When Ronan was a kid once – someone who looked at him now could hardly believe it but he had been one once – he had been playing in the woods with Declan during summer. They had played hide and seek and fought games of war. They had climbed up the trees, inciting each other to climb higher and higher until the branches were already squawking beneath them. One day, Declan had dared him to climb on top of the highest tree in the whole forest. The highest tree they had found, at least. Ronan laughed about it, mocking his brother that he thought this would be a challenge for him. Then he started climbing. Higher and higher until the branches were just as thick as his small fingers back then. He had almost reached the branch fork Declan had pointed at as something under his foot broke. He was too surprised as that he could catch his balance again so he fell. He fell and he fell and he fell. When he hit the ground, all air of his body got pressed out of him and he could barely breathe. And he had this weird feeling like he knew something was wrong, something had broken but he didn't know what.
That's how he felt since this morning.
He laid on a pew inside St. Agnes – the little church in the middle of Henrietta. A place he had always sought for peace and clear thoughts. Something he needed more than anything right now.
No, this wasn't true.
What he needed more than anything right now had once lived just meters away from were Ronan laid in this second.
Ronan exhaled. He tried to sleep. He tried to dream. But for some reasons, it wasn't as easy as usual today to leave the reality behind. Even when he didn't want to do anything more than this. Getting rid of this hurt, waking up somewhere he could breathe again. Or where he could at least pretend he could.
He knew that there would just be nightmares waiting for him – they always came when he needed to escape the real world. When the real world was the nightmare. But still. There they weren't real. Here they were. There he knew how to handle them. Here he didn't.
Ronan's eyelids were closed when the lights started to flicker. It wouldn't be unusual – the electrics of the church were old. The thing was, Ronan hadn't turned them on.
His eyes shot open. The light flickered again, illuminating the dark rows of wooden pews. Then it died off. The only remaining source of light was a candle next to the altar.
"Ronan?" a voice asked. It was like a whisper. Like someone was right next to him, breathing into his ear. Chasing chills over his back. He sat up.
"Ronan?"
He knew this voice.
He knew this voice better than his own.
"RONAN!" it said again. Louder this time. Desperate.
"Adam?" Ronan asked, looking around. Trying to make out where his voice came from. "Where are you?"
"NOO! RONAN!" This time the voice shouted from somewhere distant. Echoing in the pipe organ.
"Adam!" Ronan got onto his feet and climbed over the pew. "Are you here?" He ran through the aisle, checking each bench for life but he couldn't find him. He couldn't find anything.
"ROONAAAN!" Adam's voice sounded so devasted and in pain, Ronan nearly lost his mind. He ran faster, shouting back, asking whether he was okay. If he was hurt. But Adam just repeated Ronan's name over and over again – sounding more hopeless with each time. Ronan decided that he must be outside the church so he headed for the exit but no matter how fast he ran, he never reached it. There was just one row of pews after another with no end in sight. The darkness was behind him, grabbing with all its hands for him, trying to pull him back. And when he looked at his arms, the black inked lines of his tattoo were flickering all the way down to his wrists. They pulsated and burned and soon they covered his whole arms and hands. His face. They took his breath and his sight. Then they swallowed all his senses. They swallowed Ronan and made him complete the darkness.
Adam's shout was the only thing existing beside it.
The only thing it couldn't swallow.
"RONAN!"
Ronan's eyes jerked open. He needed a few seconds to remember.
He was in St. Agnes. Alone.
Adam wasn't here. Adam was gone.
He had just dreamt. He wasn't sure if he was relieved.
He lifted his head and kneaded his forehead. His head hurt like he had smashed it against a wall. For a terrifying moment, he thought he had maybe pulled the darkness with him – that he had taken it out of his dream. But his hands weren't black anymore, neither were his arms. He was alright.
Only that he wasn't.
He got up and left the church. The night was cold and windy. The air smelled like rain.
And while Ronan walked down the street, headed to his BMW, he was sure of two things:
First, he wouldn't drive to the barns tonight. Even when he knew there was a storm coming – a storm so heavy, it would probably leak into his house because he hadn't closed the windows – he wasn't even sure if he had closed the front door. No. Ronan wouldn't return to the barns. All there was left, was silence and broken things.
No.
Ronan would drive home.
He knew the way to Harvard. He had been there a few times by now. He also knew that the drive would last around ten hours. Though Ronan would probably just need eight. Especially tonight.
Sure, he could just use his phone and call Adam. Perhaps they could sort out some of this mess this way, too. But why use his phone when he could just talk to him in person? This was something Ronan would never understand. So instead, he would drive. Ronan had always loved driving, especially at night. It would do him good.
He steered his BMW towards the highway, while he turned on his music. He didn't crank up the volume as loud as usually – when he drove alone or with Adam through the dead streets of Henrietta. Windows all down and laughter chiming through the beats. Entangled hands and the feeling of infinity.
This night didn't feel like infinity. This night felt like he was standing on a crossroad and if he took the wrong turn, he would never find the way back.
Ronan was pretty sure he had taken the right turn. Maybe he was a bit late and maybe he took it a bit too sharp but he was sure he was right. He had to. He wouldn't survive being lost. Not again.
He was the only car on the highway – no one was headed outer state on a Monday night. No one besides this one BMW, chasing after a Tri-colored Hondayota which was miles ahead of him.
It turned out this wasn't true. There was a car, Ronan didn't really pay attention which one, a dozen meters ahead of him, but driving so slowly, Ronan would probably crash into it. Furiously, he hit the honk, making the slowed down car pull over. He cussed over the stupidity of the driver and craved his neck to get a quick glance as he rushed past him.
There was this phenomenon everyone had experienced more than often. Sometimes a person spoke to you and at first, you weren't able to understand them. The words just didn't make sense in your head. But when you thought about it a second longer – replaying the melody of the words in your head – you suddenly understood. Suddenly you recognized. The same worked with pictures. If you looked at them again in your memory, you often remembered the film they were part of even if you first had no clue you already knew what you just saw.
This was what Ronan experienced at this moment. He drove at least two minutes, thinking about the incident with this moronic driver until he hit the brakes and made the wheels squeak dramatically.
He stopped his car in the middle of the highway. It would have been a suicide squad if there was any other car beside him. But there only was the Tri-colored car, which now turned around and speeded back to the city Ronan had just left.
Without thinking, Ronan did the same. He tore the stirring wheel around and made the speed indicator flicker. Then he raced down the street, following the car he had just mocked.
He felt like this was a race. But different from every other race he had run so far, this one meant something. Never had he ever wanted to reach the finish line so badly as now. Never had he ever wanted to catch up with his opponent so urgently as with this one. And never had he ever wanted to win the honour of the driver instead of showing off his own.