel like going to the fair," he said. "The boxes are down in the hall. Sorry it's just three of them. I hope that's okay." He forced himself to grin sheepishly, thinking about the fourth box that he'd carried out to the trash last night.
"Of course, it's okay. Everyone can give as much as he or she wants. But you promised me to come-"
"I really would rather not be around that many people today, you know?" he interrupted her, even though he knew she didn't like him hiding in the house.
He couldn't stop staring at her. She looked almost like an angel to him, with her kind and beautiful face, the short dark hair, the black turtleneck pullover and her pink coat, folded over her arms, that complimented the colour of her eyes so well. Nothing like he'd seen her in his dream. The thought alone, that life could change so drastic from good to bad, frightened him beyond words.
"Are you sure you will be alright?" she asked.
All of a sudden the urge to tell her got overwhelming. No secrets. No lies. Just the truth. The promise he'd given himself to not burden his visions of the future on her, a fragile structure, so easy to break. He had to remind himself that he would gain nothing from this. She was in no position to help him. It would make her life just so much harder. He had to keep this promise, no matter how hard it was. Unconsciously, he took a small step backward, as if to get some distance between them, until he bumped with his back into the closed bathroom door.
"Johnny?"
"Yes, I am," he answered, when her voice finally penetrated his thoughts. "I just had a hard night. A nightmare, simple as that."
As if his nightmares were simple. Ever.
"All I need is a little bit of time for myself. And a few hours of uninterrupted sleep."
"What did you dream about?" she asked curious.
"Nothing, I can't even remember."
It's all your fault, daddy.
He wished he didn't remember.
As if on cue JJ's voice reached them again from below.
"Mom?"
Sarah sighed and turned her head towards the stairway again. "I told you to wait in the car, JJ. I'll be down in a moment!"
"Oh, mom, you already said that minutes ago. I will be late for the match. Will Johnny come with us now, or not?"
Johnny closed his eyes briefly and tried to block out the memories of his dream, which intensified by the sound of his son's voice.
Sarah studied Johnny's reaction while she answered their son. "No, JJ. He won't." When she heard sounds of disappointment from down in the foyer she continued. "He doesn't feel so well. Maybe next time."
During the conversation his injured hand, which was still hidden in the bathrobe, had started to sting and he'd felt wetness, running along his fingers. He could feel how the cuts on his hand had reopened through all the motion and his bathrobe started to get soaked by the blood. He needed to get back into the bathroom to do something about it.
"I guess you better go. JJ will be late as it is." Just go, Sarah. Please, just go.
She glanced at her watch.
"Damn, you're right, I need to hurry. I will call you later, okay?" she asked.
"Okay."
He waited until he heard her starting the car, before he allowed himself to relax. He went back into the bathroom and leaned against the door. This had been close. He finally looked around, examining the mess he'd created last night.
Johnny's emotions were still in turmoil, but thankfully his need to break things had vanished. Maybe I should give into Bruce's offer to take me to his Zen class after all, he thought with a wry smile.
He'd better find some bandages to patch up his bleeding hand and start cleaning up the room.
-------
Three days later
"Mrs. Anderson tried to sell her self-knitted fashion line for dogs. You know her, don't you? The woman with all those poodles who lives on Main Street? Anyway. I don't think she sold one single piece. I really felt bad for her. You should've seen the ugly flower patterns on those suits and caps, though. Or the little superman and prima ballerina costumes? I mean, come on, who on earth would squeeze their dogs into something like that?"
Sarah turned around as if to seek confirmation from Johnny. He just smiled and kept tagging along up the stairs to the Bannerman house. Sarah pulled out the keys and opened the door.
"But besides minor things like that, I think the fair was a great success. I bet they will do it again soon," she continued while she took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the entrance.
Sarah had been talking without a break since they'd met up at the coffee shop, updating him on every detail of the toy fair. Johnny's mind had been elsewhere, and so was grateful that she'd taken over the conversation. Just a nod here and there, a smile of agreement or two, had been enough to keep her going.
He'd been avoiding her and everyone else for the last few days. At least until suspicion about his self-imposed isolation was about to start rising. Since he hadn't been able to talk her out of having that coffee without provoking unnecessary questions, he'd hoped to keep it short, wave her goodbye and to go home as soon as possible. Not much luck on that front though. Sarah had bought a bunch of books for his private lessons at the fair and she'd insisted on giving them to him right away.
"That's great, Sarah," Johnny said while he followed her into the kitchen. "Listen, I really can't stay that long. Maybe you could go, fetch the books and..." he stopped mid-sentence, staring at the kitchen counter.
"What is he doing here?" he managed to say with a low edgy voice.
A smile spread over Sarah's face as she started to unpack a bag of groceries she'd bought before meeting with Johnny at the coffee house. "Oh god, that's so embarrassing. I totally forgot to tell you," he could hear guilt in her voice. "When I picked up the boxes at your house, I noticed a similar one standing right besides the garbage cans. I...don't get me wrong. It's just... well, since it was the same kind of box you put the donations in, I got curious what toys you'd decided to throw away. And, well... I found Mr. Bear in that box." She gave Johnny a curious look. "What made you decide to throw him out?"
Johnny just kept staring at the teddy, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. He could hardly say the truth, couldn't he? "Hey Sarah, Mr. Bear is showing me visions about the end of the world. Things that do that, don't deserve any better than the trash."
He decided to settle with, "He's just an old, shabby bear. I thought it would be better to throw him away."
Sarah finished stowing the packs of milk into the fridge, then she turned around and looked at him a bit skeptical. "But you loved that teddy. As did I. I can't believe you did that!"
He just shrugged, not sure how to respond.
"Well, it's your decision," Sarah frowned. "But I found him and I will keep him," she said, now smiling victoriously. She reached over the counter to pick the teddy up. She squeezed him lovingly and picked at his sweater to straighten a crease.
Johnny shrugged again. "Okay. If you like him, keep him."
There was nothing else he could say, couldn't he? He didn't like the idea of Mr. Bear staying here at all. That's why he'd seen the house in his vision because this was the place where the teddy would be. Sometimes, it seemed to him that he wasn't able to change even the smallest details.
After a few seconds of uneasy silence Sarah seemed to realize that it was time to change the subject. "Your books. Right." She put the teddy back on the counter. "As I'd said, you should give them a try. I have them in the sleeping room. Just wait here a few seconds, I will fetch them. If you want something to drink, just go ahead. Suit yourself." She waved in the general direction of the fridge.
Johnny nodded and watched her leave the kitchen for the bedroom in the back of the house. When she was gone he turned around to face the teddy again.
"You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"
Maybe he'd misjudged the situation. Maybe the vision had been triggered by the moment and was gone by now. Maybe. Or maybe it would reveal more by a second touch? The thought alone made him recoil. He didn't want to embrace the cold emptiness he'd experienced last time, but he knew his mind wouldn't give him any rest if he didn't.
Hesitantly, he reached out, his fingers shaking slightly. As soon as he touched the soft fur, the kitchen began to melt away.
He found himself standing in front of Sarah's house again. Or what was left of it. It was exactly the same vision as last time.
Maybe he could make it differ, if he took the initiative. By standing around, waiting for the vision to end, he would gain nothing.
Inspecting the house might be a good start. The building looked totally run down, nothing more than a shabby hovel. He spotted holes in the roof, almost all of the windows were missing and the door was hanging loosely on it's hinges. Either the place had been deserted for a while or a huge storm had run over it.
Johnny peered through the windows, but there was nothing to be seen. Only broken furniture and thick layers of dust.
Wait.
Nothing?
Not true. All of a sudden he noticed movement out of the corner of his eyes. There was someone in the house. He waited patiently and listened. Then he saw it again, more clearly this time. There were two figures in the building moving around, packing things and shoving them into bags. It looked random, but he was sure they picked the most valuable things. Looters? He felt like he should go in and take a closer look.
When he entered the house, he heard them talking to each other. He couldn't see their faces; broad scarves covered them, the hoods of their parkas pulled deep over their eyes. The only thing he could be sure of was that they were both male, probably in their twenties, but even that was hard to guess.
"'It's all his fault,' that's what you used to say all the time. And now you've changed your mind? How come? Did he put a spell on you or what?" asked the taller one, while searching the drawers of the kitchen.
"Don't be ridiculous, T. Am I not allowed to change my mind?" the smaller guy answered with annoyance in his voice.
Their voices sounded muffled through the fabric of the scarves in front of their mouths.
"Sure. I just wonder on which facts your change of mind is based on," the man who had been called 'T' replied.
"It's not always about the facts," the smaller guy who hadn't been addressed with a name yet, muttered under his breath while he let his eyes sweep slowly over the kitchen and the adjoining living room.
T didn't seem to have heard him, because he finished his search of the kitchen and just said, "Damn, there's almost nothing left here that has any value. Maybe we should come back later to check the other houses, JJ."
Johnny's eyes went wide in surprise. JJ? More than curious, he took a step forward toward the smaller figure, to get a better look on his face, but the scarf hid it almost completely. All he could see was a pair of very blue eyes. The fact that JJ seemed to be alive after whatever would happen, filled him with unspeakable relief.
JJ shook his head. "No. I told you we won't go around looting, if we don't have to. We take what belongs to me and then we leave. End of story."
"Okay, whatever you say. In that case, I think we have everything," T declared, while closing his backpack. "Hurry up, we've been here too long already. We gotta move."
"Just a second. There's one more thing I need. If I can find it." JJ raced down the corridor towards the bedroom and was gone for a couple of moments. When he returned he carried something in his hands.
"Okay, I'm good. Let's go."
T laughed out loud and pointed his finger toward his companion. "What? Wait a moment, you're kidding me, right? A teddy? What do you need that teddy for, you baby? Don't you think we have enough to carry already?"
"Shut up, there are a lot of memories attached, which are none of your business," anger was vibrating in JJ's voice, while he was stowing the teddy away into his own backpack.
Another mocking laugh. The tall guy obviously had a lot of fun with his teasing, but he also seemed to have slow reflexes. The next moment he found himself shoved against the wall, JJ pressing his arm against the others throat. "I told you to shut up," he hissed.
"Ah, shit. Take it easy man," T answered with a hint of real fear in his voice, spreading his arms in defeat. "I was just teasing you. Do what you want, I don't care."
"Good. Now, let's go." JJ replied, satisfied with the answer, letting him go.
At that moment they heard noises in the front garden of the house. JJ turned his head and listened closely. It wasn't just a noise, but voices. Lots of them.
Someone shouted: "Who's in there? Come out or you will regret it!"
"Shit, shit, shit! I told you we need to hurry! What now?" panic was raising in T's voice.
"Hey, T. Don't start to panic. I've told you a thousand times how useless that is. Just follow me, I know my way around here. This shouldn't be a problem," JJ answered calmly. They both shouldered their backpacks and JJ led the way through the backdoor, out into the garden.
Johnny had been standing near the kitchen counter the whole time, watching them. The shouting outside continued and the threats became more aggressive. Whoever was out there seemed to lose his temper fast. He was just about to follow the two outside into the garden, when all of a sudden a bottle flew through the already shattered window of the front door, crashing on the floor, spilling its content all over the ground and parts of the wall. It wasn't a simple bottle, but something like an amateurishly built Molotov cocktail. Within the blink of a moment, the old dusty carpet and the tattered wallpaper caught fire, the hungry flames spreading wild and fast along the floor, crawling up the walls. A second bottle flew through the living room window a moment later, widening the blazing fire. If they continued throwing bottles like this, the house would burn down to its foundations in no time.
Johnny felt completely helpless, as he watched in horror how the fire was eating its way through the wood, burning the last remembrances of an already destroyed past.
Relief flooded him, when his surroundings finally dissolved and the burning furniture from the living room and kitchen started to morph and change back into the familiar surroundings of Sarah's neat and tidy, light flooded kitchen.
"Johnny?"
Someone called his name.
"John. Are you okay?" Sarah's concerned voice washed over him and pulled him back into the here and now. Johnny blinked a few times, staring at the teddy bear in his hands.
After a few seconds he forced himself to say, "Yeah. I'm fine."
He didn't dare to look up in case the turmoiled emotions that were still vibrating through his mind might show up in his eyes.
"Mr. Bear just wanted to share some not so nice memories with me. Nothing to worry about," he lied. Followed by a fake smile.
He loosened the tight grip in which he'd held the toy and carefully sat it back on the kitchen counter. His fingers were still trembling. He crossed his arms in front of his chest to hide it.
Sarah didn't look like she completely bought his story. Her concern went into a completely different direction though.
"Listen, Johnny. If you wanna keep him. You just have to say..."
"No!" he interrupted her. A little bit too fast. A little bit too loud. "No. Really. He's yours. I really don't care."
Sarah was staring at him suspiciously.
Every time they'd met lately he'd been forced to lie to her. Every time she'd asked him worried questions. Every time he came up with lame answers. Every time he came one step closer to breaking his own promise. He realised he was about to talk himself into a corner with no way out but the truth, if he continued like this.
He needed to get away from her. Now.
"Would you mind giving me the books?" he changed the subject abruptly.
First, she kept just staring at him, then she looked down to her hands which held the books, bundled together by a string. "Yes, of course. Here they are."
Johnny took them out of her hands, ignoring the random visions that came and went within a few seconds. He usually preferred new books over used ones. Freshly printed books carried a much smaller baggage of history.
"I gotta go, Sarah. Thanks for the coffee. And for the books," he said, rushed. At least his smile was much more genuine this time.
Tentatively, she smiled back.
With that he left her. He didn't turn around, but he felt Sarah's presence behind him, standing in the doorway, watching him. He walked down the garden-path in front of the house as fast as his cane allowed him to, until he reached his car which he'd parked on the street directly on the other side of the low hedge that surrounded the garden.
As he drove off in his Jeep he saw her through the rear-view mirror still standing there on the veranda, hugging his teddy bear tightly.
-------
He'd been driving blindly, not paying much attention to the traffic. His mind was swirling, it was hard to concentrate on the road. After almost crashing into a van on the last crossroad, he'd decided to stop for a moment.
His hands gripped the steering wheel like in a death grip. He rested his head on them, his eyes wide open, staring at the floor. Trying to focus.
The visions started to get personal and he wasn't sure if he could handle it.
Aren't visions are supposed to give me a message? What kind of message do they have if they keep showing me things about the outcome but never the reason?
All he ever got was raging fire and destruction. With a view of his latest vision, in the most diverse variations as it seemed.
At least the vision gave him reassurance in the fact that his nightmare was nothing but a creation of his troubled imagination. Slowly, it dawned on him, that in a way, the vision had been giving him a message. A message that he should not dwell on the things he didn't know, to let it go and concentrate on the facts and on his visions.
Bitterness and fear felt like a blanket that tried to suffocate him.
Seeing JJ soothed his worries, but it didn't bring him one step closer to a solution. This made the vision, along with its message, rather pointless. Like all the other visions about Armageddon he had so far.
As much as he dreaded it, he needed them to get a lot more detailed before time ran out.
All he wanted to do right now was to grab Sarah and JJ and run away from all of this. Of course, he knew it was just wishful thinking.
There was nowhere to run. No place to hide.
"Giving up is never an option. Do you understand me?" The words of his father were resonating in his mind.
Why couldn't this be as easy as learning how to skate?
Of course, there was another option. One that hadn't been very fruitful so far: Christopher Wey. John hadn't seen him since the man had shown him the Newsweek magazine with his face on the cover. Wey had promised to tell him about what would happen, but he hadn't. Johnny wondered for a while if this guy even really knew anything. He wished he could establish the connection from his side, but it wasn't working this way. All he could do for now was to wait and to stay focused. Fighting the fear. And to be ready when the time came.
For a few seconds he contemplated driving back and asking Sarah for the return of Mr. Bear. Burning him in his fireplace back home sounded like a very satisfactory way to get over the last few days.
What was the point in doing so though? He knew she loved that toy. Whether it was the cuteness factor or the fact that it had been his, he wasn't sure.
Johnny knew it wouldn't do any harm to just let it be. Destroying the teddy wouldn't change a thing anyway.
Mr. Bear was just in for the ride.
Like everybody else.
end