Chapter 20
When Tim finally walked into his apartment, it was late enough that Sarah had unwillingly fallen asleep without him. He smiled when he saw her curled up on his bed. Instead of going to bed himself, Tim went to his bookshelf and pulled down an innocuous-looking book. He read the inscription on the inside cover as he had so many times: Timothy, I'm saving this book for when you're a teenager and think your parents don't know anything. Maybe it will create a topic of conversation between a father and a son, even when they have nothing else in common. It's the first true detective novel, easily predating the more famous Sherlock Holmes. It even made me want to be detective. Maybe you'll catch the same fever. Love, Dad.
Tim turned over to the title page and read the words he'd read so many times before: The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins. He'd read the copy so many times that the pages were wearing out. His mom had found it when cleaning out some of his dad's old things and saved it for his high school graduation. He smiled when he thought of his dad reading the same book. He hadn't been kidding when he had told Sarah that Dad liked to juggle, but his favorite image of their father was him sitting in his old recliner in the study, reading yet another book. That's how he would have wanted to be remembered, Tim realized. Gibbs was right. He had to change what he saw.
Now determined, Tim went to bed, but instead of settling down to sleep, he opened The Moonstone and began to read, starting with the first lines: "I address these lines—written in India—to my relatives in England. My object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the right hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle." His father, being the literary critic that he was, had written commentaries in the margins on nearly every page. Tim read those as well, his eyes often lingering on the neat little annotations. He continued to read, page after page, until his eyes got heavy. Finally, against his will, his eyes closed and the book dropped.
The basement stairs loomed up in front of him. He trudged down them, powerless to change what happened. He flipped on the light and looked around at the messy basement. This was going to take forever. He sighed and walked around the corner to the alcove where the broom was and stopped. ...he stopped...
I will not see this again...
His father sat in his favorite comfy chair with that silly pipe he always had, unlit, in his mouth...
He walked around the corner...
No. I won't see this happen...
His dad tried for the hundredth time to get the juggling right, laughing every time his misjudged and a ball dropped on his head...
He stopped and stared...
I'm not seeing him that way...
The pile of books by his dad's chair seemed to reach the ceiling. He looked up as Tim walked in. "You have a lot of catching up to do, Timothy."
...he walked down the stairs to the basement...
No. Not again...
His father beckoned him to join him and his mom outside. "It's kite weather, Timothy! Let's go!"
...he looked into his father's eyes ...they were empty, dead.
...they were twinkling with humor as Tim tried, clumsily, to mimic his father's antics...
He was just...
No!
...he was twirling his mom around in a circle, pretending to dance...
Images piled on images. As sometimes happens in dreams, Tim was able to nudge his mind away from the painful memory, but it was still there. He fought it and almost won.
...his father sat in his chair, eyes intent on the words written on the page as the lights grew dimmer... and dimmer...
"Tim?"
The voice cut through the darkness.
"Tim?"
His eyelids fluttered. It felt like he was dragging himself out of a deep well, with weights tied to his shoes.
"Tim, it's almost noon."
Tim's eyes opened wide. "What did you say?"
Sarah sounded almost triumphant. "I said, it's almost noon. Are you going to sleep all day?"
"I'd like to," he muttered.
"Well, you can't. You won't get any sleep tonight if you do."
"Oh, the irony." Tim sat up and stretched. He didn't feel rested, exactly, but he felt... good. Good in a way he hadn't for a long, long time.
"Are you okay, Tim?"
Tim looked at his sister, her concern obvious, and smiled. "Yes, Sarah. I'm fine."
She smiled back. "Good. Where are you taking me for lunch?"
As Tim got up and started to get ready for a day that was already half over, he reflected on the dreams of the night just past and realized that for the first time, he wasn't dreading the night. He looked down at The Moonstone lying on the floor where he had dropped it. As he bent down to pick it up, thought of his father and smiled.
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A/N: I love The Moonstone and I was excited when McGee mentioned it in one of the earlier episodes. If you haven't read, you really should. Wilkie Collins was able to craft a wonderful writing style and an intriguing plot. Unless you know the story already, you'll never guess how it ends!
I actually have had nights like the one I described for Tim where I had nightmares that would keep coming back. It always takes a huge amount of effort to shift the course of a dream, but it is possible, especially if you really want to happen. It's also really hard to describe in words, but I hope you at least got the sense of what was happening. As always, if you feel there are things I could have done better, I'm open to criticism.