For the Good...
Epilogue
"Hobbes! Bobby!" The shout was past his lips before he was awake, before he could stop it. Released from the paralysis of the nightmare, his eyes snapped open, staring up at the blank ceiling. Real, was it real--
No blood on his hands, when he stretched them up before his eyes. Not white sheets but dark green covers over him. The walls were not hospital walls but patterned, he could just make out lines of floral prints though the room's dimness. The hotel walls, he had woken to them for three days now...not a dream. Safety. Escape. Freedom. The murder was a dream and this was reality.
No, not a dream, a memory, but the face he had seen, dying--that had been only a figment, hadn't it. A lie. Hobbes was alive, wasn't he--
"I'm right here, Darien."
He blinked as the lamp clicked on, peered through golden splotches in his vision to see Hobbes sitting up in the next bed, also squinting against the light. "Bobby..?"
"Yeah, s'me, I'm not dead. I was dead tired..."
Darien winced. "Sorry..."
"No, don't be." Hobbes made an effort to sit up, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, Fawkes, I still am half asleep. You okay?"
"I'm fine. I'm sorry."
"What were you dreaming about?"
"It doesn't matter. It's okay. You can go back to sleep." He lay down again, made to close his eyes, expecting the light to switch off.
It didn't. Instead his pillow was roughly yanked out from under his head, rapping his crown against the backboard. "All right, that's it, Fawkes," Hobbes snapped, throwing the pillow across the room and then crossing his arms, sitting up on his bed. "I ain't taking this crap anymore. You're not fine. You look like death warmed over and it's not because you're still sick--Claire says you're pretty much recovered, physically speaking. Except you aren't sleeping more than a couple hours a night without having nightmares so bad you bolt out of bed in a cold sweat." He regarded his friend, lips pressed tightly together in concern. "Darien, man, I know what it's like. Trust me, I've been through it myself. Maybe not the same thing, but I know you can't just get over these things. Not in a week. It takes time, it takes a hell of a lot of time. Fortunately you've got all you need. But it'll go faster if you don't keep it all locked up inside."
"I...don't know how..."
"Start small. That nightmare. Remember it?"
Darien sat up, scrubbed his face. Let the words come. "I...was insane again, and...they put me in a room with a man, and I...attacked him. Tore at him with my bare hands. I smelled the blood. And then it was you, and...I knew what I'd done, and I couldn't change it...Bobby, it was real. Not it being you, but everything else, I remember it happening. I remember it--"
"At least you think you do," Hobbes amended. "Remember, Fawkes, Claire told you, you might be making some of it up. Not on purpose--your mind could be, whatsit, fabricating what might have happened from what you know did happen. Sort of filling in the gaps."
"Does it matter?" Darien slumped back against the backboard. "I did it. I killed..."
He was expecting to be told yet again that it wasn't his fault. Instead Hobbes snapped, "Yeah. You did. And so have I." He stood up abruptly, glaring down at Darien still sitting on his bed. "We've all done things we want to forget. You gotta see past that. You gotta look at what you can do now. Otherwise you're letting them win, you're just putting yourself straight back into that hospital, and after all the work Claire and I did to get you out of there, I'm not standing for it."
Darien felt a lump rise in his throat, swallowed but couldn't dispel it, couldn't stop the tremor in his voice. "I--I'm sorry--you shouldn't have."
"Shouldn't have what?"
"Shouldn't have--everything you gave up--I don't deserve it. I don't deserve--"
"Bull Shit." Hobbes's face thunderous, his hands balled into fists. "I know you, Fawkes, I've gotten to know you pretty good. You're a good man, a damn good man, forget about your past. The only thing you didn't deserve was getting locked away in that place. We didn't do this just because you're our friend, though you are, or because it was our fault as much as anyone's, though it was. We did it because it was wrong, what was done to you was wrong, and stopping it was the right thing to do."
"But...for me..." Darien stared down at the blankets clenched in his own fists. "I'm only one person--both of you, what you did, it ended up destroying your lives, for just my life."
"I wouldn't say destroyed. More like, moving on." Hobbes shrugged. "But either way, it was our choice. You think Claire didn't think this out, backwards and forwards and upside down? You think I didn't? You know how paranoid I am. I knew exactly what I was getting into. So did she. We chose this, all the way. Planned it from the get-go. And we'd do it again, anytime."
"But--"
"Okay, Fawkes. How about this. I didn't do it for you at all. I did it for what you can do." Hobbes pointed to the back of his neck. "That gland there, that talent you got. It did a lot of people a lot of good. It can again, now that you remember how to use it. Those people that did this to you, you're not their only victim. With you on our side, we got a chance against them. A chance to stop them. So that's why we got you out. For that sake of all those others you can save. Think about them."
"I...I didn't..." Darien shook his head. Stupid, stupid. Even if Hobbes was lying--it was still true. He wasn't the only victim. But he maybe was the only one who could help the others, stop those who did this to him before they did more harm to anyone else. Repay his friend's help--he couldn't compensate them, not personally, but he could help others in turn. It wasn't enough, maybe, but it was something. And it gave him a goal, a purpose to anchor his dissipated existence.
The nightmares would still come, but he had reason to fight them now, reason to get a night's sleep. He had spent his life living for himself, but that wasn't enough now. Wasn't important anymore. Everything he had done, the people he had killed, it mattered, but he could make reparations, and would, now that he realized how.
He had good reason to fear those he would challenge, but for the rest of the night, even though his memories made him shiver, he slept better than he had in the last week, and the nightmares which struck his unconscious mind did not survive his waking.
Hobbes watched Darien sleep, relieved to see it was sounder and less troubled a repose than he had had since their arrival in New York. Even with the constant noise of traffic and crowds outside. The city that never sleeps was certainly not a figure of speech. Apparently its citizens weren't supposed to, either.
Knowing Claire was also having problems with the noise, he crossed the room and tapped on the door connecting their two rooms. The knock was not enough to wake her had she managed to doze off, but in a moment the door opened. She looked at him with a cross of sleepy annoyance and concern. "Yes--is anything wrong?"
"No," Hobbes said. "Actually, I just had a little talk with Fawkes, and I think things are looking up." He entered her room, shut the door on their sleeping friend and then recounted their conversation.
Claire was troubled. "He should know that we don't hold it against him...in all honesty I don't mind that much, the move or anything else. The lack of scientific facilities is annoying at the moment but I believe I can find--"
"I know, I know. That's not the issue." Hobbes shook his head. "Fawkes is just guilting about disrupting our lives. Feels all 'he's not worthy'. It's partly a matter of what he went through--I know a little what it's like. He thought he'd been forgotten for so long that he half managed to convince himself that he didn't deserve to be remembered. With that kind of thinking, it's hard to convince him he needs to get better for his own sake. So I gave him something else to hold onto, until he finds himself again."
Claire just blinked at him for a moment, seeming to have to find her voice. "Bobby," she said at last, "you really do know something about psychology, don't you."
"Yeah, well, I've been through enough shrinks, I should. Maybe that's why I should do, open up my own practice. What d'ya think?"
"Well..." Claire looked to be giving the matter serious consideration. "Actually the man I know around here is close friends with a psychologist..."
"No way! It was just a joke!" Hobbes instantly denied, then narrowed his eyes. "'The man you know'--this wouldn't be that boyfriend you mentioned to me way back when?"
"Well..."
"Ah ha! I gotta let Fawkes know about this."
"I'd rather you didn't yet. He's been busy lately, but I'll introduce you both to him soon."
"Uh huh. So how close are you to this guy? He gonna get jealous with you spending most of your time with us? 'Cause Fawkes is still gonna need your help..."
"That depends...are you going to give him reason to be jealous?"
Hobbes gaped at her, until he saw the twinkle in her eyes. Or thought he saw it. Never could quite be sure with Claire. He strengthened his resolve to figure her out eventually, once and for all, and see where things went from there...
But for now he let it be. "Anyway, we gotta find an apartment soon. This roach motel's costing us too much. Got any leads from 'the man you know'?"
"A few," Claire said. "How about your job search?"
"Some possibilities. And a couple ideas." Hobbes sighed. Then said, "You know, I don't mind either."
Claire inclined her head. "No?"
"No. Sure, there's some hassles, but..." He glanced back at the door behind him. "No regrets. I'm glad we did it." "So am I." She met his eyes, then too looked to the room beyond. "Whatever happens, so am I."
You know what they say about the good of the many, how it's supposed to be more important than the good of the one. You know what? It's not true. We did what we did for the good of one man. But the people responsible, the people we're fighting against, the bureaucrats, the scientists--I figure Fawkes is worth a thousand of them, easy.
I didn't think we'd succeeded, for a while. Thought we might've lost our friend to them after all. We saved a man, but Darien, the man we'd known, the one we did everything for, him I wasn't sure we got back.
Yesterday, though, I came back to the apartment, and Fawkes was reading something as thick as a phone book with a gold-trimmed leather cover. He glanced up, saw me and read to me aloud from the page, "'I know but one freedom, and that is the freedom of the mind.'
"So said Antoine de Saint-Exupery," he told me. "And it's true." He looked me direct in the eyes, like he hadn't really done since we got him out. "Thank you, Bobby," he said, and then he lowered his head and went back to his words.
And I think I can finally convince myself that eventually, everything is going to be okay.
And so it ends...
Obviously though the story is done, room remains for a sequel. I have ideas, but whether or not they see the light of day...that remains to be seen. I have quite a few draws on my time (witness how long this story took to reach that epilogue!) But you never know where my muse might go.
Whether or not another occurs, I nevertheless hope you enjoyed this ride. I had much fun writing it, and I hope you had as much reading it! Everyone who wrote me reviews, my limitless thanks, from those who wrote one comment to those who told me to get it in gear after every chapter. Couldn't have made it without you guys! And if you have anything else to say, I'd love to hear it...
love & peace,
XmagX