Smoke and Mirrors Part Three
Vaughn's POV
"Henry, passent le galet!" ("Henry, pass the puck!")
"Avancent, Henry, je suis clair!" ("Come on, Henry, I'm clear!")
"Uh-Oh..." ("Uh-Oh...")
"Mike, le bloquent, le bloquent!" ("Mike, block it, block it!")
"Et le slap shot de Rene est bloqué par Mike l'hockey Wonderboy. Le bon, Mike." ("And Rene's slap shot is blocked by Mike the Hockey Wonderboy. Good one, Mike.")
"Hé, Mike, qui est dans cette voiture noire dans votre allée?" ("Hey, Mike, who's in that black car in your driveway?")
"Je ne sais pas. Peut-être c'est... l'OH relatif mon gosh! Mon papa venant à la maison aujourd'hui! J'ai dû aller, des types!" ("I don't know. Maybe it's a relative... oh my gosh! My dad's coming home today! I've gotta go, guys!")
I woke up embedded in sweat, screaming to my mind, trying to warn the boy not to go home. Don't go home! I still remember that day, crystal clear in my mind. I remember that game of street hockey and I even remember the score. If only I'd known what the black car was really there for, what was waiting for me.
I used to have dreams about it... well, nightmares. Ones that would leave me trembling and terrified until my mother would come in my room and coax me back to sleep.
I haven't had one of those nightmares since I was ten. Until now. And no longer is my mother here to coax me back to sleep. Maybe that's what brought it about.
I stared up at my ceiling for a couple minutes, arms folded behind my head. I was wide awake now, not much hope for falling back asleep. Sighing, I sat up and stumbled through my room. I somehow made it to the kitchen.
Lights off, I opened the refrigerator and listened to the quiet whir for a moment, the cold chilling my cheeks and numbing my eyelids. I was about to grab the water pitcher when the phone rang. Who the hell would be calling at two in the morning?
"Hello?"
"Vaughn... I'm sorry for calling you so late. Did I wake you?"
Leave it to Sydney to somehow know to call at the exact times I need her most. "No, I was up. Getting a drink."
"Oh, good... are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Generally speaking, people don't wander around at 2 a.m. unless something's on their mind," she answered quietly, as so not to wake Francie, I guess.
"Then what's your excuse?"
"I had an instinct." She left it there. I think I loved her even more right then, if that's possible. "So...are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"I don't know," I began. I reached my hand up and rubbed it through my tousled hair. "I had this dream. One that I haven't had in over twenty years. It was just kind of unsettling."
There was silence for a moment. She was trying to decide if she should ask or not. "What was it about?"
Now I paused. I wasn't sure how she'd take this. "My father. The day my father died."
"Vaughn..." she started softly, caringly. "I'm going to come over, okay?"
I was going to protest, tell her she didn't have to do that. But the truth was, selfishly, I wanted to see her, and I didn't think I could be alone tonight. So all I said was, "Okay."
"Give me ten minutes."
"Alright," I agreed, and hung up.
Sydney arrived pretty much ten minutes on the dot later. I'd been watching, or blankly staring at, some old movie on AMC when I heard the soft tapping at my door. I opened it and led Sydney to the couch. She kept her eyes down the whole way.
"So..." she began quietly as we sat side by side on the couch. "How are you?"
I shrugged lightly. "I've been better."
"I... Vaughn... I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For... I don't know. For what happened to your mother... for what happened to your father. I'm sorry for my mother taking him away..."
I was about to cut her off but she stopped me. "I know you're about to say that I can't be sorry for her. But I have to be... because I don't know how else I can make the guilt lesson."
"God, Syd... it's not your fault. You have to understand that not everything is your fault."
"It doesn't matter... all that matters right now is you. I'm here for you... I just have to know that you'll be alright," she told me gently, but with a hint of urgency in her voice.
I reached down and carefully slipped my hand into hers, and she finally looked up and into my eyes. "I'm not... but I will be.... I promise."
"Can I help somehow?"
"Just stay with me."
Her eyes were slowly becoming glassy, and I felt mine tearing as well. But a shadow of a caring smile reached her lips and she brought her hand up to my face, tenderly stroking my cheek. I placed my hand on hers and slowly leaned in to kiss her.
It wasn't about raw passion or desire or lust this time... it was comfort. It was sweetness. It was love. We silently stood and headed to my room. There, we simply fell asleep as I held her and she caressed my hand. *** I opened my eyes the next morning and noticed that her eyes were opened as well, and she'd been watching me. "Morning."
"You talk in your sleep," she mocked softly.
"Really? What did I say?"
"'The laundry fell in the sewer.'"
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall my dream but no avail. "Strange."
"Yeah."
We fell victim to silence, then I said in a whisper, "I have to go to my mother's today and clear up what's left of her stuff."
She placed a hand, feather light, on my arm. "I... I can, you know... I should be getting home." She was about to sit up.
"No, Syd. I don't want you to feel awkward about this. And... I want you to help. Please, come with me, I don't think I can do it without you there."
She relaxed again and she was about to say something else, I could tell from the way her lips parted. But she closed them again after a second and nodded slightly, then leaned forward and lightly kissed my forehead.
"Thanks for being here for me, Syd. I don't know how I'd get through this without you."
She smiled a little. "Don't thank me... come on, let's get up. I think we're both in need of some coffee."
I agreed and we started towards the kitchen, no more words needed between us. If only we'd known... if only we could have predicted.
If only someone could have warned us of how our lives would drastically change that day, how we'd be dragged into a downward spiral and tangled in a web of lies, truth, revelations and deception. And it would all start with an ash covered colonial style house and a singed and burnt cardboard box. ***
A/N: Ok I know the last line sucked. But at least it was foreshadowing. Lol. Please review!!! :-D
"Henry, passent le galet!" ("Henry, pass the puck!")
"Avancent, Henry, je suis clair!" ("Come on, Henry, I'm clear!")
"Uh-Oh..." ("Uh-Oh...")
"Mike, le bloquent, le bloquent!" ("Mike, block it, block it!")
"Et le slap shot de Rene est bloqué par Mike l'hockey Wonderboy. Le bon, Mike." ("And Rene's slap shot is blocked by Mike the Hockey Wonderboy. Good one, Mike.")
"Hé, Mike, qui est dans cette voiture noire dans votre allée?" ("Hey, Mike, who's in that black car in your driveway?")
"Je ne sais pas. Peut-être c'est... l'OH relatif mon gosh! Mon papa venant à la maison aujourd'hui! J'ai dû aller, des types!" ("I don't know. Maybe it's a relative... oh my gosh! My dad's coming home today! I've gotta go, guys!")
I woke up embedded in sweat, screaming to my mind, trying to warn the boy not to go home. Don't go home! I still remember that day, crystal clear in my mind. I remember that game of street hockey and I even remember the score. If only I'd known what the black car was really there for, what was waiting for me.
I used to have dreams about it... well, nightmares. Ones that would leave me trembling and terrified until my mother would come in my room and coax me back to sleep.
I haven't had one of those nightmares since I was ten. Until now. And no longer is my mother here to coax me back to sleep. Maybe that's what brought it about.
I stared up at my ceiling for a couple minutes, arms folded behind my head. I was wide awake now, not much hope for falling back asleep. Sighing, I sat up and stumbled through my room. I somehow made it to the kitchen.
Lights off, I opened the refrigerator and listened to the quiet whir for a moment, the cold chilling my cheeks and numbing my eyelids. I was about to grab the water pitcher when the phone rang. Who the hell would be calling at two in the morning?
"Hello?"
"Vaughn... I'm sorry for calling you so late. Did I wake you?"
Leave it to Sydney to somehow know to call at the exact times I need her most. "No, I was up. Getting a drink."
"Oh, good... are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Generally speaking, people don't wander around at 2 a.m. unless something's on their mind," she answered quietly, as so not to wake Francie, I guess.
"Then what's your excuse?"
"I had an instinct." She left it there. I think I loved her even more right then, if that's possible. "So...are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"I don't know," I began. I reached my hand up and rubbed it through my tousled hair. "I had this dream. One that I haven't had in over twenty years. It was just kind of unsettling."
There was silence for a moment. She was trying to decide if she should ask or not. "What was it about?"
Now I paused. I wasn't sure how she'd take this. "My father. The day my father died."
"Vaughn..." she started softly, caringly. "I'm going to come over, okay?"
I was going to protest, tell her she didn't have to do that. But the truth was, selfishly, I wanted to see her, and I didn't think I could be alone tonight. So all I said was, "Okay."
"Give me ten minutes."
"Alright," I agreed, and hung up.
Sydney arrived pretty much ten minutes on the dot later. I'd been watching, or blankly staring at, some old movie on AMC when I heard the soft tapping at my door. I opened it and led Sydney to the couch. She kept her eyes down the whole way.
"So..." she began quietly as we sat side by side on the couch. "How are you?"
I shrugged lightly. "I've been better."
"I... Vaughn... I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For... I don't know. For what happened to your mother... for what happened to your father. I'm sorry for my mother taking him away..."
I was about to cut her off but she stopped me. "I know you're about to say that I can't be sorry for her. But I have to be... because I don't know how else I can make the guilt lesson."
"God, Syd... it's not your fault. You have to understand that not everything is your fault."
"It doesn't matter... all that matters right now is you. I'm here for you... I just have to know that you'll be alright," she told me gently, but with a hint of urgency in her voice.
I reached down and carefully slipped my hand into hers, and she finally looked up and into my eyes. "I'm not... but I will be.... I promise."
"Can I help somehow?"
"Just stay with me."
Her eyes were slowly becoming glassy, and I felt mine tearing as well. But a shadow of a caring smile reached her lips and she brought her hand up to my face, tenderly stroking my cheek. I placed my hand on hers and slowly leaned in to kiss her.
It wasn't about raw passion or desire or lust this time... it was comfort. It was sweetness. It was love. We silently stood and headed to my room. There, we simply fell asleep as I held her and she caressed my hand. *** I opened my eyes the next morning and noticed that her eyes were opened as well, and she'd been watching me. "Morning."
"You talk in your sleep," she mocked softly.
"Really? What did I say?"
"'The laundry fell in the sewer.'"
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall my dream but no avail. "Strange."
"Yeah."
We fell victim to silence, then I said in a whisper, "I have to go to my mother's today and clear up what's left of her stuff."
She placed a hand, feather light, on my arm. "I... I can, you know... I should be getting home." She was about to sit up.
"No, Syd. I don't want you to feel awkward about this. And... I want you to help. Please, come with me, I don't think I can do it without you there."
She relaxed again and she was about to say something else, I could tell from the way her lips parted. But she closed them again after a second and nodded slightly, then leaned forward and lightly kissed my forehead.
"Thanks for being here for me, Syd. I don't know how I'd get through this without you."
She smiled a little. "Don't thank me... come on, let's get up. I think we're both in need of some coffee."
I agreed and we started towards the kitchen, no more words needed between us. If only we'd known... if only we could have predicted.
If only someone could have warned us of how our lives would drastically change that day, how we'd be dragged into a downward spiral and tangled in a web of lies, truth, revelations and deception. And it would all start with an ash covered colonial style house and a singed and burnt cardboard box. ***
A/N: Ok I know the last line sucked. But at least it was foreshadowing. Lol. Please review!!! :-D