He reached for the gun slowly. It was calling out to him, tempting him,
pounding in his brain. He tried to resist, but every muscle in his body
was telling him to pick it up, to just hold it for a little while. What
could it hurt? Suddenly his mind snapped.
* * * *
Michael Sullivan, Jr. rose from his bed. It was still dark outside, but it was early enough for him to be up. He didn't want to go back to sleep anyway. If he did, he'd be pulled in by another dream, much like the ones he kept having. The dreams always began differently, but ended the same. A gun was in front of him, and he was reaching for it. He never stopped to find out why he picked up the gun, or even if he did, he forced himself to wake up.
It would be cold this morning, so Michael put his socks on and just pulled his pants up over his pajamas. As he buttoned his shirt, he heard rustling across the hall. He could hear approaching footsteps, and Bill stuck his head in the door.
"You ready, son?" the old man asked.
"Yeah... sure. Just a second," Michael replied yawning and pulling his shoe on. Bill vanished and as Michael was tying the other shoe, Max came in happily and licked his hands. "Hey, Max. You ready for breakfast?" The dog answered by wagging his tail merrily.
On his way down the stairs, Michael could hear Bill and Virginia talking quietly. He tried to understand their low voices, but was distraced by the smell of scrambling eggs. A split second before he appeared in the doorway, Michael clearly heard Bill say "Chicago isn't that far..." but the man stopped short when he saw Michael.
Virginia smiled warmly, "Good morning, Michael. You hungry?" With a short nod, the boy sat down at the kitchen table across from Bill.
"What about Chicago?" Michael asked.
"Well... uh, we're gonna need to take a short trip there this weekend," Bill said slowly, "Is that all right with you?"
"Sure," Michael nodded, "why wouldn't it be?" Inside, he knew why Bill and Virginia would be concerned. He hadn't been to Chicago in five years, not since he had been there with his father so long ago. But he had put that behind him, and a short trip to Chicago wouldn't stir the memories up too much. Bill simply shrugged and grinned. To prove that he had no problems with traveling to the city, Michael put on a fake smile, "Breakfast smells good."
* * * *
A little while later, Michael walked into the shed. It was colder than he had anticipated, and he slapped his arms a few times to warm them up a bit. He had told Bill he left something in here, but he had really come to be alone. A trip to Chicago would be difficult, but he didn't think it would drive him crazy.
He walked over to the car and opened the door. As he sat down in the driver's seat, the memory of leaving came back to him. When he and his father had driven away from Bill and Virginia's home, in search of safety. What they had found was a living Hell. He began to shake remembering the last time he had ever heard his father's voice, apologizing for everything, for his mother, for Peter, for making him hold that gun.
Michael felt himself begin to sweat, and Bill's voice brought him back to reality. He opened the car door and climbed out, locking it behind him. It's just a short trip, he said to himself. Don't lose your head.
* * * *
Michael Sullivan, Jr. rose from his bed. It was still dark outside, but it was early enough for him to be up. He didn't want to go back to sleep anyway. If he did, he'd be pulled in by another dream, much like the ones he kept having. The dreams always began differently, but ended the same. A gun was in front of him, and he was reaching for it. He never stopped to find out why he picked up the gun, or even if he did, he forced himself to wake up.
It would be cold this morning, so Michael put his socks on and just pulled his pants up over his pajamas. As he buttoned his shirt, he heard rustling across the hall. He could hear approaching footsteps, and Bill stuck his head in the door.
"You ready, son?" the old man asked.
"Yeah... sure. Just a second," Michael replied yawning and pulling his shoe on. Bill vanished and as Michael was tying the other shoe, Max came in happily and licked his hands. "Hey, Max. You ready for breakfast?" The dog answered by wagging his tail merrily.
On his way down the stairs, Michael could hear Bill and Virginia talking quietly. He tried to understand their low voices, but was distraced by the smell of scrambling eggs. A split second before he appeared in the doorway, Michael clearly heard Bill say "Chicago isn't that far..." but the man stopped short when he saw Michael.
Virginia smiled warmly, "Good morning, Michael. You hungry?" With a short nod, the boy sat down at the kitchen table across from Bill.
"What about Chicago?" Michael asked.
"Well... uh, we're gonna need to take a short trip there this weekend," Bill said slowly, "Is that all right with you?"
"Sure," Michael nodded, "why wouldn't it be?" Inside, he knew why Bill and Virginia would be concerned. He hadn't been to Chicago in five years, not since he had been there with his father so long ago. But he had put that behind him, and a short trip to Chicago wouldn't stir the memories up too much. Bill simply shrugged and grinned. To prove that he had no problems with traveling to the city, Michael put on a fake smile, "Breakfast smells good."
* * * *
A little while later, Michael walked into the shed. It was colder than he had anticipated, and he slapped his arms a few times to warm them up a bit. He had told Bill he left something in here, but he had really come to be alone. A trip to Chicago would be difficult, but he didn't think it would drive him crazy.
He walked over to the car and opened the door. As he sat down in the driver's seat, the memory of leaving came back to him. When he and his father had driven away from Bill and Virginia's home, in search of safety. What they had found was a living Hell. He began to shake remembering the last time he had ever heard his father's voice, apologizing for everything, for his mother, for Peter, for making him hold that gun.
Michael felt himself begin to sweat, and Bill's voice brought him back to reality. He opened the car door and climbed out, locking it behind him. It's just a short trip, he said to himself. Don't lose your head.