"It can't be!", Cavendish gasped, but it was.
Above him was a ceiling of dirt and sediment, hard and strong, near inpenetrable from here.
Below him, even harder solid rock, which was ever more inmpenetrable than the ceiling.
All there was in front of him, aside from tiny pebbles and the occasional Earth worm, was a dark, spooky cavern, a path that Cavendish dared not tread, a hole to a time before, a time oft buried deep inside.
A tunnel.
It wasn't the most impressive tunnel, truth be told; It was moldy, it was dusty, and there wasn't a single fancy curtain or welcome mat in sight.
Why, what a refreshing change some daisy's would do!
Alas, this tunnel was no fancy tunnel.
It was just a tunnel, one with major importance to Cavendish, but just a tunnel.
Cavendish gulped. Despite never having been here before, despite being a complete stranger to this world within the core, he somehow felt like he knew what was at the end of the tunnel.
And he desperately didn't want to take the journey.
In fact, he didn't need to.
Right behind him, a door opened, and oh was it inviting!
In fact, if Cavendish's eyes were not deceiving him, a party was being held there!
Streamers, banners, and a glorious blinding light emanated from the doorway, and if his ears were as functional as his eyes, Cavendish could swear he was hearing his name being sung in celebration!
Soothing smells wafted from the door, tempting Cavendish to join in on the fun!
"Mmm mmm!", Cavendish exclaimed, his stomach now remembering that he had not eaten in days and loudly reminding Cavendish of that fact. "Sponge cake and a spot of tea would do marvelously!"
But a niggling need called for his attention, a feeling of curiosity and, perhaps, responsibility, demanded his presence in the tunnel.
Cavendish licked his lips as he thought of the possible pleasure to be had in the party.
He could feel its safe promise, its affirmation he so wanted to hear.
In the party, he would be justified, he would be hailed, he would be king!
In the room that was angonizingly close, Cavendish would be right.
So why were his legs moving towards the tunnel?
Demanding a reprieve, Cavendish forced his legs to turn, almost twisting them as he found himself once again in front of the dream destination of the room.
And as he moved towards it, each step a struggle, Cavendish began to smile.
Surely this was the right way!
But there was that impossible to ignore concern again.
There was that hesitation, that all consuming fear that…
The hard way was right.
He had to go right.
Regardless of how much it could hurt.
Cavendish looked back at the tunnel, his pupils widening with fear as he thought of going back to the tunnel, of digging deeper into his pain, his torment, his flaws.
The past hurt.
And Cavendish had been hurt enough for a lifetime or two.
But try as he might…
He couldn't go to the party.
Not yet.
Not when his heart hurt like this.
Not when the possibility of wrongdoing was still alive.
For a moment he had thought that he had not thanked Dakota properly.
For a moment he had thought that he had mistreated his partner.
For a moment he had thought that he was wrong.
And he NEVER thought that.
"…Whether or not something is wrong… I clearly feel off.", Cavendish reasoned, his legs slowly turning the right way.
Taking a deep breath, he took a step forwards.
"Even if this all turns out to be nothing and I am as perfect as I think I am…"
He took another step.
"I must be sure. I can't rest until I'm sure."
And so, Cavendish gave up on giving up, and he took the terrifying journey down the trail of buried memories and traumatic pasts.
Matt:
Like A Tunnel…
Megan:
That You Follow…
The tunnel was dark and cold, just as Cavendish had suspected.
A pungent odor permeated the premises, and all Cavendish could hear were the crunching of tiny pebbles under his shoes.
The party was long gone by now, and Cavendish had the terrible feeling that even if he wanted to go back, he wouldn't be able to.
Sometimes, he heard a faint sound. The shattering of a plate, the slamming of a door, the growl of a wild animal.
Cavendish wondered if perhaps this place housed a Hobbit with anger management issues, but instead, he was met with something very different indeed: Floating shards of glass.
The shards illuminated the dark tunnel, their brilliant light twinkling like a star.
Cavendish was near awe struck by the beauty of it all, and for a moment, he forgot his troubles as he admired the sparkling fragments, sitting on the ground, his eyes focused on nothing else.
But this rest was not for long: Holding his hand out, Cavendish caught one of the shards and brought it up close to observe it.
But instead of a reflection, the shard offered a flashback: Playing almost like a video clip, Cavendish was reminded of his one sided fight with Dakota back in the dancing area of Chez Chaz.
"Was that really just a week ago?", Cavendish thought glumly, watching the painful memory play on loop on the tiny piece.
For what must have been the hundredth time today, a shiver ran down Cavendish's spine as he saw himself act in what he was told was the right way, but was increasingly feeling like the wrong way.
Wishing to ignore the pounding guilt, Cavendish tried to let the shard go, but instead of floating away forever, the glass stuck itself to the wall of the tunnel.
Cavendish, struggling to believe this, rubbed his eyes, only for the shard to not only stay there, but to begin to glow around the outline!
"Like…", Cavendish began to realize, the wheels of his mind turning. "…Like a puzzle piece…"
In fact, now that he mentioned it, Cavendish noticed that a shard to his left that would fit perfectly next to the right side of the shard on the wall.
Unsure of the meaning of this game, but too curious to back off now, Cavendish began to retrieve pieces, piecing together the answer to his present from the events of the past.
The hard part was surprisingly not the logistics of assembling the jigsaw; Cavendish was quite fond of such games and he had an eye for detail, so that came quite easily to him.
It was the memories that gnawed at his brain with no rest.
Cavendish didn't understand how he did not remember most of these, but the moment he saw them they all came rushing back.
There he was, shattering a plate in anger, outraged at being told by Dakota that he wasn't renting the movie this time; there he was, slamming the door, causing Dakota to jump in fright because he dared suggest not to spy on Milo; there he was, growling and baring his teeth at Dakota, who had just asked him to be less angry.
Cavendish just couldn't comprehend it. These were the actions of a monster, not of someone like him, someone poised, someone elegant!
Balthazar Cavendish was better than that…
No?
But the evidence was there, pictures and everything!
And pictures don't lie!
"Well, except for when they're being faked, but I doubt that's the case here.", Cavendish reasoned, but it did not ease his soul.
Still, something felt wrong.
Nearly finished with the puzzle, Cavendish looked behind him to see that Matt and Megan were suddenly back, now present with not only their voices, but their bodies.
Fearing the answer, but needing it still, Cavendish turned to them, a few pieces still shining bright in his hand.
"…What will I see when I finish the puzzle?", he asked, averting his gaze.
Matt and Megan's answer echoed across the halls of Cavendish's mind.
"You will see yourself."
"Considering how this day has been going, not something I will like, then?", Cavendish asked, but the two were already gone.
Turning back, he mumbled an unsure "Ok" and got to work on the final pieces.
More and more instances of unrequited mistreatment from Cavendish were seen by him, countless shouts and put downs and insults and more.
He saw himself distance himself, he saw himself block and deflect Dakota's love away, and he saw himself act like, for lack of a better word, like a prick.
Cavendish sighed gloomily. At least he could argue that the last few accusations depended on your point of view: Here, there was no argument that Cavendish was doing something wrong.
Finally, one piece left, he couldn't stand it no more.
Steam blowing out of his ears, he threw the shard down on the ground, and while it didn't shatter, it didn't stop Cavendish from stomping on the ground in anger, enraged and furious at all this.
"It can't be! It can't be!", Cavendish bellowed, wanting to smash his head in and be done with it.
His whole self was terrified: The very concept of him having been completely and totally wrong for 35 years shook him to his very core.
It wasn't just a matter of ego (though Cavendish very much wanted to have that restored): If all these accusations, all these claims were true, this would mean that Cavendish had spent a majority of his life making the wrong choices, doing the wrong things, being the villain of his own story instead of the sexy and badass conquering hero.
And even worse was that it made no sense!
Wasn't this how things were supposed to be?
Society just worked that way!
He was supposed to be like this…
No?
Cavendish reanalyzed his last few thoughts as he rested on his knees.
Was he supposed to be like this?
If he was, surely he wouldn't be feeling this guilty, surely his mind wouldn't be sending him through this mad quest of introspection.
…SOMETHING was wrong.
Maybe it wasn't him, but something WAS wrong.
Cavendish sighed again and slowly picked up the final glass shard, his reflection bouncing off of it.
He had to find out.
He HAD to.
The shard played a final memory: Dakota's tears as Cavendish blamed it all on him.
Dakota, the man who had saved his life over and over and over again…
And he had made him cry, just because Dakota had dared correct him.
Cavendish's eyes narrowed, his heart beat slowed down and his will grew steady.
Something was WRONG…
And Cavendish was going to find out what it was, even if it painted him as the devil himself.
Fueled with determination, Cavendish stood up, took a deep breath, and, with precise movement, he placed the piece in its place.
A moment passed, and nothing happened. Cavendish wondered if perhaps he was supposed to say something, or maybe he had missed a piece.
But he was soon answered: The tunnel rumbled, dirt falling on his head, dropping him to the ground with a thud.
The finished puzzle glowed and hummed, as the pieces began to form a single image, a solid solution.
Shaking the dirt off of his hat, Cavendish blinked the dust from his eyes and rubbed them to clear his blurry vision.
Straddling to his feet, slipping for a moment, Cavendish was finally able to look into the mirror.
For a moment, he hesitated: What was he going to see?
But the fresh wound of his actions still burned, and Cavendish's good side roused the courage to look in the mirror and into himself and see what was wrong.
But even Cavendish's good side was shocked into silence by the man staring back at him.
Years of denial and walls of self protection crumbled to the ground as Cavendish observed the figure in the mirror, not even daring to touch its outstretched whitered hand or wheathered face.
For in the reflection of the shiny white mirror stood not Balthazar T. Cavendish, the great hero who never faltered, nor Balthazar Cavendish, the toxic partner and "friend" who rejected love, or even Balthy, the genuinely well meaning person who truly did love his friends, who truly was good at heart.
No, none of those were present in the mirror…
For in the reflection stood none other than Balthazar Cavendish's Father.
Natalia:
To A Tunnel…
Nick:
Of Its Own…
Shock, denial, rage, all filled up to the brim inside Cavendish's mind.
Why, the very idea!
The NOTION that he, Balthazar T. Cavendish, was ANYTHING like that monster, that awful man, was… Was… Was nothing short of preposterous!
"It… It can't be!", he suddenly shouted out, a mad look in his eyes as he stared back at his beast of a Father. "It… IT CAN'T BE!"
"Oh, but it is, boy. Don't you see?", Cavendish Sr. said, calm, composed, cold and calculated in his approach. "You've finally become a man. You've finally become me."
Cavendish's nostrils flared and his ears buzzed with deafening loudness as he began to pound the mirror, trying desperately not to think of all the things he had done.
"No! I refuse to accept this! I am not like him! I could never be like him!"
Pound, pound, pound went his hands on the mirror, which shook and started to form small cracks, but as ever, Cavendish failed to notice such details until it was too late, and then some.
Continuing to impart "justice" on this slight on his honor, Cavendish began to scream his defense for all to hear, but mostly for himself.
"I COULD NEVER BE LIKE HIM! IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE! IT. DOESN'T. MAKE…."
But as Cavendish punctuated and emphasized the "SENSE!" in the sentence, the mirror shattered to a thousand shards once more, and as Cavendish tried to pound it again he found himself doing something impossible once more: He was falling into the mirror, as if it was a window to another dimension.
Which it was, but to be fair, how could he know that?
His eyes widened as he realized the fall that was befalling him, but alas, it was too late for poor Cavendish, who tumbled down, in what seemed to be, perculier as that is, a rabbit hole!
As Cavendish fell, he began to notice a great many things that were wrong with this hole: Scientifically speaking, rabbits shouldn't have maps or pictures hanging on pegs, let alone bookshelves!
And what's this? A jar of Orange Marmalade?
Will the absurdities ever end?
"Next thing you know, it'll be wearing a waistcoat with a ridiculously large pocket watch!", Cavendish joked to himself, whilst simultaneously noting that he had been falling for a long time.
A gust of wind blew, and Cavendish saw his shirt fly up, which was odd, because 1. Gusts of wind don't occur in rabbit holes, 2. His shirt shouldn't be flying this high up and 3. He wasn't wearing a shirt.
He was wearing a light blue and white dress, with a blue hair bow which fit quite nicely.
Suddenly, Cavendish realized what was going on.
"…You have got to be kidding me. Surely I've done at least 6 impossible things during breakfast alone!", Cavendish complained to the people in charge of his long psychological analysis, but they would not listen.
And so Cavendish continued to float down, with the occasional eye roll, scoff or tut as the ground came nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and nearer and is that a zebra? Why is it calling him Kevin and oh look the ground!
SMASH! went Cavendish as he crashed down, and, fixing his dress and shaking off the dirt from it, he started to observe his surroundings.
Sure enough, he was now in a purple hallway, with absurdly proportioned tables and chairs, a tiny wooden door, and two white rabbits with waistcoats and giant pocket watches.
The two rabbits (really Patrick and Penny in disguise) greeted him with the next two lyrics.
Patrick:
Down A Hollow…
Penny:
To A Cavern…
"Ooh, caverns, tunnels and hollows!", Cavendish "gushed" as he began to follow the hopping rabbits down the hall. "Did the budget fail to consider my comfort? I could use a nice water bed, or a cruise ship. Or a giant cheese."
Sighing, he watched the rabbits impatiently as they opened the door. "I assume I must follow you to find out why you'd accuse me of such insanity as being like dear old dad?"
The rabbits nodded as they expertly brought down the key from the high high table and began to fit it in the lock.
Cavendish sighed. He DID want to find out what was going on, his interest (and guilt) were too piqued to leave just yet.
"At least for Dakota…", he breathed deeply, and he began to glug down the Drink Me bottle.
As he shrunk, an obvious question passed his mind: "May I at least wear my normal clothes for this? Dresses and I just don't mix."
"I think it's a lovely shade on you!", Patrick complimented, and Penny nodded enthusiastically.
"Well, I think that you'd taste marvelous in a stew, but you don't see me forcing you in, do I?", Cavendish threatened, causing Patrick and Penny to cower in fright.
Cavendish's soul guilt tripped him and he regretted the statement: Regardless of how baseless some of the charges were against him, these kids WERE trying to help him.
And to be honest, he HAD sort of asked for it back at The Breakfast Burrito Place.
Sighing, he offered an apology that wasn't 100% sincere, but was close enough to make a passing grade. "I'm sorry, it's been a long… Morning?", he said, honestly not sure how much time had passed in the real world.
"The sale on mineral water is most definitely off.", Cavendish thought gloomily.
Patrick and Penny accepted the apology, Cavendish found himself back in his regular clothes, and off they were through the door and into…
"Great Scott! My old home back in Andford!", Cavendish expressed in surprise as he stepped out of the door and into his past.
Old sights and sounds and smells came flooding back, and for a moment, an odd nostalgia for a traumatic place swelled in Cavendish's heart.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of morning dew and daisy flowers.
"Well, I must admit, I am pleasantly surprised! It's quite dandy being back here in Cavendish country!", Cavendish proclaimed, and he raised an eyebrow at the rabbits near him.
"I'm not sure why we're here, Patrick and Penny, but I'm not complaining!"
As he went forwards to pick a daisy to sniff it, admiring the freshly cut lawn in front of him, Cavendish's eyes were suddenly caught by something all together more interesting…
"I finished washing the car, Dad!"
Cavendish's eyes widened and for the first time in a while, a genuine smile rose on his lips: In front of him stood none other than himself, at the tender age of 10 years old, looking spiritely and bright as ever.
The younger Cavendish had just finished washing Cavendish Sr.'s car, and he was now proudly showcasing it to the owner in question, sweat beads surrounding the hope filled eyes.
Cavendish couldn't help but chuckle warmly, failing to notice Patrick and Penny being replaced by Peter and Sarah, who displayed decidedly more concerned faces than the adult sandwiched next to them.
Cavendish crouched down to their level, proudly showing himself off.
"Would you look at that? 10 years old and washing cars! Sure, it's for a colossal asshole, but you have to admit its impressive!"
He then closed his eyes proudly, showing off his waistcoat.
"And I think we're all in agreement that my sense of style has always been "hip" and "with it", as the cool kids say!"
Peter and Sarah didn't respond, but not for the reasons Cavendish thought.
"Oh, what do you know? You're rabbits with waistcoats, you wouldn't know what trendy was if it multiplied with you fibonucci style!", Cavendish complained, but they stayed silent.
Getting a little wary now, Cavendish looked at the rabbits with a mixture of fear and alarm. "You're not usually silent unless something bad is about to happen. What am I missing? What's the terrible thing I did here?"
Peter and Sarah didn't answer.
They didn't need to.
Cavendish soon saw the cause of their silence, soon to be the cause of his shock.
"…No…", he could barely breath, as his eyes bulged out and his heart beat like a marching drum.
For now standing beside younger Cavendish, shyly staring at his shoes and looking like he had cried for more than just a night, was…
"…Ollie…"
The name hung in the air like an unspoken tragedy, and Cavendish felt tears run to his eyes immediately as he witnessed the one memory he had suppressed most of all.
"No… No, please! Anything but this!", he begged, pleading, kissing the rabbit's feet.
"Show me the mirror again! Show me my deaths again! Show me Mr. Block belly dancing! Just not this!"
But his prayers fell on deaf ears, and Cavendish could not look away as he witnessed his younger self just ignore Oliver.
Stand with his back to him.
Shun him…
His only friend.
The one person who truly understood him.
Oliver was heartbroken, and he silently walked back, mustering just one look.
"Please… Don't go… I didn't mean it… I… I just…", Cavendish stammered, but even he knew that he had no real excuse, as Oliver turned to dust in front of his eyes and younger Cavendish grinned at a proud Cavendish Sr.
Peter:
Where The Sun…
Sarah:
Has Never Shone…
Water sprinklers lightly grazed Cavendish's trousers, and dew smudged his glasses, but Cavendish had no time for such trivial matters, his mind far too focused on clenching his fists like no person had done before.
Somehow, of all the memories and accusations so far, this was miles away the worst!
Anger rose up in his chest like a kettle boiling, he couldn't believe the sight before him.
Bad enough that the boy… No, HE, Balthazar Cavendish, HE had done that to Oliver, but he was also getting encouragement from his father, that vile villain?
"It couldn't get worse", Cavendish muttered through gritted teeth. "It couldn't!"
But of course, it did.
"Excellent work, Balthazar! Finally, you showed that puff what for!", Cavendish Sr. commended, and he returned to the house with a flourish.
Younger Cavendish beamed, his heart swelling with pride. "Don't worry, Father…", he said out loud to himself. "I'll be just like you, and then you'll be even prouder!"
That's.
It.
That was the final straw.
Cavendish wasn't sure of much today, but he knew that he LOATHED, no DESPISED, no ABHORED his Father!
And here he was, wishing to emulate him?!
No.
This he would not accept.
Looking at Peter and Sarah with a look of utter denial, he spat out venom with every word.
"HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF THIS? I… I AM NOTHING LIKE HIM! I… I COULD NEVER BE!"
He couldn't take this anymore.
He couldn't stand this nightmare no longer.
Thunder crashed and rain poured down like a storm as he began to do the only thing that made sense: Run.
His feet pounding down the old cracked road, Cavendish did not dare look back as he kept shouting above a thundering heart "I Couldn't!"
He rounded the corner.
"I couldn't!"
He passed the park.
"I wouldn't!"
He approached a large building, seeds of doubt sprouting as he saw Oliver pass by in his Father's car.
"I shouldn't!"
And as he entered the building, the revolving doors spun like a spinning top, spinning him into the building, which was no longer a building, but a forest clearing.
"I haven't!", he continued to yell, desperately, heaving now as he huffed and puffed, hands on his knees.
His eyes suddenly darted to see his younger self on the tree branch all those years ago.
His ears stopped buzzing as he saw Oliver.
His mouth stopped emitting sounds as he heard himself wish to be loved.
And his heart stopped as he saw himself finally give love to someone else.
Sid:
Like A Door…
Sydney:
That Keeps Revolving…
Tyan:
In A Half…
Tyler:
Forgotten Dream…
Cavendish watched with stunned silence as he saw that once…
He was someone completely different.
Sure, the flaws were still there…
But here he was…
Treating a Dakota like a Dakota should be treated.
So…
What happened?
"I… I… I shouldn't…"
And then, just like that, a sound caught his attention, he turned his head to the left and, with a resounding crack…
CRACK!
Cavendish Sr. Smacked him in the face again, removing a metaphysical tooth and sending Cavendish soaring through the sky.
Clouds and trees zoomed past, and for a moment, Cavendish wondered if it would ever end, but then it did, as he began to approach a stream.
Instead of drowning however, you know, like a normal person would…
He began to skid on it like a…
Vincent:
Or The Ripples…
Wally (Not Ours):
From A Pebble…
Suddenly, the kids were replaced with two adult men: One in the shower, holding a bar of soap, the other clearly a product of the 1980's which had never been recalled. Unfortunately.
Barney:
Someone Tosses…
Bomber:
In A Stream…
But Cavendish didn't even have time to be confused by the sudden shift to adult singers since as he continued to skid along the stream, he began to feel different.
Scenes of his mistreatment of Dakota, of his rash decision making, of his egotistical nature ran rings around his head, and the spectre of his Father, actually approving of all this only made things worse.
But it didn't last, as Cavendish reached the end of the stream and collided with a lonely lamppost in the middle of nowhere.
Rubbing the sore spot that now resided on the back of his head, and feeling exhausted all over his body, Cavendish hung his head low, noticing a puddle.
On the one hand, he really didn't want to look in, as he knew that what he would see would upset him greatly.
But at the same time, a terrible truth was becoming more and more apparent, and Cavendish couldn't run away from it no more.
Sighing, he shivered and shook as he glanced down to see…
His Father, looking right back at him.
But Cavendish knew that this wasn't his Father.
It was…
It was…
"…I shouldn't…", he began, throat clenched, a pool of tears forming next to the puddle.
"…But I have… Haven't I?"
And for a few moments, Cavendish sat there, crying softly and silently into the night, as he finally accepted some criticism.
The denial was slipping away, as Cavendish thought of all the times he had mistreated Dakota, all the times he had treated him like trash…
And how scarily reminiscent they were of his Father.
First his Mother, now Dakota.
Good people were always suffering thanks to the Male Cavendish's.
As his mind continued to waver, the realization that he had become the thing he hated most continuing to shatter his soul, Barney and Bomber walked in, dressed like White Rabbits.
They sat down next to Cavendish, who held his knees close to his chest and hung his head low.
"Balthazar…", began Barney, sympathy present in his voice.
"I… I don't understand…", Cavendish whispered, disbelief stretched across his face.
Bomber squirmed in his seat. Barney twiddled his thumbs. Both men looked quite uncomfortable.
"I… I don't understand…", Cavendish tried to force out, but instead he continued to sob.
"Go on…", Bomber encouraged, a hand now comforting Cavendish's shoulder.
Cavendish glanced at him, and Bomber sent him a sad smile.
"We're here for you, Cavendish. Tell us what ails you. Please."
Cavendish turned to Barney, who nodded curtly. "It's the job description, Cavendish. We want to help you."
"You shouldn't help me.", Cavendish professed, darkness and sadness invading his speech. "You shouldn't help me at all."
"Cavendish, look, I know what this feels like…", Bomber started, but Cavendish interrupted.
"No, you don'!", Cavendish shouted, and the shouts echoed down the empty street.
Cavendish took note of the smog and ash and stormy skies above, of the near grey roads and sights, of the cobbled path he sat on that was cracked beyond recognition.
Cavendish sighed and looked downtrodden on the downtrodden street.
"I… I hate him.", Cavendish finally professed. "I really do."
Cavendish shivered and visibly shook as he related his backstory.
"He beat me as a child, from a very early age. Tried to toughen me up. Said I wasn't good enough."
Cavendish's scars began to glow as he took a deep breath.
"Said I wasn't a man."
Barney offered Cavendish a hankerchif, and Cavendish gladly used it, throwing it into a suddenly there wastebasket which then disappeared as promptly as it appeared.
Cavendish's breath flowed in the wind, his weathered face, now half shapen like his fathers, but also half shapen like his own, appearing frank for the first time in years.
"And now, I just want it to make sense."
Cavendish licked his cracked lips, feeling how dry his throat was.
"…I need a drink."
Out of thin air, Bomber retrieved a warm cup of tea, 2 sugars, and just a little bit of mint.
He handed it to Cavendish, who was pleasantly surprised by the soothing mug before him.
"Oh… Thank you.", he said genuinely, touched by the gesture.
Cavendish took a liberal sip, feeling a little refreshed.
"That's better. That's better. That hits the spot.", Cavendish said, and he set the mug down for now.
Letting out a now warm breath, Cavendish returned to his introspection.
Blinking to refocus his sights on the stormy clouds, which painted an image of his Father belittling his Mother, Cavendish began to truly dig deep.
"My Father treated my Mother terribly. Shouted at her, belittled her, disrespected her…"
A tear trickled down as Cavendish felt his Mother's gentle touch in his heart.
"The poor soul."
Four new singers appeared, encouraging him to carry on.
Ms. Camilichec:
Like A Clock…
Mr. Decker:
Whose Hands Are Sweeping…
Destiny Summers:
Past The Minutes…
Edwin Garner:
Of Its Face…
Cavendish continued. "And… And I remember seeing that… And saying to myself (when I wasn't being beaten for protesting)… That when I'm married… When I'm in love… I'd treat my love right."
He smiled for a moment, remembering the wish. "I'd love them… And I'd never make them feel beneath me."
But his words, as did the picture, began to reflect the truth.
"But now that I think about it… All the things that you showed me… All the things I did… And I look at them honestly… If I am honest… With myself…"
Cavendish's heart began to crack as he saw himself shout and belittle Dakota.
As he saw himself in his father…
And his Father in himself…
"I loathed him so much… And I loved myself so much…"
A great and terrible truth made itself apparent in the windmills of his mind.
"That I failed to see… That I had become him."
Cavendish began to weep quietly, his tears falling down silently, causing a tiny pool that began to sweep him away.
Erik Jones:
And The World…
Eugene (Milo's Doctor):
Is Like An Apple…
Frances:
Whirling Silently…
Mrs. Garner:
In Space…
But Cavendish didn't notice that, he was far too busy noticing himself for the first time.
"How could I have been so blind?", he asked no one in particular as he floated away, feeling less than real.
Feeling like a spirit in his own body.
Not in control…
And desperate for relief.
He thought of all that Dakota did: All the kisses and hugs, all the meals and laughs, all the quiet, kind moments that had passed by him like insignificant flies…
All the times he wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him.
And in return, he had treated him like a deasiese…
When he himself was the problem.
How could he claim to be a perfect hero when he so clearly was at fault?
How could he be the hero…
If he acted like a monster?
Cavendish closed his eyes and sighed. "Something IS wrong…"
He opened his eyes. "And it's me…"
Suddenly, the pool he was floating on turned into stars and he was back in space, but he didn't care.
He could float here until the end of time, it didn't matter.
Nothing did.
And if anything did, he'd just ruin it.
Mr. Hartoonian:
Like The Circles…
Mr. Menke:
That You Find…
Jebediah Murphy:
In The Windmills…
Joey Logano:
Of Your Mind…
As Cavendish's body floated in the inky sea of stars, like a boat with no sail, almost peaceful in his solemn sadness, a voice that sounded almost like his Mother sounded out from the depths and echoes, from the corners and the borders of space, all over and all encompassing.
"…Cavendish?..."
Cavendish said nothing.
He didn't want to even try to defend himself.
"…Cavendish…", the voice pressed again.
Cavendish sighed. He wasn't escaping this either, huh?
"Yes, mysterious voice?", he asked, a voice full of pain.
"Cavendish… We have to continue…"
"There's more?", Cavendish asked, incredulous.
He didn't need to see it nod, he knew it was true.
He let out a dark, lonely chuckle. "Well… I guess I should have seen that coming."
"Cavendish… You took a serious step a minute ago… Many people never admit to their flaws…"
"Many people don't spend 35 years being the thing they hate most.", Cavendish darkly retorted, and the voice laughed affectionately.
"Balthazar, you'd be surprised."
"Today's been full of them."
"And they're not over yet."
Cavendish closed his eyes in pain, wishing for it to just be over already. "Do we have to? I feel bad as it is."
"Cavendish… You answered an important question today…"
Cavendish continued to rock softly in space, his vision blurry as he felt tired.
"But…", the voice whispered, sympathetically. "It's not over yet. You must answer another question."
Time seemed to slow down to a turtles pace as the voice asked the big one:
"It's time to answer the most important question…"
She whispered softly, in an almost curious tone:
"Who… Are you… Balthazar Cavendish?..."
Suddenly, the stars scattered every which way, swaying like waves in the sea, before suddenly gathering into one spot, where they all fused into one shape.
The form the stars were taking was getting larger and clearer by the moment, facial features and memories one would rather forget forging themselves into an avatar of Cavendish's frozen self on the alien ship more than a year ago.
"Are you the hero? The all conquering perfect colossus who can do no wrong?"
Cavendish cringed at the description, and it got worse when he saw the next option: Cavendish sleeping alone on the apartment floor, shivering and shaking.
"Are you the failure? The "man" destined to be alone because he drove everyone away?
And it then got even worse: An image of Dakota and him at Chez Chaz when he shouted at him.
"Are you… Your Father?", a hint of sadness, of warning was now present in the voice.
Cavendish gulped at that and his blood ran cold.
Was he?
Was it too late?
…Did he have any hope?
And finally, another image came up…
Of a 10 year old boy smiling at his friend and being kind.
"Or are you the 10 year old boy who only wanted to love and be loved in return?"
Cavendish looked down, wondering if he could ever be that.
If he ever was.
"In short: What is your part… In this vast universe?"
Her voice turned to a whisper.
"Who… Are… You?"
The options raced and argued inside his mind…
Making their cases, stating their minds…
Waging a storm in his heart…
And Cavendish wished he could just choose one and be done with it…
He wished he could be human…
But he knew that he wasn't.
So once again…
Cavendish felt lost in the grand scheme of things.
Once again…
Cavendish was alone.
"I… I…"
He sighed, resigned to his fate.
"I don't know."
Cavendish's tears returned while the voice tried again.
"Cavendish… You keep saying you don't know…"
A loving smile crept in her voice. "But I know… Deep down… That you are better than this."
Cavendish continued to float, but he did try to listen.
"You CAN improve. You just need to take the next step and learn what else you've done wrong… And why."
Cavendish, however, wasn't sure.
"What good will it do? The damage is done. Dakota is hurt, and it's all my fault."
"And if I told you there was a chance? If I told you that you could make sure Dakota is never hurt again?"
Despite his vested self interest in protecting himself, Cavendish was almost hooked.
But he still had to ask.
"…Will it hurt?", he asked, fear present in his tone.
"…Yes.", she whispered.
"…But it will help Dakota?", he asked, more urgently this time, needing to know if it was possible.
"…Yes."
Cavendish took a deep breath.
This was not going to be easy…
But when was life ever easy?
"If… If I really have been nothing but terrible for 35 years… And if someone like Dakota was hurt by me…"
He took a deep breath. "Then I will continue… If it means I can undo it just a little. If I can help Dakota…"
He choked down a sob.
"If that's the least I can do… Then I'll at least do that."
He then spoke like a child, afraid of being punished. "I didn't mean to do all this. I really didn't."
"I know…", the voice reassured. "But it's time to make things right."
Cavendish's voice turned small. "…I'm afraid."
"You won't be alone.", the voice comforted.
Cavendish took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and made a decision in his heart.
He then opened his eyes, determination emanating from them.
"All right… Let's finish this."