The air hangs still, silent and unnaturally empty. All I can hear is that
resonating, sickening smack.
My God, what have I done?
Lydia's eyes connect with mine, and it is this that brings me crashing back to the physical, conscious world. I only left it for a moment and yet here it is, foreign and fresh as if I am entering it for the first time.
It is my first time. As a completely different person.
Her eyes are no longer angry, blazing with hate for what I've done. They're afraid. My God.Lydia is frightened, scared, terrified. Of me!
"Lydia." The voice that issues from my throat is cracking, nearly trembling. I'm terrified too. Terrified of what I've become. She says nothing, merely turns and begins to step away. Slowly and steadily, but moving.
Away from me.
A force I'm powerless to stop makes me reach out and grab her wrist. She snaps away from me, pulling not only herself but also the feeling that I had only a moment ago, the feeling of being myself, with her.
She turns to leave again, but halts. I follow her gaze. Ben. He stands in the doorway, his jaw dropped and his body trembling. Oh no.
"Ben." Lydia whispers. It is the whisper that breaks his trance, and he turns and runs away, Lydia reaching her hand out in a futile attempt to stop him. And then she follows suit, leaving me.
Alone. My God, what have I done?
**************************************************************
Screaming. There is nothing but screaming. I hear Ben screaming, I hear Lydia screaming, I hear myself screaming. What am I doing? My mind wants, needs, tries to get me to stop but I am beyond my control. The blood sprays as I watch my fists pound into Lydia. Again and again and again.
My eyes jolt open. More screaming. For a moment I cannot discern between the dream and the reality. Then I realize that it's not screaming I hear but the ringing of the phone. But I can't dismiss my nightmare because the main core of it is the truth. I hit Lydia.
I roll over with a sigh. 5 am. Who the hell is calling at 5 am? Wearily I stumble up out of bed. Thunder and lightning crack at the windows, thick storm clouds blocking out any light from the fast approaching sun.
I have no idea where Ben is- most likely still in bed. I don't know where Lydia is, and I doubt she'll ever let me know again. I wipe dried tears off my face and walk out into the hallway. I bump right into Lyd.
For a moment we stare at each other. I feel my face turn red.
"There's something wrong with Ben." She says breathlessly, her eyes full of fear. Fear of what is wrong with Ben or fear of me?
"What? Where is he?"
"I don't' know. Gordon just called and said we have to get down there right away." Tears line her face but none fall.
TEARS? On Lydia?
I guess getting smacked by the only person you ever confided in could break down anyone, perhaps even calm, collected Lydia.
I consider saying something, trying to apologize, attempting to get the old Terry McGinnis back. But I can't think of anything I could possibly say to her to make her even think of forgiving me.
I have a sudden urge to take her hand but I know I've lost that right. We are both silent the entire drive down. I force myself to stop dwelling on the fact that I hit her across the face last night and try to worry about Ben. I haven't seen him since he ran off last night, and he was probably very upset.
Who wouldn't be after watching your idol, your hero, your father hit your mother?
But for Gordon to call. Ben, what have you done?
We end up in front of a large building. Policemen are everywhere, Emergency vehicle innumerable. I feel my stomach jump into my throat.
Oh God Ben, what have you done?
Lydia's tears now fall, her fears beginning to overcome 27 years of fearlessness. I catch sight of Gordon and run to her.
"Commissioner Gordon, what the hell is going on?" I realize that I am breathing very quickly. Gordon gazes at me.
"Terry, it's very serious. Maybe you ought to come over to the patrol car and-"
"Where's Ben?" Lydia says, tears making long wet lines down her face. My heart begins to race.
When it's bad McGinnis, you'll know it's bad. It's bad Mr. Wayne.
Ben, where are you?
A sound suddenly breaks through the cacophony of sirens and din of the general area. It is Lydia's scream.
And I see him.
Ben. My son.
He lies on the cracked pavement, a pool of red, vivid blood seeping out from underneath him.
I open my mouth to say his name, to call him. But Ben's not going to answer me.
He's dead.
Lydia slowly moves over to him. Her face is pale and her eyes are wide with horror.
My heart pounds. Blood begins to rush through my veins. Oh No. Oh God no.
Gordon's voice is an echo, a whisper, sometimes in and sometimes out.
".Found him an hour ago. He had.fallen from the top." Her voice is gone. All I can hear is the pounding in my chest and the screams of Lydia. She runs, pushing past dozens of policemen. And I stare.
My God. Ben.
His eyes are barely open, staring upward with a contented, glazed look, as if he had just shot up with a dose of morphine. My hand goes, beyond my control, to his head. And I almost recoil. His skin in clammy. Cold and damp and dead.
Drops of water begin to patter the dried blood around him. And a thicker, deeper rain falls upon his limp body. The stinging rain of an inhuman God, and the agonizing tears of a father who has lost his son.
Dead. My son is dead.
My God, what have I done?
Lydia's eyes connect with mine, and it is this that brings me crashing back to the physical, conscious world. I only left it for a moment and yet here it is, foreign and fresh as if I am entering it for the first time.
It is my first time. As a completely different person.
Her eyes are no longer angry, blazing with hate for what I've done. They're afraid. My God.Lydia is frightened, scared, terrified. Of me!
"Lydia." The voice that issues from my throat is cracking, nearly trembling. I'm terrified too. Terrified of what I've become. She says nothing, merely turns and begins to step away. Slowly and steadily, but moving.
Away from me.
A force I'm powerless to stop makes me reach out and grab her wrist. She snaps away from me, pulling not only herself but also the feeling that I had only a moment ago, the feeling of being myself, with her.
She turns to leave again, but halts. I follow her gaze. Ben. He stands in the doorway, his jaw dropped and his body trembling. Oh no.
"Ben." Lydia whispers. It is the whisper that breaks his trance, and he turns and runs away, Lydia reaching her hand out in a futile attempt to stop him. And then she follows suit, leaving me.
Alone. My God, what have I done?
**************************************************************
Screaming. There is nothing but screaming. I hear Ben screaming, I hear Lydia screaming, I hear myself screaming. What am I doing? My mind wants, needs, tries to get me to stop but I am beyond my control. The blood sprays as I watch my fists pound into Lydia. Again and again and again.
My eyes jolt open. More screaming. For a moment I cannot discern between the dream and the reality. Then I realize that it's not screaming I hear but the ringing of the phone. But I can't dismiss my nightmare because the main core of it is the truth. I hit Lydia.
I roll over with a sigh. 5 am. Who the hell is calling at 5 am? Wearily I stumble up out of bed. Thunder and lightning crack at the windows, thick storm clouds blocking out any light from the fast approaching sun.
I have no idea where Ben is- most likely still in bed. I don't know where Lydia is, and I doubt she'll ever let me know again. I wipe dried tears off my face and walk out into the hallway. I bump right into Lyd.
For a moment we stare at each other. I feel my face turn red.
"There's something wrong with Ben." She says breathlessly, her eyes full of fear. Fear of what is wrong with Ben or fear of me?
"What? Where is he?"
"I don't' know. Gordon just called and said we have to get down there right away." Tears line her face but none fall.
TEARS? On Lydia?
I guess getting smacked by the only person you ever confided in could break down anyone, perhaps even calm, collected Lydia.
I consider saying something, trying to apologize, attempting to get the old Terry McGinnis back. But I can't think of anything I could possibly say to her to make her even think of forgiving me.
I have a sudden urge to take her hand but I know I've lost that right. We are both silent the entire drive down. I force myself to stop dwelling on the fact that I hit her across the face last night and try to worry about Ben. I haven't seen him since he ran off last night, and he was probably very upset.
Who wouldn't be after watching your idol, your hero, your father hit your mother?
But for Gordon to call. Ben, what have you done?
We end up in front of a large building. Policemen are everywhere, Emergency vehicle innumerable. I feel my stomach jump into my throat.
Oh God Ben, what have you done?
Lydia's tears now fall, her fears beginning to overcome 27 years of fearlessness. I catch sight of Gordon and run to her.
"Commissioner Gordon, what the hell is going on?" I realize that I am breathing very quickly. Gordon gazes at me.
"Terry, it's very serious. Maybe you ought to come over to the patrol car and-"
"Where's Ben?" Lydia says, tears making long wet lines down her face. My heart begins to race.
When it's bad McGinnis, you'll know it's bad. It's bad Mr. Wayne.
Ben, where are you?
A sound suddenly breaks through the cacophony of sirens and din of the general area. It is Lydia's scream.
And I see him.
Ben. My son.
He lies on the cracked pavement, a pool of red, vivid blood seeping out from underneath him.
I open my mouth to say his name, to call him. But Ben's not going to answer me.
He's dead.
Lydia slowly moves over to him. Her face is pale and her eyes are wide with horror.
My heart pounds. Blood begins to rush through my veins. Oh No. Oh God no.
Gordon's voice is an echo, a whisper, sometimes in and sometimes out.
".Found him an hour ago. He had.fallen from the top." Her voice is gone. All I can hear is the pounding in my chest and the screams of Lydia. She runs, pushing past dozens of policemen. And I stare.
My God. Ben.
His eyes are barely open, staring upward with a contented, glazed look, as if he had just shot up with a dose of morphine. My hand goes, beyond my control, to his head. And I almost recoil. His skin in clammy. Cold and damp and dead.
Drops of water begin to patter the dried blood around him. And a thicker, deeper rain falls upon his limp body. The stinging rain of an inhuman God, and the agonizing tears of a father who has lost his son.
Dead. My son is dead.