Chapter Twenty
Skeletal fingers wrapped around cold metal bars, the heat mists the grey for only a second, but a second long enough to know he's alive. Fingers clench around the cold steel, fingers bloodied and bent. It hurts but he squeezes harder. Intent on bending bars. Intent on escape.
She screams again.
Fingers clench, arms tighten, muscles gather ready for the push, ready for the rush of cold air as he exits his cell, leaves behind the stone walls, the open bars. Runs forward, dead end. Runs back, so tired. So tired yet he carries on through corridors of gold, corridors of silk, as he runs the floor inclines and he struggles. Falls to his knees. On all fours now, watching the blood seep from his fingers. Eaten up by the hungry dirt of the floor, mouth open, begging for more.
She screams again.
He forces himself standing. He's so tired. Running blind now, no distance to cover yet so far to go. The walls seem to close in, the gold, the silk, drenched in blood. Who's blood? Not his. The blood of so many, so many girls. Body drenched in sweat, clothes clinging to him like a second skin. The incline so high, the journey so long, the time wound down, actions in slow motion. A freeze frame of events he cannot escape from. He rounds the corner and spies the girl, she's wrapped in a corner, clothes ripped and torn, legs pulled up to her chest shaking her head, she can take no more. It's so cold he can barely see her, so cold he can hardly feel, so cold, he's so lost, he follows the sound of her screams.
Her wings are clipped, she flies no more, the fear she feels contaminates the ground around her. Broken mirrors surround the child. Through the broken glass he sees a thousand eyes staring back at him, he feels judged. Arms tremble, legs give out, he's reaching forward but the child backs away. There's terror in her eyes. Who will wear her now? Not this man before her. She's so beautiful when she cries, so alive as her tears trace the lines of her eyes. As he stands he blinks his own tears into submission, each time he reopens his eyes there's less of her to see. Her memories are scattered on the floor, as he walks forward, she breathes no more. Wherever she's going he knows he can't follow.
Don woke with a start and sat up with such force he almost fell forward. His breath so painful, each inhale a reminder he was alive, he was free of the dream, each breath a slow step away from the girl. Away from Jessica. As the dream dissipated the darkness inside him grew. As his mind cleared his stomach clenched and he felt the sweat flow from his pores, forcing himself up, Don stumbled to the bathroom. Made it just in time for his brothers meat loaf to escape from his body. Don clung to the toilet bowl, his stomach muscles contracted again, his ribs screamed in protest. His shoulder joined in the chorus and his head span. As he tried to regain his breathing Don focused on the door, focused on not passing out. He'd put his family through enough. To find him unconscious on the floor after rejecting his brother's cooking wouldn't be the best way to start the new day. The hallway was still dark, no one had stirred and for that Don was thankful. He leaned forward and closed the bathroom door, crawled over to the tub and leant back against it. Allowing the cold of the metal to cool his skin. He was shaking, shaking from the effort, shaking from the fear, shaking from the cold which sat beneath the boiling of his skin.
Don stared across the room, tried to think of anything but the dream. Anything at all. He covered his eyes with the blue cast, forced his left arm up, wrapped his head with his hands and cried. He'd never felt so lost, never felt so alone. He thought of getting his father, getting his brother, but this was too much, too much to bear the shame of sharing. Don cried for Jessica, cried for his mother, cried for all the bad things in the world he had seen. His breathing hitched and his sobs caused his heart to ache, yet he carried on, he cried. He cried for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly his body slid to the floor and he wrapped himself into a foetal position , he cried into the floor. Begging for the pain in his soul to stop. Begging for the empty hole in his heart to drain away, be replaced with anything. God he'd give anything at that moment to be numb. As the walls of the bathroom closed in Don shut out the world , closed his eyes so tight his face hurt. Begged for assurance that when reopened, he'd look upon the world as new. As innocent. As alive. The echo's of Jessica's screams resounded within his being.
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Charlie woke a little after 3am. They'd had such a good day, he'd been so tired by the end. The relief that Don was becoming stronger had allowed both Charlie and Alan their first decent nights sleep in too long. They had all gone to bed a little after ten. Sandy had popped by for dinner, her vacation time over. Charlie had actually enjoyed the time alone with his father and brother. Don had been walking around the house, taking it slowly, but out of bed. He'd looked more like himself, seemed so much more awake than he had in so long. Too long. He'd started to wake more often, talk more. Charlie had been helping his father with dinner two days previous when they had both turned to find Don standing in the doorway, smiling at them. He had still seemed a little pale but Alan didn't have the heart to send him back to bed. He was so happy to be walking around. Spending time with Alan and Charlie. Slowly they were getting back to some sense of normality.
Charlie stretched and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Licking dry lips he pushed back the covers and made his way downstairs for a glass of water. Once he had drunk his full Charlie became aware of a draft in the kitchen. Shivering, he turned to find the back door wide open. For a second he was routed to the spot, visions of intruders running through his mind. Then he saw the figure, standing outside, facing away from the house.
"Don?"
No response, Charlie's nerves were on edge. He slowly walked around his brother. Don was standing looking ahead of him, his eyes were puffy and his face gleamed with tears.
"Don?" Charlie placed his hand on his brother's arm. His skin was cold and he could feel his trembles beneath his fingers.
"Don" Charlie's hand shaking Don's arm. Slowly his brother turned to look at him.
"Hey"
"What are you doing bro?"
"I, um, needed fresh air"
"Don you're freezing, you've had enough fresh air I think"
Charlie eyed his brother carefully. Don was looking at him with such a lost expression. No, not lost, that was the wrong word. Slowly the realisation dawned on Charlie. Grief.
"Let's get you inside, get you warm"
Charlie turned his brother and with a firm hand on his back, led him back in the house and to the couch. Don laid down while Charlie covered him with the blanket.
"I'm going to warm up some milk. You'll be ok?"
Silent nod. Eyes so vacant.
In the kitchen Charlie wrestled with the need to wake his father, and the need to tend to his brother himself. Don seemed so fragile Charlie didn't want to overwhelm him. Didn't want to send him further into himself than he already was. The expression Don had worn in the garden, the expression Charlie knew as grief, was the expression Charlie had worn in the garage, for the months he worked on the P vs. NP problem.
He helped Don sit and slowly poured some warm milk into his mouth. Don's left hand reached for the mug and Charlie allowed him to take the warm drink himself. His grip was firm, the pain registered fleetingly. As he watched his brother drink Charlie tried to think of all the things he could say, all the things he could do. Yet there was only one. Only one course of action which felt true in his heart.
"You ok bro?"
"Yeah Charl. Sorry"
"There's nothing to be sorry for Don"
"Scared you."
"Ok, well, there's that to be sorry for, but nothing else"
Charlie felt his heart swell as Don smiled.
"Sorry"
"It's ok bro. You ok?"
"Yeah. Just….I just needed some air."
"You've been cooped up for a long time"
"Too long"
"How's about I take you out tomorrow, I mean today"
"What time is it?"
"It's almost 4 bro"
"Where would we go"
"You have a physiotherapy appointment at 5 remember?"
"And you're going to take me?"
"Uh huh"
"How?"
"David dropped off you car."
"And you want to drive it?"
"Yes. We'll be fine"
"We better be, I don't think I could take another injury"
Charlie tried to feign annoyance but the banter with his brother was so welcomed, like an old friend, missed for so long, finally back within arms reach. Don's cheeks had dried and his eyes, although still puffy, didn't seem as hollow as they had been earlier. Charlie took in his brother's appearance, hoped he was making the right choice. Hoped that the outcome would be worth the gamble.
"I could drive you around while you're unable you know. Call me Chauffer Eppes."
"Don't you mean Dr Chauffer Eppes?"
"Yeah" Laughed Charlie, "Guess that works too"
Charlie stood and took the empty mug from Don, pulled the blanket up higher around his shoulders and settled back on the chair, his feet resting next to Don's legs as they both drifted into sleep.