Peace – Part 10
Jack opened his eyes when the sunlight on his face got to hot to ignore any longer. His first conscious thought was that he could think clearly. His brain started to assess the way his body felt, as though this was a necessary procedure he had to run through before he could consider moving.
The pain was OK. It was still there, he felt like he had been run over twenty times by a large truck and then dragged through the streets. But it wasn't acute the way it had been for days, more it was a fatigue that rested in his muscles and made him want to sleep for the next ten years. But his brain was awake and alert and he knew that it was time to start pulling himself back together.
He could remember all of it, in a distant and hazy way, in a way that promised that eventually the individual memories would fade and he'd be left with a jumbled fog of images and feelings. The fear was what stood out now – how scared he'd been by it all and how close he'd been to giving in completely. Jack wasn't a religious man, but he offered a quick and silent prayer up to whoever might be listening, thanking them for letting him get through it. The relief was so strong he could taste it and a small smile spread across his face as he realised that he was here, still alive and ready to fight another day.
He turned his attention to the room. He'd been staring at something for a few minutes now, without actually seeing it at all. There was a chair about six feet away from the mattress. He knew he hadn't put it there and was pretty sure it hadn't been there last night. It was wooden, old, with a high back and no armrests. There was a white mug on the floor next to it. Jack stared at the brown stain on the side, where coffee had dripped over the rim and dried there and he suddenly remembered – there had been someone else. Someone with a gun. His blood ran cold and his heart plummeted into his feet. How long ago was it? When did he get here? How much had he seen? And more importantly, where was he now? Jack suddenly felt very vulnerable, lying there in just a T-shirt and shorts. He wasn't sure he was up to what was coming next. But then, hadn't he been planning on dealing with this anyway?
There was no sound in the house. Outside there was only the normal sounds of the forest – had he left? No, he wouldn't have left. Jack waited, didn't move.
Eventually he heard the sound of a motorbike, coming from somewhere at the back of the house. He listened as the shed door was slammed and then there was silence – the footsteps were too quiet to be heard from where he was. But he was coming. Jack felt his stomach tighten with nerves, the adrenaline started flowing and he couldn't decide whether he should get up or not. What was the best way to do this? Be sitting up and waiting? Or pretend that he was still ignorant of his brother's presence? Jack knew it was Conrad, it was logically the only person it could be. He felt something close to panic as he thought about seeing him again. It was too soon! He wasn't prepared for this – what if it was too much pressure and he couldn't hold back from the needle? Jack's brain rebelled at the thought of a heavy conversation right now, or a fight or anything. He just wanted to get clean and go outside, relax a while. Get some food maybe. He didn't want pressure, couldn't take it right now.
The front door closed. Jack didn't move. Maybe he'd leave him alone, to come down on his own....no, there was his footstep on the stair. He was coming up. Jack couldn't help wishing that he had something to help him through this – and his veins pulsed at the thought. Desire gripped him but he pushed it aside and forced himself to lie still. It was too late to be sitting up and ready, he'd pretend to be woken up by the noise. Jack had no idea what he would say.
The footsteps reached the top of the stairs and Jack could feel the presence behind him, watching and waiting. He seemed to be checking if he was awake. Jack let out a small groan and shifted slightly, listening for a response. He got one too – the sound of a shotgun being cocked and the rustle of fabric as it was raised and aimed. His mind raced. Was Conrad seriously thinking of shooting him? Why?
He moved again, as though he was waking from a deep sleep. No sounds from the doorway. Jack shifted onto his side, facing out into the room. He didn't have to feign the slowness of the move, every muscle ached and creaked with the effort it took. He shut his eyes to block it out. Block everything out actually, he still didn't have a clue what was going to happen now. Then, suddenly, he heard his father's voice.
'Don't make any sudden movements.'
Except, of course, it wasn't his father who was speaking. His father had been dead a long time now. But it was uncanny the fear that Jack felt on hearing the similarity, hearing the voice of a brother he hadn't spoken to in twenty five years. That voice brought back a wealth of horrible memories, ones he didn't want to have to deal with yet. But the words amused him slightly and he let out a soft chuckle.
'As if I could if I wanted to.'
Jack slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, back against the wall, not looking at the tall figure pointing the gun. He was afraid to look. It was as if facing Conrad would open up a whole new thing and once it was open, he wouldn't be able to back away from it. He'd be forced to deal with it and right now, the effort involved just seemed like too much. Jack's gaze wandered to the shelf. The box was still there. So was the gun. He looked down at the floor and didn't move his eyes.
Conrad walked slowly into the room with the gun still raised. He stood right in front of the man on the bed and aimed squarely at his forehead. Neither of them spoke.
Jack was at a loss for words. He distracted himself by counting the cracks in the floor and trying to identify the sounds from outside. It wasn't like him to be rendered so utterly speechless – but then, he hadn't been in this situation before. Still, the oppressive silence needed to be broken so he cleared his dry throat and croaked out,
'You really don't need the gun. I'm not dangerous. I'm not going to try anything.'
No response. Jack still didn't lift his head but he noticed a half empty bottle of water and reached for it.
'Don't move.' The tone was menacing.
'I need a drink. I'm just going to reach for it slowly....' He did and Conrad didn't stop him. Jack picked it up, then eased himself back against the wall and drank the water straight down. It was warm from the heat of the room but it was still the best thing he'd ever tasted. It helped to focus him on what was going on. Why was his brother acting this way? Jack didn't have a clue how he had expected him to react – well, he hadn't expected to see him at all when he'd he planned this thing out. And now he was here...well, it was uncharted territory.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Jack raised his head and looked his brother squarely in the eye. A wave of shock ran through him that was so strong it made him gasp out loud. Jesus, the man was the image of their father! There'd been a resemblance when they were young, but now, at forty four, Conrad looked exactly like Sam Bauer - their father - the last time Jack had seen him. Tall – about 6 feet 2 inches – dark brown hair cut short at the sides and longer on top, brown eyes, and strong features set in a handsome face with a square jaw. His mouth was set in a determined line just now, the eyes were hard and menacing – and they didn't hold a hint of recognition. Jack suddenly realised what the gun was for and it made him more nervous than ever. He also felt extremely vulnerable - a small figure, bathed in sweat, leaning against a wall for support. He probably looked and smelled horrible and Conrad obviously didn't have a clue who he was looking at. Jack supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. He had never looked like either of their parents – and it had been a long time.
'OK, you've had your drink. Now tell me who you are and what the hell you're doing in my house. You'd better have a good reason because I've got every right to blow your head clean off your shoulders. Start talking.'
'Conrad....' Jack pushed himself flat against the wall as the gun was suddenly right in his face.
'How do you know my name?!'
Jack smirked, he couldn't help it. This was all too weird to take in. His mind was buzzing, he ached all over, he had a gun in his face and he was supposed to offer a coherent explanation of his presence to his estranged brother?
'What are you smiling at jackass?! I get a call from a park ranger who's a buddy of mine, telling me my house has been broken into. I get up here to find a strange guy in a bedroom, who is obviously a junkie. There's a gun and a small fortune in drugs sitting on a shelf, you've broken into my storage shed and there's five large cans of gasoline sitting in the hall downstairs. I could have you arrested right now – hell, I could kill you right now and no one would bat an eyelid. So you've got five minutes to tell me why I shouldn't do either of those things - and make it good.'
Jack cleared his throat and tried to make his voice clear and strong. 'Well, you could have me arrested for the drugs, sure. But I could get out of that so you shouldn't waste your time. And the breaking and entering? No, you can't get me for that.'
Conrad hesitated. He was obviously curious but didn't want to bite. Jack didn't speak again though so he had no choice. 'Any particular reason why not? Last time I checked, I did own this property.'
Jack stared straight into his eyes and hoped that his brother was ready for this. A shotgun blast to the face wouldn't be pretty.
'No Conrad. Last time you checked, you owned HALF of this property. And I own the other half, so I've as much right to be here as you do.'
The silence that descended was like a thick blanket that covered the room. Jack found himself holding his breath as he stared into those brown eyes, waiting for a reaction. The face didn't change its expression, but it did turn visibly white as he watched. Then the barrel of the gun started to waver as though the arms couldn't hold its weight anymore – eventually it pointed down at the ground and Jack relaxed slightly. Conrad stood with his arms at his sides, staring in amazement, taking in the man before him like he was trying to see something he recognized.
'Jack?' It wasn't more than a whisper. Jack nodded, slowly, his eyes never leaving the face.
'Holy. Fucking. Hell.' He seemed to be shaking. He took a few steps back and the back of his legs collided with the chair. The left hand reached down blindly and found the seat, he slumped into it, his eyes never leaving Jack, who didn't move.
'Yeah Con, it's me.' He just stared and Jack fought the urge to laugh. The situation was just so weird! 'How've you been?'
Conrad seemed to be in shock, or some kind of trance. Jack raised a hand and waved it across his brother's eye line, trying to wake him up. He shifted his eyes away from the man on the floor and looked down.
'What are you doing here?'
'I'm sorting some things out.' Jack kept his voice even, clear of any emotion. He didn't want to have to explain himself. He was surprised that he didn't feel angry – but he was sure that would come. Right now, all he could think about was how much he wanted a shower. And a fix. God, he'd love a fix right now. Thinking of the drug made him want it, and all of a sudden Jack felt bad, tired, irritable and unable to deal with this. He hadn't asked his brother to show up. He didn't want him here. And now he was just sitting there, staring, making him feel like a circus freak or something. Damnit, he didn't want this!
'Stop staring at me Con.'
'Jack, I haven't seen you in twenty five years and now you're in my house, sitting in front of me. You're a junkie. You look like sh!t. And you haven't told me what you're doing here. You didn't think I'd be surprised?'
'I didn't think you'd be here at all. I wish you weren't here.' Jack's voice was hard and Conrad looked even more surprised.
'Well...I'm not sure I want you here either. I seem to remember you saying you'd never come to this place again. What happened – you get nostalgic?' There was sarcasm in the tone and Jack felt his temper flare. He didn't need this and wasn't in the mood to put up with it.
'Yeah Conrad, I got nostalgic. Nostalgic for this place, where you ruined me and I lost my family.' Jack moved finally, struggled to his feet, wincing at the pain that shot through his body. He walked a few feet and stood over the figure in the chair, his legs trembling. Conrad just looked up at him, his face unreadable. It was like Jack's comment had taken his voice away, but there was no guilt or pain on his features. He was just blank, and Jack was reminded even more of their father.
'Leave. I won't be here long and I don't want you with me. I told you years ago that I never wanted to see you again and I meant it.' No response. 'I'm going to take a shower. I don't want you to be here when I get out.'
Conrad didn't give any sign that he'd heard but Jack didn't wait for one. He reached into his bag and grabbed some clothes, a towel and some soap. As he stood up his eyes passed over his stash and he felt his throat tighten. Well, at least it was better than before. A little easier to resist. But he wasn't kidding himself – he knew that the real battle had just started. Staying off it was a much longer process than the initial withdrawal. He turned his back on the drugs, forgetting that his brother was still sitting there, not registering his presence at all. His mind was concentrating on fighting the want that screamed in his head. The guy in the chair was nothing. After all, heroin had been much closer to him than Conrad ever was.
He walked out of the room without looking back. He didn't see the way that his brother sagged in the chair after he'd left or the way he dropped the gun and rested his face in his hands. And he wouldn't have cared if he had.