Disclaimer:See first chapter. The lyrics for the song,"Coo Coo", were written by Peter Albin and sung by Janis Joplin. Research for PTSD was done online through NMH and Medline Plus websites.

Safety

"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age." - H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu"

The Night Before: Aiken Finds a Place to Hide

Aiken wasn't sure what he should do, but he knew he couldn't just stay in Savannah's driveway. It was dark, he was cold and hungry, and he was tired. The door wouldn't be locked, it was never locked, but what would it be like to be in the house all on his own? He had never been left alone, even by accident and shivered at the thought. He was now alone. All alone. No one was going to come for him. His mother and brother were dead, his father didn't know where he was, Savannah wasn't even home, and it was pitch dark.

He pushed to his feet, brushed the pebbles from his knees, and staggered toward the empty shell of a house. It looked ghostly to Aiken, he wasn't so sure he wanted to go in after all, but what other choice did he have? It was too late to go home, and what if that monster returned? What if his mom and Braden were still there, their bodies lying in the kitchen, unmoving?

He reached the rickety porch and stumbled up the steps. Nearly falling headlong, he grasped the thin railing and followed it along to the front door. Reaching for the knob, he hesitated. His heart beat loud in his ears, the sound of blood rushing through his veins drowned out the chirping of the cicadas. Panic set in and he fumbled with the knob, the face of the monster swimming in his memory. Blood and his mother's eyes intermingled and he found that he could not breathe.

Letting out a strangled cry, he managed to push his way in the door and collapsed into a heap on the floor just inside. He lay there for what seemed like forever, trembling, unable to breathe. His head and chest ached as he continued to hyperventilate.

Crawling into the house, he pushed the door shut with his feet and inched his way toward the living room. He pulled himself onto the couch and dragged Savannah's afghan over him, shivering with the cold. He tried to banish the images of his mother and brother from his mind so that he could sleep. If he could sleep, maybe when he woke up it would all have just been a terrible nightmare. Yeah, when he woke up he would be in his own bed, Braden would be in the next room, and his mom and dad would be down the hall within easy reach. He would just have to cry out and one of them, probably his mom, would come to bring him a glass of water and sing him to sleep.

He curled into a ball on the couch and fell asleep imagining that his mom held him, rocking him as she sang, "Oh the cuckoo, she's a pretty bird, and she warbles when she flies, But she never hollers 'cuckoo' till the fourth day of July. I said Jack o'Diamonds, well Jack o'Diamonds, Oh I - Oh I know you of old. Honey you robbed me of my silver and out of - of all my gold, all the gold - all my gold…"

The sun woke him, setting the room ablaze in gold and orange. At first Aiken didn't know where he was. He unfurled himself and stretched out, realizing that he wasn't in his bed, but on a couch, he wondered if maybe he had awoken during the night and gone downstairs to the living room. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the light, he looked around him, fully expecting to see his own living room: the grandfather clock on the mantle over the brick fireplace; the wooden rocking horse his father had made for Braden before he had been born, that had been passed on to him, and was now a relic sitting in a corner of the room with tiny nicks and only a few strands of the now faded yellow yarn that had made up the mane; and the Tiffany lamp his mother had recently gotten at a neighborhood rummage sale – she had raved about that lamp for days.

What greeted his tired eyes instead was a dull, dusty wooden coffee table full of rings where cups had been placed on it without coasters over the years; a broken clock hanging from a wall covered with peeling butter yellow wallpaper; and twin end tables that held candles and lamps with broken shades positioned on either side of the lumpy couch upon which he lay. Blinking back tears and swallowing the lump in his throat, he struggled to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. He remembered falling asleep to his mother's singing, but then how had he awoken in this strange place?

Getting off the couch, he was surprised to find that he was sore. His body ached and was stiff and it was hard for him to move without causing pain to course through his body. He had to pee. Where was the bathroom? He looked around and walked toward a hall to the right. He found a small bathroom there and, after relieving himself, he was shocked to discover that he was all scratched up and dirty. What had happened? Had he and Braden been playing soldiers in the woods and gotten lost? His dad and mom would not be happy that they had been gone all night long.

Maybe he could find a phone and call home. Where was Braden? All of these thoughts seem to hit him all at once and he stood trembling in front of the bathroom mirror. Deciding that he should clean up a bit before finding his brother and a phone, he turned the water on in the sink and began to wash up. When he had finished, he walked down the hall and came to a bedroom, taking a quick look inside he discovered that Braden was not there and went on to the kitchen.

He, for some reason, could not make himself walk into the kitchen which was covered in black and white tiles. An image of blood pouring out over the tile entered his mind, but he quickly pushed it away, not willing to let his mind go there. He took a tentative step forward and found it difficult to breathe, like a weight was sitting on his chest. He forced himself to walk further into the kitchen and looked for a phone. There wasn't one. Maybe he could find something to eat in the refrigerator and look for his brother and a phone in the other rooms.

Opening the fridge, he found milk in a glass container, some cheese, butter, bread (he remembered that his mom said bread didn't mold as quickly if it were kept in the fridge), meat in butcher paper sitting on a plate – blood pooling under the wrapper tingeing it a light brown, a drawer full of vegetables and apples, and a half a dozen brown eggs. He grabbed the milk, setting it on the counter he searched for glasses in the cupboards and discovered some in the third one that he opened. He also came across some Cheerios® and found a bowl. Pouring himself a bowl of Cheerios® and a glass of milk, he placed the milk back in the fridge and searched through the drawers for a spoon. When he came to a drawer filled with knives, he jumped back and started to panic, his breathing coming out in short breathes and his heart beating rapidly. He quickly closed the drawer.

Carrying his breakfast carefully toward a small table for two that sat under a window, he pulled out a scarred wooden chair and sat down to eat. Surely Braden would wake up any minute and come to get his own breakfast. When he finished eating, he brought his empty bowl and cup over to the sink and rinsed them. Maybe he should wash them, but his mom said that he had to be really careful when washing glasses as they could break in your hand and cut you if you put too much pressure on them. Once, when she was a little girl, she had stuck her hand inside of a glass when she was cleaning it and it had broken around her hand. A piece had cut through the palm of her hand and she had to have stitches. Aiken remembered tracing the scar with his finger. No, he wouldn't do the dishes; he would leave those for his brother.

"Braden?" Aiken called tentatively, "Braden?" He was starting to get a little worried. Where could Braden be? He couldn't find a phone either. Maybe he should try upstairs.

The stairs looked old, the flowered carpeting that covered them was becoming threadbare and there were parts where the wooden step could be seen though holes worn into the carpet. They squeaked beneath him as he walked upstairs. He imagined himself as a mouse, sneaking up on his brother. Tiptoeing down the hallway, he found several rooms to his left and his right and looked in each of them. None of them housed either his brother or a phone.

A little disappointed, he began a slow trek back down the steps and into the living room. He found a door to the left of the bathroom and, upon opening it, discovered that it led down to a dark basement. The cold of it seeped into him as he stood at the top of the stairs. The single light bulb that hung overhead did little to illuminate the basement which he could see was covered in cobwebs. He shuddered at the thought of going down there. No way would Braden or a phone be down there, he thought as he turned the light off and shut the door as quickly as he could.

Tired from his exploration of the house, he decided that, even though it was still early, he would take a short nap. Maybe when he awoke he'd be able to find Braden. Maybe when he awoke, he'd be home again. Curling into a ball on the couch, he again covered himself with the afghan and slept.

Waking a few hours later, he was again disoriented and hungry. Once he got his bearings he freshened himself up in the bathroom and slowly made his way to the kitchen. Why is it so hard to walk into a kitchen? He chided himself; he needed to stop being such a baby! If Braden saw him he would laugh for sure. Making himself a sandwich, he sat at the table once more and ate.

After his meal, he grabbed an apple from the fridge and decided that perhaps he had better go look for his brother outside. Maybe Braden had gone exploring while he had taken a nap. Ignoring the nagging feeling that something terrible had happened to his brother, Aiken pulled the front door open and stepped outside.