/REALLY AGGRESSIVELY RUINS YOUR DAY


August 1995 The Farm, Black Hills, South Dakota, United States of America

Desmond woke when he was supposed to. Or actually a bit later. His clock told him he'd slept in for some reason. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, it was just past sunrise, the sun blocked by the hills surrounding the Farm. Normally Duncan woke him before the sun rose, so they had time for a light breakfast before lessons. Usually some fruit to get their blood sugar up, or something, so they had enough energy for the morning run all the novices were expected to do. He'd slept through breakfast though.

He rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the bathroom. He rubbed more sleep out of his eyes while staring at himself groggy eyed in the mirror. Where was Duncan? He didn't hear his brother moving around. Especially when they accidentally slept in Duncan was running around in the morning to get dressed and stretch before the run and make sure Desmond was ready and his shoes were tied and shove an apple in Desmond's hand even as they headed out. But there was none of that. The house was silent except for the scrape of the toothbrush across his teeth. He'd lost another one recently, one of the last ones he had to lose. It had been during Forms, someone had been a bit too enthusiastic. Desmond had bloodied their lip for it. Then daddy had given him a strict talking to about it afterwards, saying he needed more control than that. Of course he'd been punished and not the boy who'd knocked his tooth out. It wasn't fair.

Once he was done brushing his teeth Desmond went back to his room and got dressed. He tied his shoes on and went out to the kitchen. All the lights in the house were off. Daddy hadn't come home last night. Mom never came out of her room and Desmond only saw a light under the door sometimes, but never with any consistency. "Duncan?" Desmond called, standing in the lightening kitchen. The sun was higher now and pale morning sunlight trickled through the curtains, making the kitchen glow. No answer. "Duncan?" he called again. His brother didn't call back.

Desmond went over to Duncan's door. There was no light coming through under the door. "Duncan? Duncan we're going to be late, are you awake?" he called. He knocked and was surprised when the door swung open a bit. "Duncan, you awake?" he called cautiously in case his brother was getting dressed or something. He waited a moment but didn't hear his brother moving around like he was getting dressed.

Desmond took a deep breath for courage. Foolishly he was still afraid of monsters under the bed or in his closet. Daddy always said they weren't real. Duncan said they were real, but they weren't monsters, they were watchers. They wouldn't hurt Desmond. But Desmond knew. He knew they were real, with their piercing yellow eyes and pale skin, and were taller even than daddy. His daddy was the tallest man Desmond knew. The yellow eyed monsters always wanted him, reaching out with long fingered hands, grasping at his arms, wanting to drag him away, speaking in garbles and nonsense. Desmond dreamed about them sometimes, and they always lingered just outside what he could see, afraid of the light he stood in, but watching from the darkness as pairs of glowing eyes. He reminded him that real or not, they wouldn't hurt him. Duncan said they couldn't and Duncan never lied to him. Not ever. Desmond pushed on the door.

The door swung open in silence.

Morning sunlight streamed through the window, splashing across the wood floor in lines of golden light. It made the room look almost pretty, despite the fact that it was mostly empty. A bookshelf, a dresser, a bed, desk, and a rug apparently woven by Lakota on the reservation who lived about an hour away. It had a red, white, and green star burst pattern on it and a fringe on two sides in white string. Desmond's eyes were drawn to it and it was all he could focus on for several seconds. Even at a distance he could see the individual threads that made up the rug. The green was darkened now, the whites no longer white and even the reds were more brown than red anymore. The fringe was messed up slightly on the far side where they'd been pushed a bit, bunching up under a pair of bare feet.

Desmond's vision swam a bit. He gasped and realized he'd been holding his breath. His vision cleared and it was like he was seeing for the first time. Everything seemed more vibrant, clear, and sharp. Desmond felt like he could see everything.

He wished he could see nothing.

He took a step forward, lurched, and landed on his knees with a bang. He barely registered the pain but didn't get back to his feet. Instead he just crawled slowly, like moving too quickly would make it more real, towards the rug.

Or rather to the body on the rug.

"Duncan?" Desmond asked, his voice shaking.

His brother was laid out on his back, facing the ceiling, eyes closed. He had both hands resting on his stomach. There was a huge gash in his neck from which all the dark stains on the rug had come from.

"Duncan," Desmond said again, reaching out and touching him. His brother didn't move. "Duncan. Duncan wake up. Wake up we have to get going," the volume and octave of his voice increased with each word. He wasn't seeing it. Or he was, it was impossible for him to not see what he was seeing. Rather he refused to see it. Refused to accept the reality that was in front of him. "Duncan wake up! Get up. Daddy's gonna be mad if we don't show up for lessons," but only half the words got out. "Wake up. Wake up! Wake up!" at the end he was just pushing on Duncan's body and screaming. "Get up! No no no no no no NO!"

The tears started then and Desmond was gone. He didn't know what he was doing or saying, all he knew was that he was yelling and screaming for his brother. The big brother who loved him when no one in this place did. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't. If he was dead then who else was there for Desmond? How could he not be here for Desmond?

He didn't know how long he was there, yelling at Duncan to get up, that this couldn't have happened, when he felt someone come up behind him. They put their hands on him and he screamed, "Let me go! I need to wake my brother up, let me go!"

They didn't listen, or care. Instead the unfamiliar arms picked him up and carried out of the room. He yelled and thrashed but they didn't set him down, just kept their grip on him all the tighter. Only when the stranger walked out of the house did he look up to see who it was. It was a strange woman he'd never met before. Her brown hair was long and bed shaped, her brown eyes sad and empty. She wore pajamas and walked across the yard without shoes. Looking up at her Desmond stopped yelling, too surprised by who he was seeing.

It was his mother.

"Kaley?" someone said her name with such surprise she stopped. It was daddy's friend, Dan. "Kaley, what are you doing? Why do you have Desmond?"

"Get Andrew," she said softly, her voice uneven from disuse.

"What happened? Desmond why are you covered in blood?" Desmond couldn't speak. He could barely breathe. Between what he'd seen in his brother's room and now his mother he was shell shocked.

"Get Andrew," Kaley said again. "Now."

Dan looked between the two of them, "Okay I will. Just… stay here," he said. Kaley said nothing, she didn't even nod. Dan hesitated, then he bolted.

Kaley put Desmond down with a sigh but grabbed his hand when she sat on the steps of Dan's porch. He tugged away from her but she didn't let go. She instead had her face against her knees, which were drawn up close to her chest. He tried to get away a bit more but Kaley's grip on his hand was like a vice.

"Kaley, what's going on? Why are you out here in your pajamas?" Andrew's voice said and Desmond looked around and saw him and Dan approach. Dan was a bit winded and they'd come at a jog.

"Daddy, daddy!" Desmond cried and held his free arm out to him. Andrew looked down at him, brow knit together in confusion.

"Desmond… you're covered in blood," Andrew pried his hand out of Kaley's and knelt in front of him. "What happened?" Desmond opened his mouth but no sound came out. "Desmond?" Andrew asked. Desmond had no words all the sudden. The tears came again and her hugged his daddy and sobbed onto him. Andrew hugged him back, and he could feel his confusion in his arms and shoulders.

"Our son is dead," Kaley said in a whisper soft tone. Desmond hung on to Andrew even when his father's attention became diverted from comforting his little crying son.

"What?" Andrew asked.

"Our son. Is dead," Kaley said again.

"Dan, keep an eye on these two," Andrew said and pulled Desmond off him. Desmond cried out and reached for him but Andrew stood up out of range. Dan grabbed Desmond's shoulder when Andrew walked away, back towards their house.

"Daddy!" Desmond called after him but found himself stuck like before. Only this time with Dan and his mother. He looked up at Dan sniffling, "I want my daddy," he said.

"He'll be right back, I'm sure," Dan assured him. "Come sit with your momma," and he guided Desmond to the porch and had him sit next to Kaley. Kaley didn't look at him. Didn't even acknowledge he was there. Dan stood over them awkwardly, Kaley just looked forward, unseeing.

Andrew was gone for a while. But he did come back. Desmond jumped to his feet and went to him when he got close. Andrew leaned down and hugged him tightly. Desmond found himself back on the porch, this time with his daddy who knelt on the stairs. "Did you see your brother?" Andrew asked him. Desmond nodded. Andrew looked him over. "You're a mess, son. C'mon, lets go inside. You can wash up." He turned to Kaley, "Lets get you inside too, honey. You're still in your pajamas," and Andrew released Desmond to help Kaley up and lead her inside. Desmond was shepherded inside by Dan, shown the bathroom, and told to shower.

Desmond stood in the clean bathroom in shock for a solid minute before ripping off his clothes that were stiff and flaked little chips of blood. He turned on the shower and sat in the tub, knees to his chest, and cried some more. The blood on his arms and hand liquified and ran off him, spiraling around the drain and washed away. He cried into his knees until the water on his face was no longer salty. He didn't leave the shower until all the hot water was gone and it became the chilly well water. Then he crawled out of the shower, grabbed a towel and sat on the lid of the toilet, shaking, convulsing like he was crying but no tears were forthcoming.

Someone knocked on the door, "Desmond," it was Andrew. "You alright, son? You finished? I have some fresh clothes for you." Desmond opened the door and Andrew handed him clean clothes. He changed but didn't leave the bathroom. He stayed perched up on the toilet. Andrew found him like that some minutes later and coaxed him out of the room with the promise of comfort since Andrew refused to do so in somewhere like a bathroom.

Desmond latched onto Andrew once he was outside and Andrew hugged him picking him up and carrying him to the couch where they sat. Andrew and Dan talked but Desmond wasn't listening, he was just pressed against his father desperately, arms around his neck. His normal source of warmth and comfort was gone and Desmond would take it from any other source at the moment. He just wanted it all to be a bad dream.

He ended up dozing and falling asleep from the stress and emotional turmoil. When he woke up Andrew and Dan and his mother were gone, to where he didn't know.

He was alone.

That'd be a good phrase to describe the next decade of his life too.