Chapter XI- The Dream

Mark didn't get a lot of sleep that night. It was difficult to explain why at first- after all, he was asleep not even two minutes after his head set down on the pillow. And he stayed asleep most all of the night, even, so that wasn't it either. What it seemed to be- what Mark guessed it was, once he got up Monday morning- was that the sleep Mark experienced had been much too intensified by that dream.

It came to Mark quickly, unexpectedly, and took on such form and force that it was hard to believe it wasn't real. That he hadn't somehow been taken from his bed, moved to this strange place, an open sunny field and a forest encrusted in snow and ice. It was unbelievable, impossible- but that was no reason to believe it hadn't happened, or that it hadn't in some way been real.

Mark opened his eyes to easily the most bizarre scene he'd ever witnessed. A warm breeze blew his way from the left, coming from a warm and sunny field- one Mark recognized from his travels in Arizona. The sun shone brightly, and the breeze was temperate and gentle. From the right, though, came a harsh, gusting wind of freezing air- and that Mark remembered too. Beside him, this time to the right, Mark could see a stretch of woods, blanketed in snow and encrusted in ice.

It was Maine in the deepest part of winter, and it was indeed a bleak and depressing scene. No warm and sunny fields there- indeed, hardly any sun to be spoken of at all. Whereas only handfuls of white cotton-puff clouds dotted the sky on the left, a thick, oppressive blanket of gray snow clouds covered the sky in every direction on the right, hiding the sun from view and blocking much of its light.

Mark noticed as he looked around that he stood on a path. A simple, dirt path, probably worn out of the ground more by the passing of many feet over the years than by any deliberate effort by the city council. Looking behind him, Mark could see a thick forest, neither frozen as the one scene ahead was, and not especially warm or inviting as the one on Mark's left was. The path wound backwards and far into the trees, leading Mark to wonder how he'd ever gotten out of there in the first place.

A gust of cold wind blew in from the right and struck Mark; instinctively, he clutched himself and shivered, but soon found it did no real good. With a shock, Mark realised he was no differently dressed in this dream than he had been some unknown time ago when he'd gone to bed. Mark was naked, and his increasingly-buff form did him little good here.

Looking down, Mark could see he stood at a fork in the path. One side of it headed left into the golden warmth of the field, white clouds dotting its picturesque blue sky. The other was carved out of several inches of snow, leading uphill past rocks and trees and into a harsh and cold land. There was no room for the weak or unfit in that hard, frozen place- only those who truly understood the dangers there and were equipped to meet them had a chance of survival.

Mark twisted and turned, wishing he could take refuge somewhere- or just as importantly, find some clothes. How had he gotten here? Why was he dressed- or undressed- just the same as he'd been when he'd gone to bed?

What was this place, anyway? And just as importantly, where was it?

Someone was calling him.

"Mark? Mark, can you hear me?"

His pulse quickened, and Mark jumped where he was, looking to his left. There- coming across the field towards him! It was his mother!

Mark looked around, trying to get a better look at her. He flushed suddenly and covered himself with both hands; he was naked, wherever this was, and now he was standing here in front of his mother!

But Janice Evans didn't seem to notice. She didn't seem to care. Far more important things than that mattered here. Mark had been lost in those woods behind him for some time, and he'd been coming to this point all along- whether he knew it or not. A choice had to be made. Janice, however she had come here, appeared to be gripped with a terrible sense of urgency. She appeared afraid for Mark, even sad.

"You've been lost, Mark," Janice said, looking distressed like he'd never seen her. "You have to find the way again."

"Mom!" Mark shouted, overjoyed. This was his mother! And she looked well! Not weak or wasting away from illness, but lively and strong. She was well again! Mark wanted to leap for joy. He wanted to run to her- he wanted to tell her he was glad he could see her again, wherever this was. He was glad his mother was here. Mark noticed he had one foot on both ways the path's fork took it. He instinctively began to turn away from that cold wasteland on the right- who would want to go that way anyhow, with nothing out there and his mother on the left?- when another voice called to him. This one was also immediately familiar, and came from the snowy, ice-encrusted Maine landscape to the right.

"Hey, Mark!"

Mark turned sharply. A boy dressed in gray wool pants, a black wool cap and a tan camel's hair coat was making his way downhill out of the snow; he reached the path after a few moments and stomped some of the snow from his boots. "Mark!" Henry called, his blue eyes locked on his cousin. Mark flushed; he didn't like looking like this in front of his cousin. But Henry's eyes never wavered from Mark's, and the fact that Mark was naked never seemed to cross the blonde boy's mind. Just like Mark, he ignored that completely. It didn't matter. Instead, he remained there on the path, there on that very gently sloping hill. Henry's eyes were fixed on Mark's, and something about his expression conveyed a sense of terrible urgency, of great intent. Henry was powerfully focused on something, and it seemed that something was Mark.

"Come on, Mark!" Henry called, motioning. "We need to go."

"Henry!" Mark called. "Henry, what's going on?"

Henry looked puzzled, uncertain- Mark was startled, for he'd never seen Henry like this. Henry, in fact, looked about as surprised and confused about being here as Mark was.

Mark wondered again if- somehow- all of this wasn't real.

"I-I don't know, Mark," Henry finally admitted. He motioned toward himself. "Come on, Mark. We can't stay here, we have to go."

Mark didn't understand that. What was Henry talking about? Why were Henry and Mark's mother so worried, so gripped with a sense of urgency? Mark, clearly, was at the center of it.

"What's happening?" Mark asked, feeling more confused than ever.

"You're lost, Mark," Janice Evans said again, looking worried and sad. She stood on the dirt path some fifty feet away now, dressed in the jeans, short-sleeved shirt and wide-brimmed straw hat Mark always remembered she liked to wear on sunny days, working in the garden.

"Why-why am I lost, Mom?" Mark called back.

Janice pointed at the foot Mark had in the wintry scene; he shivered as he looked, noticing the cold coming up from that frozen path. He wanted to lift his foot from that place, plant both in the warm field- it was human instinct. Yet he couldn't. Mark couldn't make himself move.

"He did this to you," Mark's mother said, and Mark right away sensed she was talking about Henry.

"Mom?" Mark said, confused and startled. "Henry's my friend!"

"No," Janice said, shaking her head with absolute certainty. "He's no friend, Mark. Not all sons are good like you, Mark. Some are bad. Henry's not your friend."

"Why?" Mark asked. "What did Henry do?"

"You were meant to follow a path, Mark. You're a good son. He's been leading you away from that path- Henry is lying to you."

Mark felt deeply troubled, and he felt a need to go to his mother. To ask her what was happening, what had happened- to help him make sense of his life, to be there for him and make things right again. Perhaps Mark did more than just want to take a step towards her. Maybe he did move, because Henry yelled at him then.

"Mark! Don't fucking do this!"

The boy with the auburn hair froze where he was. There was real urgency- even fear- in Henry's voice. Mark turned, planting both feet back on the ground again. He still stood with one foot on the path to the sunny field, one in the path leading into the wintry, frozen hill. His decision hadn't been made yet, but Mark knew he'd have to make it soon.

Henry stood on the path in the snow-covered landscape, the wind whipping around him as he looked at his cousin. His eyes were wide and fearful, and he stood closer to Mark than before; clearly Henry had taken some steps toward his cousin, afraid of what might be happening. The blonde wasn't just worried; he looked distraught. Perhaps even literally panicked over what he feared was happening.

"Henry," Mark said quickly as he gestured at the field, "Come with me! It's warmer this way!"

But Henry just shook his head. "I can't go that way, Mark." He looked sad, regretful- but there was no arguing with that statement. He would not- could not- go and join Mark in that Arizona field.

"Why?" Mark asked, growing more puzzled all the time.

"Not in the cards," Henry said, clearly reluctant to talk about it. Suddenly, Henry took another step forward. "Mark," he said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. "Mark!" he cried as he stepped closer again. Now it was a cry for help.

"Mark," Janice Evans called, "You're a good boy. A good son. Don't listen to someone who isn't."

Confused beyond words, Mark hesitated and looked at his mother again, feeling an indescribable sense of sadness and longing. He wanted to go to her, see his mother one more time- yet Henry's pleading reached his ears again.

"Mark," Henry cried for a third time, and Mark turned to see Henry looking at him with tears in his eyes. "I can't go that way, Mark. Don't do this to me! I-I hate being out here. Don't make me stay out here alone!"

"He's leading you somewhere somewhere, Mark. Somewhere you don't want to go." The auburn-haired of the two boys glanced at his mother again. He heard her words, knew she meant them- but suddenly he stared in shock, any words he had been getting ready to speak vanishing in an instant.

Janice Evans was standing in a grassy field, and he could see the field behind her. He could see the field through her.

His mother was still dead.

"You're like my brother, Mark!" Henry cried, not even bothering to hide his desperation. "You are my brother, and I'll never leave you- not for anything! I need you, damn it! I need you!"

"You're different from who you were, Mark," Janice said. "You're not the boy we all knew. You know what's happening? He's doing it. He's changing you."

Mark now turned to his mother and asked her the same question he'd asked Henry moments ago. "Can't you come with me?" he asked, gesturing at the winter landscape where Henry stood. Janice Evans just shook her head, though. "No, Mark. Where your cousin is I can't be."

So it was impossible, then. Neither one of them could go where the other was. Mark's mother and cousin both seemed to be ignoring the other- perhaps they couldn't see the other, or simply had no words to spare. Their focus was completely on Mark- he was all that mattered to either person.

"Did you really want to change, Mark?" his mother asked, and Mark stared at her in shock. What- what was she talking about?

"I'm stronger now, Mom," Mark said with a calm that surprised him. He didn't know what she meant about whether he'd wanted to change or not- that part didn't make any sense. But he did know that once the changes had started to happen, the effect they had was hardly a bad one in Mark's mind. He was faster, stronger, tougher and smarter today than he'd ever been before. Guys were starting to take him seriously at school, and girls were calling him 'cute'. He had so much he'd never had before- and he had gained a very good friend. All that Henry Evans had given him. And he had promised before- was promising now- to always be there. To never leave.

Janice Evans just looked at Mark sadly, like she sensed she was slowly beginning to lose the battle but still refused to give up. "Don't be someone you're not, Mark. Don't let him lie to you."

Mark didn't understand what his mother meant. He was himself today, as much as ever. And sure, he'd resisted the new way Henry had pointed out to him at first- any two boys with such differing backgrounds and viewpoints would have. But in time, Mark had come around to Henry's way of thinking. He liked who he was today, and was touched by Henry's generosity towards him. Still more touching now was Henry's appearance now. Glancing at him, Mark could see his cousin blinking away tears, his face tinged pink by the cold. Most would have said those tears were caused by the harsh wind stinging Henry's face. Certainly the wind was there, but Mark knew better about Henry's tears- his cousin was more than scared of losing Mark to that field in Arizona. He was terrified.

For a time all three fell silent, two of the people present letting the third- Mark- do some thinking himself. Both had said what they could- Mark was clearly taking some time to think, trying to make up his own mind.

Mark wanted to see his mother again. He still cared about her, even if she was gone. But Henry was here too- Mark didn't know where either place was, or how such a perfect, ruler-straight line could so cleanly divide these two opposite environments. All of this was impossible, every bit of it. Yet here they were, all three of them. Mark thought about Henry. Not anybody else, just Henry. The blonde was as cold as the winter scene around him- briefly, Mark wondered if the environment his mother and cousin stood in didn't symbolize something about them. Henry was a cold boy, mean and ruthless. Suddenly, Mark was very sure of that. But then he hesitated. How was that true? Henry had never been anything but warm and generous to Mark, seemed to be practically falling over himself at times to show his friend kindness.

And however much Mark missed his mother, however much he loved her, he could tell something about the path she stood by already. Janice Evans was gone, and that was a tragedy. But she was gone, and that meant that if Mark chose to take her path, he would walk it alone. His mother would never be with him, except in Mark's dreams.

He couldn't do that.

Henry had come into Mark's life just as his mother left, the biggest loss and deepest sadness Mark had ever known. Henry had shown up like a gift from Heaven, a warm smile on his face and a hand held out in friendship. He'd kept his word about them being brothers, and had been there for Mark every day ever since they'd met. What more evidence did Mark need? What else could he ask for?

Henry said they could be brothers. The blonde was no liar; he'd kept his word to Mark every time so far. Mark had never seen Henry so emotional before; it moved Mark powerfully to see his cousin be so engaged in this contest of wills over him. This issue clearly meant the world to Henry. He needed Mark, and had just said so.

And Henry was alive. That, ultimately, was what set Mark towards making his decision. He looked down, working up the will he knew he'd need to put both feet into that frozen, wintry land. Maine in the winter was not for the uncertain or poorly committed- you had to have your mind made up about things if you wanted to have any chance at all.

Mark suddenly looked to his right; he could hear footsteps crunching on the frozen ground. Henry was walking towards him, his face written with concentration- as if it was taking him real effort to do this. His eyes kept flicking fearfully towards the sunny field to Mark's left as Henry approached. Henry could see it, then. Could see it, and was for some reason afraid of it- as if going that way would not only be difficult for him, but perhaps even harmful. It was literally impossible for him to even attempt it.

Henry was now within arm's length of his cousin. He did not cross the boundary, and still stood some five feet away- but Henry was very close now. He had calmed himself somewhat, perhaps having sensed things were not so bad as they'd at first seemed. Henry held out his right hand, and Mark saw Henry had forgotten his gloves. Or perhaps just left them behind.

"Come with me, Mark," Henry said, holding his hand out as close as he dared to reach. Mark could reach out and touch Henry now. But if he did… there was a good chance that would be making his decision.

"Come with me, Mark," Henry repeated, a little calmer this time. "I can take you with me."

Mark gazed off into the snowy Maine landscape. He and Henry had made their way through all that snow well enough when dressed in so many layers of winter clothing, but Mark had none of that. He'd surely freeze in an hour's time at most if there wasn't shelter near.

"It looks cold out there," Mark said, shivering again as he felt the icy chill.

"It is," Henry said without hesitation. There was no point lying, not to Mark- and certainly not about that. "But you won't be alone out there, Mark. I'll be with you." Henry smiled a little, and the warmth in that smile made Mark feel better somehow. Like things really weren't so bad after all- and perhaps the decision he needed to make had been made already. Perhaps there wasn't much to worry about. Maybe everything was gonna be all right.

Finally, Mark made his choice. There was no point in delaying any longer, and Mark knew in that one instant that he could only make the one choice, take just one of the two paths. Mark missed his mother, and always would. But Henry was alive. Henry was there and had been ever since they'd met. Mark had already lost his mother. He could not- would not- lose Henry.

Mark turned to his cousin, meeting the blonde's cool blue eyes and gripping his outstretched hand. He stepped over the border into the winter landscape, briefly turning back for one look at his mother- only to see the other two scenes, the forest that had been behind him and the sunny field both, were gone. They had vanished, and only the cold, snowy hill, rocks and trees remained.

The cold wind blasted at Mark, and he shivered as he stepped forward along the frozen dirt path, dark with soil that was saturated with cold, cold water. Mark let go of his cousin's hand and again placed both hands over his groin; he feared for what was down there most of all. If frostbite got him there, that would be worse even than losing an arm.

It was cold out here.

You could say that a thousand times and still not get it. The cold was so intense, so relentless, it numbed the mind. Standing there, Mark almost felt like lying down and just letting the cold take him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Surely if he pressed on into this wasteland, shivering and freezing slowly all the way, he'd just die tired.

Somebody was putting a coat around his shoulders. The coat was very fine, lined with camel's hair and the fur of some other animal- something from a much colder climate. Mark gratefully took the coat, slipped it over his shoulders and put his arms into its sleeves. It fit him perfectly.

Mark turned to see who his benefactor was, and was surprised- yet somehow not surprised at all- to see it was Henry. The blonde was standing there in clothes almost identical to what he'd been wearing when Mark had last seen him. Those gray wool pants, which Henry bragged were imported from Germany. Mark had received a pair from Henry's dresser before leaving, he now remembered. He wore the same ruby red sweater, and Mark was briefly surprised to see Henry's black cap was gone- but then saw Henry reach forward, gently pulling it down over Mark's own head.

Mark's feet still could feel the bitter cold of the ground, but his head and upper body were much warmer. He buttoned the coat closed, and felt much warmer now. But Henry had to be freezing- that sweater, even when accompanied by good German wool pants, could not be meant for weather like this.

"I'm f-fine," Henry grinned with some effort, seeing the look of concern on Mark's face. "I'll be okay. Come on." He started walking forward along the path, into the bleak landscape that lay before them. "We've g-got a long way to go."

"Where are we going?" Mark asked, walking with Henry as the blonde put an arm around his shoulders.

"I'm not really sure," Henry said, looking uncertain again for a moment.

"Well," Mark said slowly, "How do we know when we get there?"

Henry didn't even flinch as the icy wind hit him again. It chilled him to the core, but Henry didn't care. He felt so much better now. So much better. It was more than words could ever say.

"We'll know," Henry said, and somehow he was sure of that. And somehow, so was Mark.

"You'll stay with me, right?" Mark said, suddenly desperate for that reassurance. He'd chosen to take this path, to make the insane choice of walking into this bleak and frozen land. With Henry he might have a chance. Without him there was no chance at all. Henry spoke just one word in reply, and right away Mark knew he was telling the truth.

"Always."

Mark remembered very little of what happened in the dream the following morning. He overslept, and barely got up in time for school. He was tired and irritable throughout the day- only with Jake and some of the other big-shots on the school teams was he even halfway friendly. When Alan Parks- having heard about Mark's beating at the hands of Sean Walters and those morons Eric and Chad- tried to come over and apologize for being so distant, Mark told him not to bother. "I think I'll be fine," Mark said shortly, and after a few minutes Alan gave up and left, wondering how he'd managed to say the wrong thing, and feeling that he was losing- or maybe had already lost- a very good friend.

The auburn-haired boy didn't care. As a matter of fact, he was disgusted. A pitiful, weak and skinny boy like Alan Parks, coming up to him- him! - and saying he felt sorry for him? Sympathy from a worm like that, somebody so far beneath Mark he deserved not even to be under the treads of his shoe, was worse than getting beaten up again. Mark wanted no pity from somebody like that. He nursed his bruises and sores throughout the day, barely even noticing when somebody told him Sean Walters was skipping school again today. Supposedly, he was overwhelmed with grief. Somebody had killed his dog.

Sitting with Jake Schwarz and some of his buddies from the basketball, soccer, and football teams, Mark just shrugged and asked the soccer team boys present if they wanted to hang back and have a smoke after practice today. His indifference was obvious, and the other guys let it go at that. It surprised some of them, though, at how easily Mark turned his back on the issue. So a bully's dog was gone. So what? Jake, for one, was impressed- this hard-charging, Camel-smoking, I-don't-give-a-damn Mark Evans was almost too cool to be real. He exchanged all the same banter with the guys as Jake did, and clearly liked being given a chance to sit with Jake and his buddies for a day.

The whole thing was really just a test of sorts- Jake had been trying to convince his friends he wasn't crazy by hanging out with Mark Evans after that game Friday. Jake had told his buddies Mark was changed, that he wasn't such a goody-two-shoes dweeb anymore. Hell, he was kind of a badass. Even the athletes at school didn't beat up dudes bigger than them every day. Or lose to three guys in a fight and just shrug it off like it was nothing. So half skeptical, half intrigued, Jake's table and team-mates had allowed it. Fine, they said, let the dork sit with us. We'll see how cool he is. They were fairly impressed so far, and more than a little surprised. This could not be Mark Evans. The one they knew by that name was a dork. This guy was kind of cool.

Two thousand miles away in a suburb called Rockbridge, just outside of the city of Portland, Maine, Henry Evans woke up with a terrible headache Monday morning. How and why was a mystery to everyone, especially Henry. But he found he could get out of bed easily that morning, and before long had a little spring in his step. Henry even found himself whistling Sousa's "Semper Fidelis March" as he came downstairs for breakfast, not even caring that it if anything made his painful headache worse. Henry somehow felt like that was just fine, like it didn't matter- something much more important had been accomplished. Somehow, Henry was sure of it.

I was there when Mark needed me, Henry thought once on Monday the 13th, and found the thought brought him great calm, a sense of real satisfaction. He was tired and drained throughout the day, though, and could remember nothing from the previous night. He had the oddest feeling he'd seen Mark- or had spoken to him somehow. None of it made sense- but Henry knew these thoughts were occurring to him for a reason. Henry went to bed early that night, worn out like he hadn't been in years.

The thought, the feeling, that he'd somehow been there at a moment when Mark had needed him occurred to Henry once again on Monday, as he was getting ready to go to sleep. Right after that thought came another, this one a question. Will I be there the next time he needs me?

And right on the heels of that:

Always.