Kingdom Hearts: Literary Hearts
3: The Nightmare Won't End
It was hours before Aster came in from the snow and settled onto Holden's bed. Holden had come back inside earlier to work on the paper.
He was wearing Holden's hound's-tooth jacket. He had been playing around like a little kid who was seeing snow for the first time.
Because, of course, he never had seen snow before.
It never got that cold, where he was from.
Holden was seated at his desk, which was a little too short for his frame. He was writing, probably working on Stradlater's composition, but an old baseball glove was on the desk next to the paper. It was a left-handed fielder's mitt, the leather worn and tattooed with writing in green ink. Part of Aster was frightened to go back to sleep; last time he had done so, we woke up seemingly in the wrong dimension, but he was far too tired now to fight it. And, thankfully, he wasn't troubled by any dreams, nor did Stradlater's footsteps in the hallway wake him up. It took Aster a few seconds to realize the conversation he was listening to wasn't a dream.
"This is about a goddam baseball glove."
"So what?"
"I told ya it had to be about a goddam room. No wonder you're flunking out of here. You don't do one thing the way you're supposed to."
"All right, give it back to me then." And Aster raised his head in time to watch Holden snatch the composition away from Stradlater, rip it up, and drop the shreds into a waste basket.
"What did ya do that for?" bellowed Stradlater.
Holden didn't answer; he just settled down next to Aster on the bed, lighting a cigarette. Aster absolutely hated the smell of tobacco, and he got up and moved closer to the window. Holden seemed too upset to notice. After a moment, he spoke to Stradlater again.
"You're back pretty goddam late if she only signed out for nine-thirty. Did you make her be late signing in?"
"Coupla minutes." Stradlater was calmly cutting his toenails. "Who the hell signs out for nine-thirty on a Saturday night?"
Holden scowled. "Where'd ya go with her?"
Putting away the nail clippers, Stradlater stood over Holden and started punching his arm playfully. "Nowhere. We just sat in the goddam car."
"What did you do?" asked Holden, rising, "What did you do to her in the car?"
"What a thing to say. And anyway, that's a professional secret buddy."
Holden paused, his eyes seeming to focus outside the bedroom. Aster, finally realizing the source of his new friend's bad humor, thought the conversation was over. Then Holden tried to punch Stradlater in the face. With an agility that seemed almost out of place, Stradlater immediately knocked Holden to the ground and pinned him down. Stradlater's face was red with fury and he started shouting, "What the hell's the matter with you?"
"Get your lousy knees off my chest."
"Cut it out!" Aster shouted, rushing at Stradlater and then more or less bouncing off of him.
Holden was starting to pant out, "You don't care anything about a girl, you moron, you think you can just…"
Now Stradlater was raising his fist, Aster had to act now, and he rushed at Stradlater, his hand raised in a fist, it would be his first real fight, and against a football player for that matter, and Aster swiped—pathetically—at Holden's assailant.
Who illogically flew across the room, landing on his own bed, grasping his arm.
The room was quiet for a second. Then Stradlater whispered, "He goddam asked for it," then slipped quietly out the door.
Holden picked up the red cap, pulled it back on his head, and slowly began to adjust it. All the time he was staring openly at Aster. The way he stared made Aster very nervous. He looked away, then began fidgeting, tightening his grip on—
Aster swallowed and then glanced down quickly. And there it was, gleaming in his hand.
The sword.
The key shaped sword.
real
And an eerily familiar and powerful voice seemed to echo around the room, a voice which Holden did not hear.
"Keyblade…" it said. "Keyblade…"
Aster wheeled around and threw the sword to the ground. It vanished in a flash of light, reappearing immediately in Aster's hand. He dropped it again in panic, and it returned. In a rising state of fury, he hurled the sword against the wall. It clattered to the floor, then boomeranged once again.
"I can't stay here," said Holden.
"Wait, please—" started Aster, but Holden seemed to talking to himself. A fresh resolve sparkled in his eyes.
"It's too sad, too lonesome here…let's go."
"Go? Where?"
"New York."
Aster was confused, but also excited. He wouldn't have to wait after all; he was going to start finding answers tonight! Holden was already packing things from his closet. But he was also crying. Aster didn't know whether to help Holden with his things or to let him be for a few minutes. He realized that he would have to pack the keyblade somewhere—he had forgotten it was still in his hand—when it vanished in another flash of light. Aster rolled his eyes at the rising stupidity of this situation.
Holden had finished packing, and the two boys stood together at the door. Aster sensed this was somehow a major moment for Holden, who slowly, expectantly, turned the knob of his bedroom door.
The pair strode down the corridor until they reached the stairwell. Holden turned back with a thoughtful look on his face, which was still damp with tears.
Aster jumped when Holden shouted at the top of his voice, "Sleep tight, ya morons!"
Then Holden turned, and Aster followed.
And Holden Caulfield left Pencey behind.
They walked all the way to the train station, each carrying one of Holden's suitcases. Aster was pretty miserable in the cold, and was very grateful as they came up to the entrance.
Holden stopped abruptly and shouted wonderingly, "What the hell?"
Aster glanced up. The sidewalk outside the doorway seemed to be shifting somehow, as the though the shadows were…
As though the shadows were alive.
Aster dropped the suitcase as the horror sank in. First the keyblade and now the shadows. His entire nightmare seemed to be coming true.
But just as he thought, "keyblade," that same mysterious weapon flashed back into his hand. He stood there a moment looking back and forth between the keyblade and the shadows. He was shaken from this reverie when he realized that the shadows were closing in on Holden.
With a shout, Aster and the keyblade leaped upon his enemies.
Holden backed away quickly as the combination of boy and sword slashed through the first three monsters. The remaining shadows sank into the ground, but then rounded on Aster; they seemed to have lost interest in Holden.
Aster was ready for them. As they reappeared above the ground, he cut through each one in quick succession. When the fight was done, Holden looked at Aster as though seeing him for the first time.
"That was—the most goddam amazing thing I've ever seen! Really!"
Aster was not nearly as excited. "But what were those things! And why did they attack us! And where did this keyblade come from!"
"Keyblade?"
"This sword!"
"I know what ya mean, but where did you get that name?"
Aster opened his mouth to shout another answer, but realized he didn't know when that name had popped into his mind. It seemed…familiar, as though it had always been floating around in the back of his head. All he could come up with was a feeble, "I don't know."
