CHAPTER FOUR: METHOD ACTING

I HAD ALLOWED MYSELF THE REST OF THAT DARK WEEK, AND THE FOLLOWING WEEKEND TO OUTWARDLY GRIEVE. I had cried, screamed, pleaded with a God that I was sure refused to listen, begging for him to return. But I knew that he wouldn't. After which, I had begun the best performance of my life. I had awoken on that dark Monday, determined to conceal the pain and suffering that consumed me from everyone around.

Time passed, slowly, as though it were sap seeping hesitantly from a tree. The hourglass reversed, with myself left standing on the base. The black sand above me fell on top of me, a single grain falling one by one.

Plop…plop…plop.

I knew that I would die long before the sand could drown me.

I kept my mind busy, not allowing myself a moment to think or reflect. I threw myself into my studies, quickly becoming the star student in each class, I'd applied and gotten a job at the town bakery, the work was pleasant and I spent three days each week distracting myself by baking cakes, cupcakes and cookies, making coffee for the patrons who would come in and order their drinks before beginning their day. Sometime in the later months that followed I had forced myself to auditioned for the school musical; the musical's director, Mr. Banner and the school, had secured the rights to The Hunchback of Notre Dame. The audition had been far too simple, most of the students who auditioned were novice at best, and I had landed the lead role with ease.

I'd join the yearbook comity, taking pictures and interviewing students and staff for spreads that I did not truly care for, but played my role dutifully. I'd applied to countless colleges, ranging from the most prestige acting programs, to the more basic general programs. I wrote essay after essay, applying for any scholarship that I was qualified for—simply I did not allow my mind to rest.

Somewhere amid the darkness and the act, Sean had proposed to my mother. She'd accepted, and they had married one another in a small ceremony just after Christmas. I had played my part as man of honor well, no one the wiser that I was stilled seized by grief. Had I been playing a role in a film, I would have easily won the Oscar, a Tony had this been a Broadway production—to the outward world I had recovered seamlessly, and was thriving. My role played perfectly—method acting, I had called it. Each action and movement was staged; planned in advance for the benefit of those around me. No one, not even my mother, was the wiser.

The storm that had begun on the day he left, strangely, refused to end. Even in the dead of winter lightening and thunder erupted from all around, blackening the small town in an endless night. The constant waterfall of rain had flooded the land, the streets full and blanketed. The never ending storm was my only reminder that it had all been real, that he had existed at all, and that he had exited my life abruptly, leaving me with only dreams of what could have been.

I wasn't sure of the day, only that it was a Saturday in late January. Sean, Seth and I were busy at work, moving furniture from a borrowed truck into the house. Sean guided Seth and I as we carried a bed frame up the stairs and into what was now Seth and mine's room. Seth would now be spending the weekends with us. Leah, Sean's eldest child and Seth's sister refused to acknowledge the marriage, and stayed always with her mother on the reservation. Seth had been far too excited at the prospect of having a brother. We placed the bed frame up against the eastern part of the room, my own bed having been moved up against the western wall.

"This is going to be so awesome," Seth had said as we continued to bring more of his things from Sean's old house into the room. I'd forced a smile on my face, my act never faltering. Seth was fifteen, tall for his age, though lanky. He attended school on the reservation. He had inherited Sean's looks, a carbon copy of him, with the added personality of Labrador puppy.

"I always wanted a little brother," I'd told him as we continued to set up his part of the room, still drenched from the rain.

"You already have a little brother," Seth reminded me. I chuckled, a mirthless sound I had perfected to sound genuine.

"Yes, but he's still too focused putting his feet in his mouth to engage in stimulating conversation."

Fooling my father and his new family had been easier than I'd expected. My father was, fortunately, very wrapped up in Hector's infancy—tired, anxious, excited…he and his wife, Loretta, had praised me for taking the—his departure so well. I'd reminded them, just as I had Jess and Angela, that it was, after all, only a high school romance. The words had scorched in my throat each time I had said them, the filthiest of lies. It had been a fairytale, however unlike the reimagined tales brought to life by Disney, our fairytale had been one from the Grimm's tales, or Hans Christian Anderson—there would be no happy ending.

Seth continued to prattle on. I could only half-listen.

"Beau," he called out. I shook my head, blinked, then turned to look at him, smiling.

"Sorry, I zoned out. What did you ask?"

"No prob. I asked if you were into any kind of gaming."

"No, I've never really played any. My dad got me a Wii one year for Christmas…after the controller flew out of my hand and shattered the TV I took it as a sign video games were not for me."

Seth laughed, the sound youthful and joyful. "Okay, so no VR for you, but I'd be happy to show you how to play on Xbox. Totally easier, and the controller stays in your hand."

I smiled. "Sounds great, Seth." He smiled back.

Seth was an avid gamer, something Sean had forwarded me of, stating it would not be uncommon for him to stay up into the early hours of the morning playing. Sean had installed and mounted the large flatscreen TV that had been in Seth's room at Sean's former home just next to the window—Seth had set up his various gaming stations before considering setting up any actual furniture.

I had soothed Sean's concern when he mentioned that he'd talk to him about restricting playing time. This was, after-all, his home now in many ways. The added noise would be helpful, and I looked forward to having that to listen to while I tried to fall asleep. Seth was also extraordinarily techie savvy—from creating videos of him with added special effects, or improving upon programs and objects that had already been established. Seth felt safe—I couldn't fully explain it, but he had a good energy about him. It would be easy to continue the act around him.

Seth and I continued to clean and set up his part of the room. He had brought posters from his favorite bands, and pictures of himself with his sister and father throughout his youth. As I continued to adjust my things in their new space a glimmer of silver caught my eye. The object had been thrown into a drawer in the desk where my laptop and art supplies had rested. I reached my hand down and picked it up.

It was the necklace the old woman had given to me in the bookstore in Port Angeles…the night…I shook the memories of that night away. The chain led to an intricately crafted crescent moon fashioned from silver. A dark faux emerald hanged from from the uppermost tip. The elderly woman had instated I take it, that the necklace would somehow protect me.

Absentmindedly, I placed it around my neck, letting it fall down past my chest. Mom and Sean entered the room a while later, my mother holding a pizza box in her hand.

"We thought you boys might have worked up an appetite," Sean announced.

"Awesome," Seth nearly shouted, jumping up and taking the box from my mother's hands.

"Be sure to share some with, Beau," my mother laughed while Sean handed him a small stack of napkins. Seth came to me with the box, I opened the lid, and took a slice along with a napkin. Together we finished setting up the room. Seth had been gracious enough to spare me two additional slices of the pizza, devouring the rest for himself. When we had finished Seth had announced that he was going downstairs to join Sean and Mom in whatever it was that they were watching. I told him that I would be down soon; explaining that I wanted to shower and get ready for bed first. Part of my act required that I go to bed at normal times—and normal times for bed on a Saturday evening was anywhere between ten and eleven at night.

I brought a bluetooth speaker with me now whenever I showered—I could not afford any moment where my mind was left with its own thoughts. I settled the speaker and my sleep clothes, now full sets of plain pajamas, atop the bathroom sink, not bothering to wait for the water of the shower to get warm.

In moments such as this, when I was alone, it was though I willed my brain to shut down, to preform only the most basic, instinctive human actions. I did not think, and best of all I did not feel. It was the closest thing to being an animal that I could imagine.

As had become my new norm, I found myself turning the shower off before stepping out. My hair and body had been washed clean, the floral smell the only evidence that I had not merely stood with the water running. I dried and dressed myself in a similar fashion, my brain still turned off. I could feel my hands moving as I flossed and brushed my teeth, though I felt nothing—not evening bothering to look at my reflection in the mirror.

I exited the bathroom and made my way down to the the living room. There had been subtle changes since I had first moved back in. There was an added chair, brought from Sean's house that was as mismatched as the rest of the furniture, along with a taxidermied body of a large bluefin tuna and the head of stag mounted on the walls. There were more pictures along the fireplace—photos of Sean with Leah and Seth throughout the various stages of their lives, a photo of my mother and Sean cutting into their wedding cake replaced the old photo of my parents at their wedding—that now was hidden somewhere in the attic in a trunk.

My mother and Sean were sitting close to one another on the loveseat, wrapped in each other's arms. Seth sat in his father's chair, their attention on whatever was on the TV. I made my way to the last spare seat. My mind only half focused and paying attention. I had perfected this half-state of consciousness for precisely moments such as this; where there was little to truly distract me, but where I would need to respond if spoken to.

I was only vaguely aware of what was happening on the television screen, another serial killer documentary, Sean and Seth were fans of those as well. I began making light conversation geared toward anyone who wanted to speak during commercial breaks, discussing the case and killer as if I were a profiler for the FBI. Seth engaged eagerly. Though he and Sean had never outwardly shown it, I knew it hurt each of them, my mother as well to an extent, by Leah's refusal to acknowledge the marriage or spend any time with us. I hadn't known Leah well when I had visited over the summers, only encountering her a handful of times when hanging out with Jacob, but she had seemed happy, light, joyful. The few times I had seen her since moving back, she'd changed. She was full of bitterness, a darkness that I knew could come from only one thing…heartbreak.

Leah was not as skilled as I at hiding her grief, though I knew only to myself, that deep down, the same bitterness that had snuffed out her light, had done the same to me.

It was Leah's removal from Sean and Seth's lives that fueled their desire to have me step in as a substitute as son and brother. It was a role I accepted eagerly, for it was another means to distract me from the darkness. Lightening cracked close by, thunder echoing around like a nuclear bomb. The howling wind and rain beat against the windows, several times it sounded as if the windows would break.

"Damn, I've never seen anything like this," Sean said as he looked out into the dark night. "It hasn't stopped storming since September."

I felt a piercing pain stab into my chest at the last word.

"Global warning," Seth offered as an uninterested explanation.

"It's been causing a lot of trouble. We had to call in extra help from Tacoma and Port Angeles with all the flooding. A lot of people have had devastating property damage. We're one of the few streets that hasn't had that happen," Mom explained.

"Thank God for our sewage system," Sean added. "Same problems down on the Res. Some of the elders are getting worried."

"When aren't they worried about something?" Seth asked sarcastically. Sean nodded his head, his bottom lip sticking out and eyebrows raised. "Point taken."

Another crack of lightening, this one louder, closer than the last. The power flickered.

"I'm going to take that as a sign to head to bed," I said, looking up at the flickering overhead light fixture.

"I think I'm going to have to agree with you," my mom responded. I removed myself from the chair and wished everyone a good night. From the corner of my eye I saw Mom yanked Sean from off the loveseat, pulling him down into a kiss. Seth pretended to gag. I did not linger, but I was sure that my movements could not resemble a rushed motion.

I closed the door behind me, but kept the lights on. I knew that Seth would be up soon, ready to begin resuming the game he had been playing last night. I wrapped myself in the comforter and blankets, focusing on listening to the sounds of the storm, rather than the phantom body that had once laid beside me. I had already begun drifting off to sleep when the sound of the TV and Xbox rang out.

I was frightened. I was falling, at least I assumed that I had been falling. Or had it been flying? Whatever the case, everything was moving around me too fast to make out anything. At first, the flashes of color had been dull, dark, various shades of purples, grays and blacks, with bright flashes of neon blue and white. Eventually, as I continued to fall or fly the colors shifted. There were still dark, but grew more and more soft—now I could see deep, rich shades of sapphire and navy mixed within the subtle shades of purples. It felt as though much time, and yet no time had passed. I could not focus on anything, other than the strange sense that I felt cold, as if wind was cutting into my face.

I had always had vivid dreams, but this was unlike anything that I could remember. The colors, the the wind were too vivid, too realistic. And then I was no longer falling, or flying, but rather I was standing. I was clueless as to where I had found myself in this dream. Though it was clearly night, it was easy to see. The moon above me was full, and cast down soft rays of bright white light on the land around me. I could make out a vast mountain range, not unlike the ones I had known back in Phoenix, though different somehow.

I could hear the sounds of nocturnal animals around me, alive in the shadows. And again, I could feel the physical environment that I was in. It was dry. Very dry—but not uncomfortable. It was cool but not cold. I could feel the soft win gently kiss each part of my exposed skin. I looked down, in the dream I was wearing the very same pajamas that I had dressed in bed for. I blinked, wondering if I could make myself wake up. When I opened my eyes, I was still standing in the strange land.

I considered that perhaps this was Lucid dream, for I knew that this had to be a dream, there was no other rational explanation. I tried to think of flying, recalling the pervious sensation from the beginning of the dream, but my body remained rooted to land. Unfazed, taking comfort that this was but a mere dream, I began looking around. I had been wrong, for it was not a mountain range as I had assumed, but the walls of a canyon. I was in a valley of some sort—absconded and forgotten by time. I was startled to find the remnants of some sort of home. What was left appeared horribly aged—some sort of homestead or shelter from the late eighteen hundreds.

There was no door, only a dark opening. I peered inside as I thought I heard a sound coming from within. It was unnerving sound, a kind of crying—a dry, grief laden cry. Male. I had seen a hundred horror movies with this exact scenario. A dark night, an abandoned shack, and an unnatural cry beckoning from within. In this dream I recognized this, and knew that this was the part in the horror film where the moronic main character (or perhaps one of the nameless side characters that seldom anyone even cared for) would look inside and ask, "is anyone there?"

But this was a dream, not a movie, nor real life. And normal, natural hesitation abandoned me. And so I made my way into the shack. The moon's beams cut through the glassless windows and the gapping holes left within the walls and what was left of the roof. The strange crying was coming from further away in the shadows, and for the time being I was distracted by the few items I saw thrown about the shack. They didn't make sense.

An iPhone lay on the floor, the light of the moon acting as a spotlight. The phone's screen was cracked, but appeared to be still functional. There were a few articles of clothing—simply button down shirts and pants, that had been thrown carelessly onto the floor. The crying continued, and emotionlessly I turned in the direction that it was coming from. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I was able to make out the figure of a person, slumped down against the wall with their knees pressed against their chest. I took three steps closer, noticing for the first time that my footsteps made no noise as they pressed against the rotten wood boards.

My breathing ceased, though my heart crashed against my chest with a force that I was sure should be fatal. My lips were trembling, and tears fell before I had even known that they'd formed. I shook my head, desperate to wake myself from this nightmare. I had never seen him in my dreams since he'd left. For months now, I had only known pure darkness in my sleep, it had been my only reprieve.

I shook my head as I looked down at him. His hands were wrapped in his hair, messy and matted, and I knew the otherworldly crying was coming from him. I begin pinching myself, felling the sting, but still not waking.

"Wake up, wake up," I commanded myself. The crying stopped suddenly.

"Beau?" his voice called, he sounded unsure, bewildered. Reluctantly I looked towards him again. His face, as beautiful as I had remembered, looked directly at me, but his eyes zoomed in their sockets, searching.

"Edward," I dared say, the sound clawing at my vocal cords.

"Beau?" He shot up, searching for a moment more, before falling back to where he had been. His hands gripped at his hair, and he rocked himself back and forth. "Make it stop," he pleaded, "make it stop." His voice pained, and the dry sobs rang throughout the open space. My heart jumped into my throat as I stared down at him—never had I seen him in such a state. The instinct to sooth him overwhelmed me, and before I could stop myself I kneeling across him, my hands glued to my knees.

"Let me help you," I whispered. He cried out even louder.

"MAKE IT STOP," he bellowed. My hands reached out toward him, gripping each of his wrist. He flinched, and standing once more. His eyes were wide and he scanned the room, panicking. And then I was flying again, The colors all zooming by, growing darker as I went.

I jolted upright from where I had laid, gasping for air. I was in my room. The storm outside raged on. The TV had been left on, the screen paused on whatever game Seth had been playing. Seth was sprawled on his bed, the sheets messy and falling onto the floor. I kept breathing, trying to fight away the memories of the all too realistic dream. I felt the wetness of trailing tears on my face, my body shivering from a breeze that had not existed. I could feel the hysteria building, and I jammed a pillow over my face, smothering the cries into silence. The dream continued to haunt me, and I did not fall back asleep until the dark storm clouds grew lighter by the arrival of the concealed dawn.