A few hours later, Johnny walked into his house, closing the door behind
him. Bruce had taken him to dinner then dropped him off, the entire time
convincing him to forget about the picture and Jessica Richardson. It
wasn't worth getting all worked up over, he had said. Johnny wasn't
entirely convinced of that.
Looking at the small table by the door, Johnny saw the discarded mail from that morning, and on top of it, the photograph that had started this all. He stared at it for a long time, as if the picture could tell him what he needed to know. Nothing seemed to be connecting, and he didn't even know what he was supposed to find. He knew just as much now as he had earlier that morning. What was he supposed to be seeing?
Johnny hesitantly reached for the photograph, wondering if he should risk another intense vision in order to determine what was going on. With all of the small pieces he had, Johnny felt like he was trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without knowing what the final picture looked like. He needed to know more, but at the same time, he wasn't sure he could handle more.
His head hurt.
Johnny let his hand hover over the crumpled picture, his mind in a constant debate of whether or not to touch it. Would it accomplish anything? If he had another vision like he'd had many times today, would it overwhelm him? Bruce wasn't here to pull him out, so it seemed risky. Maybe he could control it. What if he couldn't? His dead zone had a mind of its own, so to speak, and sometimes no matter what he wanted, his brain would do something else.
"Maybe I'll get some sleep first," he said aloud, hoping that hearing his own voice would convince himself. "Get a fresh start in the morning."
Johnny stood there for several more minutes, his hand just inches away from the photograph. One touch, that's all it would take. Just one. His hand shook, the anticipation of the touch wreaking havoc on his nerves. Why was he hesitating?
It's just a vision, he told himself mentally. You've had plenty of them before.
But this one had been different. It was disturbing, and, he reluctantly admitted, a bit scary. And what did it mean? He still hadn't figured that out. Was this how Jessica saw the world? Was this a vision of her world? A glimpse into the mind of a schizophrenic was not pleasant, and not something he wanted to do. However, if he didn't touch the picture, he'd still be left with all of these pieces of a puzzle with no way to figure out how they go together.
Why hadn't the man just given him instructions with the picture? Why hadn't he come forward? Johnny knew that the man had been watching them at the Desmond house. Who was he? Why was he hiding? Did he have something to hide, and therefore didn't want to come forward? Was Johnny being led on, becoming a pawn in this man's game?
Johnny sighed in frustration. He'd been asking himself these questions all day, and he was no closer to answering them. Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe it was time to give this up.
Johnny pulled his hand away from the picture, gave it one last glance before heading upstairs to his room. He changed into his pajamas, trying to rid his mind of any thoughts of Jessica Richardson. It proved to be harder than he thought. He kept going through everything over and over again, and as he lay down on his bed, he hoped sleep would come quickly to quiet his mind.
It didn't.
Johnny restlessly tossed and turned, trying his hardest to fall asleep, but nothing seemed to work. He tried clearing his mind, attempting some of that Zen stuff Bruce talked about constantly. He took deep breath after deep breath, but it didn't help relax him. He tried to concentrate on each body part, relaxing them one at a time as Bruce had taught him. Nothing.
Sighing with frustration, Johnny kicked the blankets off and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He obviously wasn't going to get sleep tonight, so he thought he might as well do something productive with the time. He grabbed his cane from its perch next to his bed then stood up with a slight grunt of exertion. His leg throbbed, making Johnny well aware of its protests of being used so much today.
Johnny slowly padded down the hallway and down the wooden stairs, the surface feeling cool against his bare feet, sending a slight chill up his spine. He turned on the table lamp in the front room by the door, glancing once again at the day's mail. He completely overlooked the bills, only concentrating on the picture. He stared at it for a long time, as if challenging it.
"What am I supposed to see?!" he shouted at the picture.
Before he could stop himself, Johnny reached forward and grabbed the picture tightly in his hand, and instantly he was overtaken with a vision. The darkness again, but different. It wasn't completely dark. Johnny looked up and saw stars. He was outside. A slightly cool breeze swept past his face while Johnny tried to take in his surroundings.
He saw trees and a dirt road, very similar to the one the Desmonds lived on. Was it the same road? At night, everything looked different, and he couldn't tell. There were no street lights, no cars around, no distinguishing landmarks. Nothing that could tell him where he was or what he was looking at.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder like a blade digging into his skin, and he cried out. Johnny whirled around to see his attacker, only to get backhanded across the face before he could see anything.
He fell hard, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Johnny sat up quickly in order to see who had hit him, his breath coming in short gasps. Johnny looked around, only to see his house again. The picture was on the floor next to him, and his hand was open. The picture had fallen out of his hand. He looked at the picture quizzically, wondering what that vision meant. Another piece to add to the puzzle.
He grabbed the picture again, hoping to go back to what he had seen, but nothing happened. Johnny tried shifting it around in his grip, but no visions came to him. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath then tossed the picture aside.
Johnny slowly rose to his feet, grabbing the cane that had fallen next to him. He looked down at the picture, his brow creased in determination. He was still no closer to any answers, but Johnny was now determined to find out what all of this meant- or die trying.
Looking at the small table by the door, Johnny saw the discarded mail from that morning, and on top of it, the photograph that had started this all. He stared at it for a long time, as if the picture could tell him what he needed to know. Nothing seemed to be connecting, and he didn't even know what he was supposed to find. He knew just as much now as he had earlier that morning. What was he supposed to be seeing?
Johnny hesitantly reached for the photograph, wondering if he should risk another intense vision in order to determine what was going on. With all of the small pieces he had, Johnny felt like he was trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without knowing what the final picture looked like. He needed to know more, but at the same time, he wasn't sure he could handle more.
His head hurt.
Johnny let his hand hover over the crumpled picture, his mind in a constant debate of whether or not to touch it. Would it accomplish anything? If he had another vision like he'd had many times today, would it overwhelm him? Bruce wasn't here to pull him out, so it seemed risky. Maybe he could control it. What if he couldn't? His dead zone had a mind of its own, so to speak, and sometimes no matter what he wanted, his brain would do something else.
"Maybe I'll get some sleep first," he said aloud, hoping that hearing his own voice would convince himself. "Get a fresh start in the morning."
Johnny stood there for several more minutes, his hand just inches away from the photograph. One touch, that's all it would take. Just one. His hand shook, the anticipation of the touch wreaking havoc on his nerves. Why was he hesitating?
It's just a vision, he told himself mentally. You've had plenty of them before.
But this one had been different. It was disturbing, and, he reluctantly admitted, a bit scary. And what did it mean? He still hadn't figured that out. Was this how Jessica saw the world? Was this a vision of her world? A glimpse into the mind of a schizophrenic was not pleasant, and not something he wanted to do. However, if he didn't touch the picture, he'd still be left with all of these pieces of a puzzle with no way to figure out how they go together.
Why hadn't the man just given him instructions with the picture? Why hadn't he come forward? Johnny knew that the man had been watching them at the Desmond house. Who was he? Why was he hiding? Did he have something to hide, and therefore didn't want to come forward? Was Johnny being led on, becoming a pawn in this man's game?
Johnny sighed in frustration. He'd been asking himself these questions all day, and he was no closer to answering them. Maybe Bruce was right. Maybe it was time to give this up.
Johnny pulled his hand away from the picture, gave it one last glance before heading upstairs to his room. He changed into his pajamas, trying to rid his mind of any thoughts of Jessica Richardson. It proved to be harder than he thought. He kept going through everything over and over again, and as he lay down on his bed, he hoped sleep would come quickly to quiet his mind.
It didn't.
Johnny restlessly tossed and turned, trying his hardest to fall asleep, but nothing seemed to work. He tried clearing his mind, attempting some of that Zen stuff Bruce talked about constantly. He took deep breath after deep breath, but it didn't help relax him. He tried to concentrate on each body part, relaxing them one at a time as Bruce had taught him. Nothing.
Sighing with frustration, Johnny kicked the blankets off and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He obviously wasn't going to get sleep tonight, so he thought he might as well do something productive with the time. He grabbed his cane from its perch next to his bed then stood up with a slight grunt of exertion. His leg throbbed, making Johnny well aware of its protests of being used so much today.
Johnny slowly padded down the hallway and down the wooden stairs, the surface feeling cool against his bare feet, sending a slight chill up his spine. He turned on the table lamp in the front room by the door, glancing once again at the day's mail. He completely overlooked the bills, only concentrating on the picture. He stared at it for a long time, as if challenging it.
"What am I supposed to see?!" he shouted at the picture.
Before he could stop himself, Johnny reached forward and grabbed the picture tightly in his hand, and instantly he was overtaken with a vision. The darkness again, but different. It wasn't completely dark. Johnny looked up and saw stars. He was outside. A slightly cool breeze swept past his face while Johnny tried to take in his surroundings.
He saw trees and a dirt road, very similar to the one the Desmonds lived on. Was it the same road? At night, everything looked different, and he couldn't tell. There were no street lights, no cars around, no distinguishing landmarks. Nothing that could tell him where he was or what he was looking at.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder like a blade digging into his skin, and he cried out. Johnny whirled around to see his attacker, only to get backhanded across the face before he could see anything.
He fell hard, hitting the ground with a loud thud. Johnny sat up quickly in order to see who had hit him, his breath coming in short gasps. Johnny looked around, only to see his house again. The picture was on the floor next to him, and his hand was open. The picture had fallen out of his hand. He looked at the picture quizzically, wondering what that vision meant. Another piece to add to the puzzle.
He grabbed the picture again, hoping to go back to what he had seen, but nothing happened. Johnny tried shifting it around in his grip, but no visions came to him. He muttered a quiet curse under his breath then tossed the picture aside.
Johnny slowly rose to his feet, grabbing the cane that had fallen next to him. He looked down at the picture, his brow creased in determination. He was still no closer to any answers, but Johnny was now determined to find out what all of this meant- or die trying.