Days passed. It felt like any time that Roger was beginning to relax a bit in his new life, he'd look over and see Jack watching him from a distance. Roger had been caught once or twice completely asleep while sitting up—sometimes his exhaustion caught up with him at random moments and his body would just shut down. He still couldn't sleep at night. Every single time the lights would go off and he'd be all tucked into bed in his room, he'd feel Jack slip into bed beside him, wrap an arm around him, and start whispering horrible, impossible things into his ear.
This particular night, Roger was staring blankly out the window as he laid on his side, practically waiting for that familiar feeling of the mysterious Jack's arrival. He felt his heart rate rise in fearful anticipation. He hated seeing Jack. It reminded him constantly of his past, of the things he'd done. He felt guilty. Horrible. Everything they'd ever taught him in school about love and patience and waiting—it was gone from him. How could anyone ever accept him for that? How could his new parents willingly let them into their home, where they had crosses and prayer paintings and a Christmas tree, knowing that he'd committed so much unforgiveable sin? He heard a low chuckle and felt a pressure push the mattress down behind him. "Can't sleep?" Jack's voice purred. Roger didn't say anything. He knew this wasn't real, he knew it wasn't really Jack. He knew he was alone in his room. Maybe if he could just remind himself of that, Jack would go away…
Roger closed his eyes to help him block this out. It wasn't real. "Why are you ignoring the love of your life?" Jack asked. "You said yourself that you loved me, that you were going to be my husband on the island for as long as we lived. You asked me to never leave your side. And here I am," Roger felt a lump come to his throat as he took in these words, hating the memory that yes he had indeed said those things, when he thought that he was loved in return. He pulled his blanket a little closer to himself. "Come on, Roger." Jack went on. "I'm never going to leave you. You can't get away from me. From what we did." Roger bit his lip as more memories returned to his mind. A silence ensued. He knew that if he spoke back to this unreal apparition, he'd be deemed crazy—but perhaps telling it to go away would finally free him. "I-I…t-t-thought…we…w-w-wouldn't be rescued." Roger stammered out. He instantly loathed himself. He couldn't hear his own voice. How insane was it that he was actually talking to this image? He heard Jack chuckle again. "Rescued or not, it's still who you are. What you are. Do you know what happens to people like you? They get jailed. Sent off. Beaten up. What are you going to do when you get older and your 'parents' expect you to marry?"
"I…w-was ill then. I-I didn't know…w-w-what I was agreeing to d-do with you."
"Oh please. You knew you wanted it. Now you're just parroting what the adults tell you to think just to make yourself feel better."
"I-I…l-loved…you. And y-y-you…took advantage…"
Roger realized he had to stop talking with an empty voice because the tears were coming. Which one was it—did he do what he did with Jack because he was mentally confused, or because he did love him? Jack clicked his tongue in mock pity. "Roger. You're pathetic. No one could love you. Just look at what a mess your life is. You're about good for one thing, and even you knew it then and gave it up to me." Roger squeezed his eyes closed as tears spilled and spilled. Jack was right. Roger took a shaky breath in as the redhead began stroking his hair. "W-What…do I d-do?" he whispered brokenly, still furious at himself that he couldn't shut up and stop talking to this apparition. "You could end it all," Jack said casually. Almost dismissively. "Take yourself out of this world. I mean, that's the only way you'll ever really stop being a burdening disgrace to everyone around you. There are all kinds of ways to die." Roger found himself to be shaking uncontrollably now. Death. That sounded so permanent. So final. But…considering…was there anything else that could really solve the problem? It would remove the shame, end the guilt, stop the dread of facing those beautifully kind people that wanted to love him forever. "Think about it," Jack said abruptly. And suddenly a beam of soft light flooded into the room—Roger turned over in his bed immediately. Jack was gone from his side, but someone was coming into the room with the hallway light on.
Agatha stepped quietly over to the bed where her small, shivering boy laid in a mess of hot tears. When he looked at her, his eyes were filled with sheer, pure terror. And then almost instantly, they welled with fresh sadness and were buried away under a blanket in shame. His eyes. They always just melted her. She gingerly sat down on the mattress and encouraged him to sit up. Something was wrong—he couldn't stop crying. Agatha got him to sit up—albeit in a crumpled ball—and lean slightly against her as she signed and mouthed, "Bad dream?" Roger rubbed some tears from his eyes and took in a gulp of air. Agatha touched his face kindly. "I heard you talking in here. Thought it was bad dream." she signed with an understanding nod. God only knew what horrible things this boy could dream about. After a few minutes of sitting together in silence broken only by Roger's hiccups and sniffles, Agatha took his hand and motioned for him to come with her.
Roger hesitated. Was she going to throw him out? Make him go sleep outside? Her hand was warm and very light—almost tempting for him to just follow her. She stood up from the bed and encouraged him to do the same. He began shaking like a leaf again as he nervously followed her out of his room and into the lit hallway. She'd heard him talking. How stupid was he to think that he could speak to someone that didn't exist and get away with it? Roger felt enraged at himself again and had the urge to hit himself. But he refrained, because Agatha was leading him down the hall to her bedroom, where through the darkness he could faintly see the outline of a large bed and a sleeping man. She led him to the edge of the bed and helped him sit down on it. Roger saw her mouth the words that she was signing with her hands. "You're safe here." She offered him a sweet smile, and for a moment, it felt like the perpetual running motor that constantly generated panic in Roger's head came to a halt. Everything felt alright. Safe. She climbed onto the bed beside him so that he was in between her and the doctor. When he saw her lie down, he understood more clearly that he was allowed to sleep there in their bed with them. He hesitantly laid down, settling under the covers and breathing in the perfumed smell of his new mother and the pine-like scent of his new father.
Dr. Bell stirred as he slowly awoke due to the movement beside him. Agatha gave a soft smile when he opened his eyes. "He came with no resistance," she whispered. Dr. Bell gave a sleepy smile as well and reached over to gently stroke Roger's dark hair. "He was talking," Agatha went on. "I think in his sleep. I couldn't make out what he was saying, but when I got in the room he was already crying. Must've been a nightmare." Dr. Bell's smile faded slowly—he knew sadly that Roger probably wasn't having a regular night terror, but more like an episode of his mental fragility. He noticed that the boy's eyes were drooping closed at the gentle contact on his head, the repetitive motion was lulling him. "I'm glad you brought him in," he whispered to his wife, "I think he'll finally sleep." Roger's eyes were closed in mere minutes. Dr. Bell gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead after his wife, wiping a stray teartrack from the boy's face in the meantime. "It's alright," he hushed, even though his voice went unheard. "You're safe here."
Roger breathed a quiet sigh.