Between Dreams and Hopes
Prologue
Arthur has always kept his past a secret-Because he himself doesn't even know completely. His real past.
As his search for his real past and biological parents unravel, he also discovers something he's never believed in.
Love.
Will Arthur's love for Ariadne stand strong enough against Carter? The mad man, come from Limbo, willing to destroy their lives?
Someone lurking in the shadows
Determined to break apart their love.
Someone dark. Sinister. Powerful. Stronger.
Willing to die to pay revenge.
Vengeance.
Whole Crew & OC
"They all say good night or nothing at all, their words just whispers like empty wind blowing behind backs, whispering thoughts sleepily, before they fade into memory and thought. Their voices become remnants of sounds, noises. Playing and replaying and their faces just images… Just images."
Beware.
Fast updates.
OOC.
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December, one day before Christmas
Year 2009
11:12 p.m
He has just missed the time for wishes by a minute.
Arthur is sitting on the sterile floor of his apartment. There are present wrapping all over the floor, the kind that makes crispy sounds when you tear them up and scrunch them in a ball to throw away. He muttered as he taped up the end of a small paper box with red paper, this was for James, the last load of presents he's polished for tomorrow.
The television on news channel is buzzing before him. When he glances around the apartment seems just like a hotel room out of his memory, out of a dream. There is a black leather notepad beside the unblended white telephone like a customary rented room and he breathes in the clean bed sheets behind that masquerade of lemon soap from the laundry. Arthur looks out his window. The New York lights glowed, glowing through the night, the endless night. The bright lights faded in and focused out… Like a dream….
He feels like the city is just a lie, a big, genius lie made beautiful in tall skyscrapers and electric bulbs, that feeling when the plane is landing and the sky seems upside down and the land is slanted, all the lights from the city are too straight in a line as if it were all an endless highway with an infinity of monochromatic streetlamps. Arthur's heart beats in the center of the city of New York, a city with ten million people, the same people riding the same subway in the morning and back at four o'clock in rush hour, the same people descending the same stairs, boarding the same train all over again. Like dice and numbers, thrown at random and disarranged so it looks different. He rubs his tired eyes and thinks that it's always the same ones sitting opposite of him to work, the same sad faces and same dark circles beneath their eyes.
It's all the same.
He sighed. Closed his eyes. Christmas. It meant almost nothing to him but spending a day at Cobb's, his two children calling him uncle Artie. He'd feel old, old. There is the annual Christmas meal, part of "Cobb tradition", and Arthur brings the red wine and fruit punch for the kids. Except this year, there will be no Mal. They all loved Mal's apple caramel pie; it was the highlight of their Christmas dinner. Ever since Mal had committed suicide, Cobb had always be drifting in and out of his locked up memories and reality. 28-year old Arthur did not admit this, but inside he was feeling the same. But it did not matter to him. Nothing had ever changed. To Arthur, Christmas was always just like shattered candy pieces of old Christmas lights that were taken down a bit too roughly.
Arthur was born into a powerful wealthy family, an only child. He was the kid everybody envied; he had the newest games and best bike, but he was not a spoiled kid like everyone thought him to be. He grew strong, hard on the surface, through the long struggle of his parents' divorce, his mother's remarriage, and the car accident and then –not long after- her death.
His stepfather, Jon got rid of him like he was an embarrassment, like his brown hair of South Carolina descent shamed him. Arthur grew up in boarding school, strict rules became his father and the soft encouragements of a few teachers became his mother.
The idea of Christmas was taunting. Every year Arthur would go back "home" to his "family" who welcomed him warmly and saw him go with relieved expressions, as if a huge burden was suddenly taken off of them. Arthur's father, Jon, was strict, he had a stern face and Arthur remembered him tall like a Christmas tree, and his anger and disappointment in his voice always broke through Arthur's surface and hurt him right in the center.
Poor Arthur was to be reluctantly called for from boarding school, sent home, and forced to smile and greet his new half siblings like family. Half siblings, who he'd only see once a year -and he'd forget the names of-every Christmas.
December 24th. Year 2000.
11:37 p.m
It is one day before Christmas. He is 18, now. A week has passed since he received his acceptance letter to Harvard, a promising major in physics. It was also that same week that Seth had packed up all his things in a bag and left him, for good. Arthur had fallen madly into this abyss of confusion, love, choosing what was right. And following his heart, which just lead him to a dead end of harsh reality. They used to spend whole weekends, driving and showing each other their favorite places. Arthur had taken Seth to the open roof of a 77-floor business building, and they'd drink champagne and talk about their dreams.
Drunk with foolish love Arthur vaguely remembered Seth's warm and jagged breaths tinted with alcohol, his ebony black hair, and this gold dragon tattoo, sprawled all over his powerful arms.
"Is this what it feels like to fall in love," Seth had murmured. The high wind blew hard on them and suddenly Arthur feels like everything is healed, that nothing will ever matter again.
But harsh reality, on that brink of jealousy of celebrations and happy smiles of children sent Arthur's soul crashing right into a dead end.
Now again, it is another one of those nights right before Christmas. It is the 18th winter of his life. He is standing out alone on the balcony, looking over the city. He sees all the crooks and turns of the abandoned streets down below, and he thinks about Seth.
'Arthur'
It is the strong, daring voice of Jon, his stepdad. He is in an ebony black suit for Christmas, too formal for a family gathering. But he doesn't know. Arthur doesn't speak, right now. His head is drooping, the sharp wind is piercing his face, or perhaps, it's the tears, like peppermint against his skin. He looks at how the snowflakes shine as they fall past the lamplights; he tries to catch one on his fingertips. It melts disappears on his warm hands.
Jon is behind him now; his firm and rigid hands placed his heaving shoulder blades.
'You've acted like I've never existed, ever since we became your family. Me, your younger siblings Chris and Becca. I know, with your mother's death, the divorce, the boarding school, it was so difficult.
I'm asking you now, Arthur, that I hope you forgive me. Forgive us, for all the pain we've brought to you, Arthur-"
Arthur remembered the days when they were alone, only he and his mother. When his mother was still alive, in those warm summers, she'd try to coax Arthur into playing outdoors with the other boys, instead of reading his books. Sometimes he went, to make her happy. Sometimes, he didn't go at all.
Now, back on that dim, icy balcony, he faced Jon, and put on a smile.
"I owe you, and Bec and Chris, something I can't ever make up for. You can blame it on the teenage hormones."
He put on a laugh, this chiming but cynical laugh, and he stepped back in the room, as if everything was mended, as if everything she owed to him could all be repaid by a single apology.
They all say good night or nothing at all, their words just whispers like empty wind blowing behind backs, whispering thoughts sleepily, before they fade into memory and thought. Their voices become remnants of sounds, noises. Playing and replaying and their faces just images… Just images.
And now those ghosts, those empty faces, empty laughter and voices, descend like snowflakes, and they fall on slowly on Arthur's hazel eyelashes.
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