Alive
A fan fiction in progress
by Bryan Harrison
Part 23
1
This is not where he should have found her, this vapid room in a calloused temple of tenuous science, unfeeling stasis for broken minds; where she, grasped tightly in Morpheus' unyielding claw, lay helpless amid beeping, whirring specters; digital voyeurs of delirium. Prisoner to the merchants of hollow hope, who peddled mechanical splints for fractured souls.
This was not how he should have found her. Broken and withered, like the small bird he had seen in her garden during that first summer of their love, the frail fallen thing that had provoked her explanation of life and death and the gulf of differences that had, then, lain between them. Disparate worlds, whose union, even though their borders now be forded by miracles, fate still cruelly denied.
This was not who she should have become, pale and sallow creature, lain abed so near, yet so far beyond the reach of his questing heart, that even should its lament of longing be scored into the very music of the spheres, she might never hear it. Call of autumn too soon. Spring's birdsong, felled to silence by a careless Cupid's quarrel.
He should never have seen this once perfect brow, now creased, even in sleep, from a scourge of fevered memories; and chest once full of laughter unrestrained, now heaving of shallow breath and a heart ravaged by pox of malignant regrets so profuse, that even his salve of innocent, undying love might not heal her. Ails of the world, mundane pestilence of loneliness, that drives all things precious to despair.
He knelt beside her bed.
And in her face was little of the woman who had birthed him into sensation; this face that had once turned angels into jealous fools, now battered by a brute so dull as entropy.
"Mommy," he said, gently, so that he would not wake her to fresh torments of love denied. "I'm here."
She did not move. Only her breath, thin and troubled, seemed to halt just a moment, as if his whisper had penetrated her forced slumber, and left a cool, clear spot in her fevered dreams.
So, it was safe. It was safe to speak.
But what now to say?
"I saw her, Mommy. I saw the Blue Fairy. And she's real. She really real."
He had to stop and wipe his face with the sleeve of his coat.
"I spoke to her. For a long, long time. Years. I asked her to make me a real boy, so that I could come home to you. At first she wouldn't even talk to me. But then, when I was fading away, and all was getting dark, and it seemed like I would just vanish into nothing, she suddenly came to life. She was bright and beautiful, and her smile was like… like a blue dawn underwater."
He had to stop again, to blow his nose. How silly, he thought. How simple and foolish this body was, to interrupt him at so crucial a moment, just to tend to its awkward functions. He had brought no handkerchief. So he removed his coat and used it instead. He hated the thing anyway.
"She asked me if I knew how hard life could be. She said life was a trial and she had to know that I was aware of what I was asking for before she gave it to me. But I didn't have to think about it one minute, Mommy. It didn't matter how difficult Orga life is… I told her yes. I told her that to be with you was all I ever wanted.
"I'm a boy now, Mommy. A real live boy. We can be together again!"
He had to stop. He had almost yelled. But still there was no hint of a response. If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, and the quiet readouts on the machinery above her bed, he would have thought her beyond this mortal coil; and that she had abandoned him… again.
But she was still here. Silent. Unmoving.
"I can eat, Mommy. I like it now. I don't break like I did before. And I can sleep. I dream now too. I have strange dreams…I see you in them all the time.
"And I can control my strength now, so I won't break your stuff. And I won't hurt Martin. Henry will like me now that I'm real, so we won't fight anymore. I promise to get along with him. And you won't have to watch over me all the time. You won't need Teddy to tell me when I am bothering you. And when you go out with Henry I can look after myself, and I'll go to school, like Martin, and learn and make friends and I'll grow up like a normal… like a normal…"
Once again he had to stop himself. The sound of his own desperate pleas suddenly seemed pathetic to his ears. Brash and … selfish? Yes. It was a child's voice, wasn't it? A child's voice pursuing a child's dream. He would never be 'normal'. His very existence defied that possibility. He was the opposite of normal.
Henry would never accept him, even if he did believe the story.
And Martin? Martin would hate him always. How could he make his Mommy, his one true love, choose between them?
She wasn't the Blue Fairy. She wasn't magic. She was Orga… soft and fragile, and now broken. And sad. She could not bear this burden. He could not expect her to change the world for him, or even the hearts of other people.
It wasn't fair.
It wasn't just.
It wasn't … love.
At that moment David realized what his Father had been saying. He could never go back to her. The life that he had dreamed of, that he had breached the fortress walls of reality to attain, was to be ever beyond his reach.
His soul quaked. Waves of feeling rose from his depths. His body rocked as a tsunami of sorrow surged against the barrier of his heart, and spilled from his eyes. He fell to the floor, curled up his knees and pressed his face into the jacket. Then he cried like a baby, like the child he had never been. His loss came in torrents, powerful gusts that left him feeling weak and pitiful. And he let them come, heedlessly, shamelessly, until they were at last spent.
Time passed. His tears finally subsided and left him with only a great emptiness inside. He felt weightless, as if he might simply float away. But when he finally rose, he saw that he was still very much gravity bound. He sat for a time, in the silence, listening to his Mother's sleeping breath.
"Alone again," he said. And his voice was hollow and flat in his ears.
But… he wasn't really alone, was he?
Something strange happened then. He felt it deep inside… like a subtle change in the wind, or the shift of air that happens when someone opens the door of a stuffy room. He wasn't alone! He had his Father. He had friends. There were people who loved him. Chiyoko and Hiro. And even Wizzy was still out there somewhere.
And he was a boy now; an Orga boy. He could make new friends!
Mommy would never be beyond his reach. He knew where to find her. He was now the son of a wealthy man, so he had the means to keep an eye on her… and to give aid if she ever needed.
He rose to his feet, straightened his back and wiped his eyes. His heart swelled as he gazed down on her sleeping face. But the feeling was different now. Another miracle had happened, some alchemy of the soul; one he had not asked for, or even expected.
He knelt close to her again, so that the heat of her troubled breathing was against his face, and whispered softly into her ear.
"I know you can hear me, Mommy. I know that some part of you knows I am here. Listen to me… you did nothing wrong. I would never, ever blame you for anything. Please don't hurt yourself anymore. Please forget the past and the pain, and live again.
"Martin needs you. Henry needs you. And I need you… to be happy.
"I am alive, Mommy. And I am doing fine. I have a place to live and people who love me and… I love you… I love you so much. So, very very much. More than I ever knew."
He reached out and touched her face, just a whisper of a caress, for she was mortal, like he had become, and he dared not wake her.
"It's time to let me go, Mommy. I am freeing you."
Fresh tears rose and fell. But they were not the same as before. They were strange… both happy and lonely at once, like the beautiful music of his Father's home. His home now, where he belonged.
He stood and wiped the last tears from his face. He rolled the jacket up and folded it under his arm. Then he just stood for a time, letting this new love fill him. Renew him. Make him whole.
When he at last spoke, his voice was new and determined; a hint of the man he would become.
"I am going to leave now," he said. "But I will always be near. I will always be watching. And if I ever see that you need me, I will find my way to you.
"I am going to be the best man that I can. I am going to take in all of the living I can handle, see the world and learn as much as possible. And someday, when you're ready, I will come back to you, and tell you of all my adventures."
He turned to leave, but stopped at the door for a minute, to watch her, to take in all he could of her, enough to last him for the duration of time he would have to live in her absence.
And it seemed, as he gazed on her weary sleeping face, that she was indeed breathing easier. Some of the color had come back into her skin. And he'd swear there was the hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth.
"Sleep well, my beloved," he said.
2
David sat on the sill of his open window, clad only in his bathrobe, watching the milky wash of stars make their slow trek across the night sky. He was eating apple slices from a plate at his side; loosing himself in the lute music that streamed softly into his room, and the feel of the cool night air against his skin.
Moonlight, silver and clear, shone down on his home at The End Of The World, illuminating the great heads of the weeping lions, and the silent towers beyond them, where men had once dreamed of empires that would last forever. And then did everything they could to thwart that goal.
He'd grown accustomed to the unending torrent of the lions' weeping. It seemed right now, like it was supposed to be there… like it was actually everywhere all the time, but this silent city was the only place you could really hear it.
It was nice to be quiet. To be still. He was glad that there was no rush to be anywhere, no place he had to go; or anyone he had to run from… or to.
He took in a deep, slow breath, and let the air flow from his chest, back into the world. Then he took another. And another.
Breath of life.
It was good to be alive. Good to take joy in this simple, life sustaining process.
There came the sound of distant laughter, like a tickle on the breeze. David looked down to see the small lights of boats floating between the sunken buildings. Someone was having a party out there. He chuckled. Even here, in this dead place, people still lived and laughed... and loved.
Life goes on, even atop the graves of sunken cities.
His Father was long asleep. There was a busy day tomorrow, he'd said. But David wasn't to worry about all that for a while. He would be allowed to settle in at his own pace.
"There's no rush," his Father had told him, hugging him closely, letting him know how proud he was of the way he handled his visit with Monica. "You've had a hard road, my boy; my miracle. You'll grow in your own time," he said.
But David wasn't going to be waiting around for his new life to begin. There was too much of it to live. Even in the short time since they had arrived from his visit to see his Mother, he had already rearranged his bedroom, and started delving into the stacks of books that lined the walls.
They were mysterious volumes, History, philosophy, fiction and non-fiction, physics and astronomy. Recipe books. Art and music. A lot about music. Their covers bore strange exotic names: Moravec, Aldiss, Watson, Maitland, and so many others. Orga names! Orga had written these words. What a fascinating species.
Father had told him that he could find all of this material on the computer, and that he was free to use it whenever he wanted. But there was something about the books that attracted David. Was it the weight of them in his lap, the smell of the aged paper, the swish when he turned the pages that made it seem like they were whispering to him? He was not sure. But they were something precious.
So many stories. So little time.
Another sound caught his attention. But this one came from behind him. It was a soft electronic moan, in the hallway. And then the light metallic swish of doors opening and closing. Elevator doors.
Footfalls came next, soft and sneaking. But not so expertly that he could not hear them.
He had turned the lights out so he would be able to enjoy the night sky. But he didn't really need to see his visitor. He was pretty sure who it might be.
His door was creaking open now, ever so slowly. But David didn't feel like waiting.
"Come on in," he said.
The dark figure at the door stopped, as if she might withdraw. But then she stepped cautiously into the room, and into the beam of moonlight that shone through David's window. David was framed in this light, propped on his windowsill, hugging his knees. His hair had been tied back into a small ponytail, but he was still clearly not standard issue.
"Well, hello," she said, as if she were talking to a small child. "You must be the new David."
David shrugged. "New. Old. Renewed," he said, somehow managing not to laugh. The woman's brow twisted at these words.
"Well, aren't you a unique little thing," she said. She was dark skinned, with bright, intelligent eyes. There was curiosity in them. And mischief too.
"And you must be Grace," David said, pointing a finger at her. The presumptive gesture amused her.
"So, I see Alan's been busy," she replied, propping a hand on her hip. "And what else has he been loading into your pretty little head."
"Well, he thinks you're a real 'busy body'," David said. "And I think I might agree." Then he reached into the small plate beside him, grabbed another slice of apple and bit loudly into it. He smiled at Grace as he made a big show of chewing and swallowing.
"Deeelicious!" he said.
Her face grew mystified. She stepped back, putting her hand to her chest. David noticed what she held. Dad had given him one of those too.
"Now, unless I am mistaken, Grace, that's a universal key," he said, a gentle tease in his voice. "I'll bet Dad doesn't know you have that."
Grace stepped close again, looking hard at the boy on the sill. It couldn't be, but she'd swear that... She jumped back.
"Oh my," she said. "You're… you're…"
David laughed again. It was a carefree, boyish sound.
"Do you like lute music? I'll bet you like lute music!"
She stammered for an answer. "Uh… lute? Well, yes... I think."
"I knew it!" David said. "I love lute music. Love it! I think I'll get one and learn how to play.
"And I'll bet you like flying too," he said, tossing his arms out to his sides, as if he were a bird awaiting a lifting breeze. "I'm gonna learn that too. And there's swimming and driving and soccer and reading and… well, I'll bet you like pretty much everything about life, don't you?"
Grace was beyond words. Her mouth hung open silently. She finally managed to mouth a breathy, "Oh… my… God."
"I think we are going to be good friends," David said as she tried to compose herself. He bit another slice of apple, speaking as he chewed. "But it's probably not a good idea to let Dad know you snuck up here to get a peek at me, ya think?"
"Sure, sure," she said, awed. "Good idea. Um… I'll be going now." She turned to leave.
"Grace!" David said. The woman turned around slowly, apprehension in her features. David put a finger to his mouth.
"Shhhhh…"
"Understood," she said.
"G'nite, Grace."
"Good night… David?" She backed away to the door. Then David heard her footfalls rushing to the elevator, and her soft swearing when it didn't arrive fast enough for her.
He turned his attention back to the night. Monica was out there somewhere, trapped in a restless chemical slumber. But he could do nothing about that now.
A flower had fallen, in spite of his love, and a weed had grown in its place. His hate would not destroy it.
It was time he planted new flowers, and learned to help them grow.
"Good night, Mommy," he said. "Until we meet again."
End of Book 1
Author's note - David's story does not end here. Book 2 is already in progress and there will be a Book 3, much like the film, eh? (hint-hint) It was always designed to be that way and, although it has been rather slow in the making, I already know where it will lead. I will have to reread the entire thing to remember the critical themes and interpolate them into future chapters. I may have repeated myself a bit, but I tended to forget things I had already established.
For those who may have desired that David return home, to live happily ever after with 'Mommy'… well, he's alive now. He has to grow up and live his own life. His cathartic moment with Monica was designed to show the maturation of his love, a natural miracle that occurs when we move beyond the self-centered 'needy' love of childhood, to the altruistic 'giving' love of adulthood… or how adulthood should be. He will become well read and worldly. He will travel and have adventures. I like creating new environs and will strive to make them rich and layered. He will also make mistakes and blunders. Many of the characters I have established in the first part, both friends and enemies, will return, as well as characters from the film.
I can also assure you that Monica will remain a central theme, and that he will see her again. But I will not tease you; he will never live with her.
I will give away one more plot point, the rivalry that started between he and Martin is central to future stories, and must resolve. I have already foreshadowed some of that. The conclusion of their rivalry will be huge, and shape the events in the third book.
I want to thank you for following the story and your comments and reviews. I know I stumbled here and there, but I think I got back on track. I will write when I can and will do my best to not take years to finish. But I have other things to do. I put a lot of nuance and effort into these chapters. If you get impatient, I can only ask that you savor the meal and hope you enjoy my recipe.
And I want to thank my good friend Robert Griffin for all his invaluable input and feedback. - Bry