A Little Help From My Friends
Part Eleven
There was a familiar scent in his nostrils – sharp/sweet and tantalising. It took him the best part of a minute to work out it was the fragrance of lemons. The fragrance of lemons and a tender hand, smoothing the hair back off his brow. He leant into her touch with a sigh of relief. Dear God, he had missed her so much.
"Mom?" His voice sounded sort of pathetic. Broken and not his own. But then, nothing was what it seemed any more, so why should he be all that surprised? In the space of a few crazy, messed-up weeks, his whole world had been turned on its head. Kinda like he'd been trapped in a time warp - like he was travelling backwards through space. Jumbo, The Beatles, the whole being dependent thing – perhaps he was reverting to his childhood?
Things had been much simpler then. Safer and more predictable. So, okay, the whole Charlie vibe had been weird, but he – Don – had known his place in the universe. And it hadn't involved a blaster or anything to do with Star Wars. But time had a habit of changing things, and as Larry was so fond of saying, the universe was always in flux. The sands shifted and people moved on and away. They grew older – and, yes – some even died.
"Mom," he called her name again, terrified she was merely a delusion. The hand on his forehead was gentler now, as the scent of lemons seemed to engulf him.
Was he dying?
Don wasn't really sure, and strangely, he no longer cared that much. He was floating, drifting through his memories on a gauzy tide of dreams. As terrible as the migraines always were, in a way they were kinda worth it. They were the one, sure-fire, guaranteed way of getting mom all to himself. Or at least, that was how he'd reconciled it. How he'd coped with the sickness and pain. And if he'd prolonged the agony a little – so what – it had meant he could spend time with her. During those wretched days and nights, his sickroom had been her domain. It was up to dad to take care of Charlie for as long as the migraine lasted. Don knew it really bugged Charlie when his well-structured routine was upset.
Did it give him some form of perverse pleasure? Yeah – he was human enough to admit it. He would never have chosen to be a migraine sufferer, but hey – there had to be some perks.
And they never lasted longer than two or three days, after that, things returned to normal. School and baseball, baseball and school, while mom went back to work and Charlie. On the whole, he had never begrudged it. It had just been the way things were. He was pretty much in awe of Charlie's gift, and deep down, he loved his little brother.
He had missed her, though. He acknowledged it now. He really had missed his mother.
"Oh, Don - " He thought he heard her sigh. Her voice filled with pain and sorrow. "I'm sorry – so sorry, baby. I thought that what I was doing was right."
"No, mom – it's like - it's okay."
He was frantic to smooth things over - frantic to make it better. It still pierced him to hear her hurting. In the end, it always had. In the long, dark days, right before she'd died, he'd heard far too much of that. She'd clung on, in a fog of morphine – neither dead, but not really alive.
"No, it's not." The hand was soft on his head. "I made some mistakes and I regret them. There are things I would have done differently if I had my time over again. But there's one thing – one thing I want you to know – and that's just how much I always loved you, Don."
"Mom - "
"It was never, ever, in question. I pray you believe me, baby?"
Her words fell like cool water on his fevered soul. Comforting, and yet, so very poignant. He felt like his heart was breaking. He'd needed to hear those words for so long. Don wanted to tell her he believed her. Anything to ease her pain. He could already sense her retreating from him. Something was pulling her away.
"No, wait," he reached up to try and catch hold of her wrist, but his bandaged fingers snapped closed on thin air. She had vanished from him already. Don felt his heart ache with sorrow, as he called her name again.
"Mom . . ."
But there was no answer, of course. She was gone in a fleeting moment. Leaving only a transitory impression of regret, and the faint scent of lemons behind her.
"Please stay," he called out, in desperation. It was futile. Already too late.
Gone. Don realised she had left him again. If she'd ever been there in the first place. For all he knew, she was a lovely illusion. A result of his fevered dreams. He groaned out loud, and opened his eyes. His bedroom was still bathed in moonlight. A big, fat, yellow, LA moon, lush with the promise of a hot tomorrow. In reality, not too much time had passed, since his ill-fated trip to the bathroom.
"Donnie – are you awake, son?"
Alan's voice gave him quite a start. So much for the highly trained agent thing. He couldn't tell when someone had snuck into his room, and was sat, watching him in the dark. "Dad," his own voice was raspy as hell again. He tried hard to make it sound casual. "What's with the urban vampire vibe? You shouldn't be sitting here in the dark."
"So, go ahead, sue me." Alan sounded disgruntled. "Why not take all my money – you already took your pound of flesh. After that little stunt you pulled on the landing, forgive me for worrying about you."
Don wrinkled his forehead in the darkness. He couldn't recall getting back into bed. The last thing he remembered was sitting on the floor, having a little tête-à-tête with dad. Oh, yeah – it was all coming back to him. Alan hadn't pulled any punches. He probably already had an insurance policy going to cover any funeral expenses.
Hey, dad – no need to worry – the FBI will see to it all.
After that, everything became blurry. Don supposed he must have lost it again. Passed gracefully out into his father's arms. He was making a habit of it lately. Poor old dad must have lugged him back into bed. He certainly wouldn't have woken Charlie. And he'd been sitting alone in the dark ever since. Don felt a sudden surge of love.
"Hey, you, Nosferatu in the corner. There's plenty of room over here on the bed. It's a lot more comfortable than the chair, unless you vamps like sitting alone in the dark. Wouldn't want to spoil the deadly image or anything crass like that."
"Very funny – you think you're very funny. Are you sure your friend Jumbo won't mind?" Alan's tone was dry. There was a rustle from the corner of the bedroom, and Don heard him climb stiffly to his feet.
"I don't know about that. Why don't you ask him?" Don answered sarcastically, in kind.
"I just did," the mattress dipped as Alan sat on the bed. "And Jumbo says it's all right."
Don pushed himself up against the bank of pillows. It wouldn't do to slip too far down the bed. Whenever he lay flat, he started coughing, and he'd come to dread the likelihood of that. He stared across the room towards the open window and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The night air lifted the thin muslin curtain like the vaguest whisper of breath.
Was it real, or had he simply been dreaming?
He didn't have a freakin' clue. He was sick, he still had a fever, and he was taking a truck-load of meds. According to the laws of logic, it had all been some grand illusion. The rational part of him was forced to agree, the odds were stacked up on that side. It wasn't as if the dead could drop by for a visit whenever they were invited. If Charlie were here, he would laugh out loud. His bro was nothing if not a sceptic. Charlie refused to give credence to anything if it didn't have a formula attached.
Was Charlie right? Don sincerely hoped not. If he was, then what the hell were they here for? Why was he out there busting his ass in an attempt to fight the good fight?
Don felt a stab of inexplicable pain in the place where his heart ought to be. So, Charlie might not believe in the spiritual, but Don knew it was important to him. He wanted – God, he really wanted to believe - that somehow, mom had been with him. That the strength of her love had transcended space and time and crossed over to the physical world.
For a few seconds, if just for a moment. It didn't matter what form it took. He wasn't thinking ghost or spook here, better leave that to Larry or Charlie to explain. Nope – he didn't care about the technical details. They were kinda irrelevent to him. All he wanted, was to tell her he loved her. To let her know how much he missed her. To hear she knew he hadn't abandoned her, and that she understood.
"So, come on, mom," Don spoke the words inside his head. "Feel free to give me a sign."
The night breeze stole in at the window again and the cream muslin trembled gently. The warm air circulated through the moonlit room and languidly caressed his face. For a moment, it felt like someone touched him. He could almost imagine her smiling. Don held his breath for a second, but then, the sensation was gone.
"She was here, Don, you have to believe it."
He felt Alan's hand brush the cast on his arm and reach for the tips of his fingers. At almost any other given time or place, dad's words would have freaked him out. But tonight wasn't like any other night; it had been swirly from start to finish. The kind of night when strange things happened and stray dogs howled at the moon.
Another human touch was kinda comforting right now. He was inordinately glad Alan was with him. He didn't bother asking how dad had known – perhaps he'd heard him call out in his sleep?
Nope – Don gave a sigh of acceptance. Better not to ask too many questions. As bizarre and hard as it was to believe, he was sure mom had been here, in this room. Don curled his fingertips as much as he could, and clung onto his father's hand. It was good to enjoy the silence for a while, to lie back and watch the yellow moon. He was filled with a drowsy somnolence. A sense of calm pervaded his soul. For the first time since the encounter with Coulton, he actually felt at peace.
Eventually, Don heard Alan stir beside him. A small smile twitched the corner of his mouth. Okay, they'd had ten minutes of quiet time. Way to go, that was pretty good for dad. For some reason, he didn't mind now. Things were different from how they'd been earlier. If dad needed to get something off his chest, then at long last, Don felt able to cope with it.
Besides – for some Freudian reason - it was easier to talk in the dark.
"I see her sometimes," Alan spoke, matter-of-factly. "Usually, when I've taken a nap. She comes to me on the borderlands – the place between sleep and dreams. She looks just like she used to. As healthy and beautiful as ever. If you asked for her, Don, then of course she would come. She was your mother – how could she stay away?"
"I asked for her." Don was barely audible. "I asked for the first time since she died. She's been close to me since I got injured. Somehow, I just felt her near."
"Oh, Donnie," Alan's grasp on his fingers tightened, and it took him several seconds to answer. When he did manage to talk again, Don heard the hitch in his voice. "I've had a feeling for quite a while now – a feeling I was going to lose you. It's been tormenting me, always preying on my mind, every time you walk out the front door."
"Dad - "
"No, please, Don, just hear me out for once. Indulge me, I am your father. I started to say it earlier, but never got around to finishing. I know you can't give up your job, son. And believe it or not, I won't ask you. But don't let the job define you, don't let it strip away who you are."
Don thought about it for a moment. Had he let the FBI define him? Don Eppes, FBI Agent. Was this the sum and total of his parts?
He hoped not. Dear God, he hoped not. Although he had a suspicion he was headed in that direction. He'd been skating on thin ice lately, exhausted and unsure of whom he was. Doctor Bradford had been helping with some of it, but the man was not a miracle worker. If he truly wanted to get out of this rut, the impetus had to come from within. It all stemmed back to when mom died. As though his life had reached a weird kind of hiatus. He'd found it so hard to look forward, to see past the end of the next case. It was almost as though he'd convinced himself there was no point in looking any further. Yeah, Don was obliged to re-examine himself, to concede he was entitled to a future.
"You know, I kinda understood that already." It was hard to finally admit it.
Crap. Darkness or not, it was still difficult. He'd never been any good at this soul-searching stuff. It was quicker and a damned sight easier to wash his problems down with a few cold beers.
In the end, the beers weren't much of an answer. They just temporarily softened the question. A quick burst of chemically induced oblivion which never really took the pain away. Oh, sure, it was nice while it lasted. He had a few hours of blessed relief. But when he woke-up the next morning, bet your life the hurting hadn't gone. Nope – there was no getting away from it. His life had been spiralling lately. With a sigh, Don determined to be honest and make a clean breast of it to dad.
"Being sick, it's made me look at it all differently, forced me to front up to some stuff. Until now, I've been running on empty, kinda jaded for the last few months. But all of this - Coulton, the gantry - what I said earlier about my job. It made me realise how much I love it. How much I'd miss it, if it was gone. And - " time to lighten the mood again - enough already with the heavy talk. "If a job's worth doing, it's worth doing well. You and mom taught me that."
"Me and my big mouth," Alan's tone was wry, but at the same time, he squeezed Don's fingers. "And, yes, before you faint in surprise, it does my heart good to hear you say this. I – I want so much for you, Donnie, both you mother and I always did. I'm not talking about position, or wealth or success – at the end of the day, I just want you to be happy."
"Sounds so simple, doesn't it?" Don couldn't help being sardonic. The one, common, human denominator. Then why, in God's name, was it so hard?
"Have faith, son. It's out there, I know it is. And no one's worked harder for it, than you have. May I take this opportunity to remind you, that as your father, I'm always right?"
"I hope so, dad," I really hope so. "It just seems to be taking its sweet time."
Don's eyelids were getting heavy. His illness was catching up with him. In the giant, cosmic scheme of things, it had been one hell of a night. Inevitably, he started to cough again, leaning forward with resignation. And once again, Alan supported him, a comforting hand on his back. He was so grateful for this, he really was. All sarcasm and mockery aside. For the way folks had rallied around him, his team, his friends, and most of all, his family. Okay, they were not your average family – that was a minor understatement - but whatever they might lack in normality, they more than made up for with love.
Whoa – stop. Enough, right there. He must be losing it. Don chuckled a little in the moonlight. If Charlie ever heard him say something like that, he would never live it down in this lifetime.
TBC