Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and some of the dialogue is copied from the movie as well. M Night Shyamalan owns most of it, I guess.
AN: This is the scene in the basement, expanded upon. What was Merrill thinking? What was he whispering? What did they all dream about? Done in the style of a novelization; I can't find one for Signs anywhere, so I'm doing it myself. If I actually decide to go through with it, it will be complete by the end of summer and anyone who wants a copy will be able to e-mail me. That's a mundo maybe though. Not sure I'll bother to finish it. But for now, here's part of it.
PS: If anyone knows definitively whether or not there is a novelization, and where I can get one if there is, please say so in a review, or e-mail me. My address is on my bio page.
Fever Dreams
"I dreamed this," Bo said quietly. Merrill's heart pounded out of control. They didn't have Morgan's medicine. If he… there was nothing they could do…
"Stay with me," Graham whispered. 'I know it hurts. Be strong, baby. It'll pass."
Cradling Bo in his arms, Merrill bit his lip- hard- until he felt a tiny trickle of blood run onto his tongue, distracting him just enough to get control of his own emotions. His brother- his flawless brother Graham Hess, who was everything he wanted to be- was finally, officially broken. That was something Merrill didn't think he could handle.
Despite his efforts, tears pooled into his eyes; again he managed to blink them away, but only just.
What would Graham do now? Graham, like he was before Colleen died. That Graham would know what to do. That Graham always did.
"Don't do this to me again," his brother whispered.
That Graham- the pre-accident one- had one universal solution for hopeless situations such as this. For as far back as Merrill could remember, it had worked, too.
I was seven, my team was losing by twenty-six points; we won… I was nine and Daddy was sick; he got better… when Grandma died, Graham even made it hurt less…
With every fiber of his being, Merrill wanted that Graham back.
Ignoring the sobs escaping quietly from the Graham of now, Merrill closed his eyes and did the only thing he could think to do.
"Not again."
"The Lord is my shepherd," he mouthed, his eyes glued on Graham and Morgan. "I shall not want."
"I hate you. I hate you," Graham whispered.
Merrill realized with a start that he was terrified. His brother was talking to God, just like Merrill had wanted him too… and this was what he chose to say. I hate you.
"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures… He leadeth me besides still waters…" Merrill whispered.
"The fear is feeding it. Don't be afraid of what's happening." Graham was talking to Morgan again, and to himself as well, Merrill realized.
"He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake." Merrill whispered.
"Believe it's going to pass. Believe it."
"Yea, though I… I… yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."
"Just wait. Don't be afraid."
"For thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me, in the presence of my enemies…"
"The air is coming. Believe. You don't have to be afraid. It's about to pass."
Tears threatened his eyes again, so Merrill shut them tightly. For the life of him, he could not remember the next line; he could not block out the broken sounds of his brother crying.
"Thou anointest my head with oil," he suddenly remembered. It was the part he never understood. "My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life."
"Here it comes. Don't be afraid. Here comes the air. Don't be afraid, Morgan. Feel my chest. Breath with me."
"And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." I don't want to die, Merrill thought suddenly.
"Together," Graham whispered. "The air is going in our lungs. Together. We're the same." His voice broke as his composure vanished for good.
"We're the same."
"Forever. Amen." The prayer over, Merrill's eyes opened slowly. It had helped. Slightly. He looked down to see Bo curled against his chest; he raised and arm to hug her to him ever tighter and realized how much he really, truly loved his niece. His throat constricted sickeningly, and it was a moment before he trusted himself to speak.
"We should save the flashlights," Merrill said dully, once the pressure in his chest let up slightly. He clicked his off, and that side of the basement went black. Graham's shut off as well, after a moment and without a word of confirmation, and darkness swallowed the basement like a cloud engulfing the moon on a rainy night.
^
Bo dreamed. In her dream she was a princess, old enough to ride without the royal training wheels. She had blue hair because blue is a pretty color, and Morgan wasn't dead and he made her cookies every Wednesday. Isabelle and Houdini were the royal dogs and Uncle Merrill was the royal sandwich crust cutter, and Daddy wore the funny white collar he used to wear back when he was happy all the time. Mommy was alive and she made cupcakes and let Her Little Princess Bo lick the whole bowl herself without Morgan to help.
Then the aliens came. Nasty, mean aliens who could read peoples brains. They killed Mommy. Then Morgan.
Princess Bo sent her bravest knights on their bravest unicorns to fight the aliens, but the aliens killed them all by hitting them with trucks. Daddy died. Uncle Merrill died. The aliens could read her brain because she wasn't wearing her helmet…
Bo woke up, whimpering, and buried her head tighter against Uncle Merrill's chest. His heart was still beating. That made her feel a little better.
When she went back to sleep a few seconds later, she dreamed of him in his baseball shirt, and that made her smile.
^
Morgan dreamed. None of it made sense. He was underwater, breathing, but only just. Dad was crying.
I should never have said I hate him, Morgan realized. I don't.
He swam towards his father, kicking his legs out to the sides like he was taught at summercamp. It didn't help. He wasn't moving.
Dad! Morgan called out. Bubbles escaped his lips.
Houdini swam by, gnawing on a leg of chicken. Bo chased him, waving a barbecue knife and giggling happily. Then everything stopped for a split second and resumed, like a movie put on pause.
And Mom was there.
Morgan felt tears in his eyes, although he didn't know how he could tell, being underwater like he was. "Mommy?"
"I'm here, Morgan," she whispered. He was right next to him; neither of them were underwater anymore. They sat somewhere beautiful, somewhere sunny that he couldn't see exactly.
I'm not drowning anymore, Morgan realized. I can breathe.
Bo, Houdini and Dad were gone. It didn't matter. Morgan reached over and hugged his mother as tightly as he could. "I missed you so bad," he whispered. "I missed you so bad."
"I know, Morgie," Mom whispered. "You hurt bad, I know."
"I did, Mom," Morgan mumbled, burying his face in his mother's chest and sniffling. "It hurt so bad I couldn't feel anything else." He let his head lay there for a while.
"Morgie… look at me," Mom said softly, after a while. Morgan obeyed, lifting his head to look at her eyes. "Does it hurt as bad as it did at first?"
"I don't cry as much," Morgan said immediately, wiping his eyes. He was strong; he wanted his mother to know that. "But it still hurts as bad."
Mom sighed and hugged him again. "It won't hurt forever. I promise."
"I believe you," Morgan whispered. And he did. They sat there, in silence again, for a few minutes, then Mom spoke.
"You need to go back now."
"Back where?" Morgan asked, confused. "Back why?"
"Your daddy needs you," she whispered. "He's hurting too."
"He won't pray anymore," Morgan remembered suddenly. "I asked him to and he wouldn't. I shouldn't have said I hate him. I don't, Mommy, I don't! I love him!"
His mother sighed again. "He loves you. And he'll get better too. But he needs you there. Promise me you'll take care of him?"
"I promise," Morgan swore, and meant it as hard as he could.
"And I," Mom whispered. "Promise you that it won't hurt as bad when you wake up. Morgan… Morgie. Look after your sister and your father. But have fun too. You're still a kid. I love you."
"I will. I love you too," Morgan whispered, feeling tears in his eyes again. He stared at his mother intently, memorizing every part of her face. She looked like an angel, but she didn't look dead. She smiled at him.
Then she was gone and he was back under water, and he couldn't breathe.
Mom. Mommy.
I have to wake up, Morgan realized. I promised Mom I'd look after Bo. And Dad. I have to wake up now. I have to now!!
Morgan woke up, gasped once, and watched his chest moved up and down. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think about breathing. But he promised. So Morgan kept inhaling.
^
Graham dreamed. His dreams for the past six months had been horrible. He watched her die, over and over. He watched the truck hit her, even though he hadn't been there when it really happened. Sometimes he watched himself, watched himself slowly waste away without her. That hurt almost as badly, because it was the last thing she would have wanted, and Graham wanted her happy. He didn't want Colleen to hurt anymore.
Without fail, he woke up crying. Sometimes he screamed. But the worst part was rolling over and realizing that it had all been real, and that there was no one in bed next to him to dry his tears or hug him until his heart stopped hammering.
But this dream was different, somehow. They were in the cornfield, between two of the rows. It was spring; the stalks were low and the spaces between them wide. A blanket had been spread out; Bo and Morgan sat at one end, with he and Colleen in each other's arms on the opposite side. Spread out before them was a picnic lunch, complete with sandwiches and chips and cake, and lemonade that Bo had helped Morgan make, so Graham politely refused a glass.
Laughing, Colleen accepted hers, took a sip, and hid her grimace marvelously. "It's great, Princess. Tell me, did you use the sugar from the sugar bowl, or the little shaker that sits next to the pepper?"
"The shaker," Bo said proudly.
"I thought so," Colleen replied, smiling. "Morgan, next time you do the sugar, and let Bo pour in the water, okay?"
"Okay, Mom." Morgan grinned.
Graham looked around. Morgan, Bo, Colleen… everyone was smiling. Everyone was happy. Everyone was breathing.
For just a second, fear flooded through his veins and he tried to pull away. This wasn't real. It couldn't be.
Then a beautiful thought overwhelmed him. Why fight it? For once in his life, why fight it?
"Bo, did you help with the sandwiches?" He asked kindly.
"Morgan wouldn't let me," Bo pouted.
"Should be safe then," Colleen whispered.
"Pass me a turkey and cheese," Graham whispered back. Bo stopped pouting and began to pick the strawberries off the top of the cake one by one, stuffing them in her mouth and sending pinkish juice down the front of her jumper.
In his sleep, Graham smiled. If he still believed in God- in anybody- he would have thanked Him for the small, welcome break from reality.
^
Merrill dreamed. He was in a room much like the basement, but with baseball bats everywhere, stuck to the walls without the support of any sort of hanger. He was in his baseball uniform, pants included. (Typically, when he was outfitted like this in a dream, the bottoms were missing and he was blushing furiously as Miranda McKinney got a full-on view of his assets.)
Colleen was there. His beautiful sister-in-law, the perfect woman for his handsome brother, the perfect man. She was clad in her wedding dress, looking exactly as she had on that day, right down to the daisies in her hair. But Graham wasn't there. A wedding without the groom.
His parents were there. Morgan, and Bo. Houdini, Isabelle and a parade of cookie-cutter girlfriends from his past, filing past in a brilliant display of legs, blonde hair and lack of individuality. Colleen was beautiful. But she was smart and kind and funny too, and of course Graham could find a girl like that while he, Merrill, was stuck with lifeless, superficial girls who wouldn't have given him a second chance back freshman year, before he took up baseball and still had his braces.
Graham wasn't there. Merrill felt dizzy, and ill. He vaguely wondered if he would throw up.
ET walked by, holding Bo's hand. Merrill opened his mouth to call out to her, but bile rose swiftly at the back of his throat, and he shut his mouth tightly, feeling his knees shake.
His dreams never made sense. He always hated that. His dreams made no sense.
Morgan ran by, taller than he was in real life, swinging Merrill's baseball bat while rain began to fall. He looked healthy. The calendar read July '97. For once in his life he was Merrill Hess, not Graham Hess' baby brother.
Morgan swung the bat as hard as he could, smacking the ball into the expansive forehead of ET, who promptly died. Bo began to cry. Where was Graham?
Merrill was five. Graham was fourteen. He was going to a dance to dance with girls who wore their hair in curls and made Mommy and Daddy smile. Merrill wanted to go. The door shut behind Graham. Merrill began to cry.
He was 27 again, still crying, still in the blue footie pajamas of his five-year-old self. Where was Graham?
Colleen disappeared. Morgan stopped breathing. Bo- pretty little blue-eye Bo- held a water gun pointed towards her head. The lightbulb above them shattered to pieces and Merrill Hess dropped to his knees, sobbing hysterically.
He woke up to a tiny crack of sunlight filtering through a crack at the top of the opposite wall. His internal clock, which was surprisingly accurate, sensed it to be about eight in the morning. For a blissful second, he forgot all about why he was in the basement in the first place. Then he went to rub his eyes, and found his face damp with sweat and tears, and it all came rushing back to him.
Merrill Hess was at best an impulsive man, often downright irrational. But now, he realized, Graham was out of commission. Nothing had been said aloud, but he was the head of the family now, Merrill realized. At least until Graham returned to the world of the functioning. So he was determined to handle this in a mature, organized way.
He would not panic. He would not cry anymore.
First order of business: illumination. The rest of them would be waking soon. Perhaps spirits would brighten if they weren't forced to wake up to a dimly lit basement.
He shifted Bo aside, gently, and grabbed the flashlight from where it had fallen and rolled a few feet away. Within a few minutes, he had located a pack of lightbulbs, and slid a box under the light so he could reach to screw the new one in.
All of a sudden, the radio hissed to life, and Merrill came as close to wetting himself as he had in twenty years. Just the radio, Hess, get a hold of yourself. Just the radio. Forcing himself to control his racing pulse, he removed the old lightbulb and replaced it with the new. Light filled the dreary room, casting odd shadows, all of which resembled aliens.
Aliens. The radio!
Merrill turned his attention back to the object- their contact to the outside world- and listened, barely breathing for fear he'd miss something.
"Mass scaled evacuation," the thing said.
What about it!?! Merrill shouted internally.
"I'll say it again, Jim, because it feels so damn good to say it."
Thank you, Merrill thought.
"Although there have been no confirmations, officials agree that the aliens are, indeed, leaving in droves."
Merrill was shaking. His hand, acting under its own control, jumped up and switched off the radio. Then he sunk to the ground, staring around at the room. He felt like Morgan. He could barely breathe.
Too good to be true, he tried to tell himself. But Merrill, for all his doubts, was an inherent optimist, and if the news people said it, that was good enough for him.
Tell Graham. Gotta tell Graham.
Merrill rose, and moved across the room to rouse his brother.
AN: I know I should be working on Dark Angel… but I couldn't resist. Signs, Shyamalan and Joaquin Phoenix rock my world!