The bag next to him was empty, but the lantern still rested by the pillow. He turned the switch, and it flickered for a moment before the batteries drained. He cursed again and sighed.
Jared slid from his bed like a snake shedding its skin, fumbling in the dark for his shoes. The wind had picked up again, blowing the door of the tent back at him. The zipper caught him just below the eye.
Fuck camping, he thought. Never again. Never the fuck again.
The fire they'd let burn when they went to bed had all but died out. Fortunately they had set up camp in a clearing, and the moon was full, bright enough to show that he was, in fact, alone. He strained his eyes and squinted. A set of footprints in the soft soil led towards the nearby forest.
“Hello?” he asked of the tree line. No answer came.
Brazenly he stepped into the darkness, and the moon disappeared behind the canopy of leaves.
There was only the whistling of the night air through the trees and the crunch of his shoes against the earth. The silence unsettled him, and for a moment he debated sprinting back to the tent and hiding in his sleeping bag until sunrise. There he could bury his face in blankets, there he would be safe. It was a belief he'd held since childhood: if the monsters can't see your face, then they can't hurt you.
Shapes and shadows danced noiselessly against groundcover, and his heart rose up and lodged itself in his throat. He froze in his tracks, suddenly aware of his own breathing. The night had grown colder, and each breath sent a thin mist of vapor into the air. He dared not speak again.
It was a full minute before he moved again. Great labor was put into each step, to make sure that he disturbed as little of the ground as possible. The less noise he could generate, the safer he would feel.
Another set of shadows passed through his periphery.
He was not alone.
Jared summoned up the last of his courage. “W-who's there?”
This time, when no answer came, he commanded his body to run. He burst into a full sprint, tearing past bushes and trees. Countless branches whipped past his face, some only grazing and still others leaving a more lasting impression. He could hear nothing above the beating of his own heart.
He dashed past a fallen log, but his foot became tangled in a mass of roots that pulled him to the ground. Even then he didn't hesitate. He rose to his feet and pressed forward, immediately aware of a throbbing pain in his ankle. At best he could hope for a sprain, and at worst a break. None of it mattered.
Blue light seeped in through the trees. He ran harder.
He saw her in a clearing up ahead, floating still and lifeless in the air, her limbs dangling towards the ground. She was caught in a beam of light from the massive black disc overhead. Jared tried to scream, to call her name, but the burning in his lungs left him instead coughing and choking.
In a blinding flash she was gone, lifted into the great unknown by forces beyond imagination.
The forest was silent yet again.
He fell to his knees and gasped for air. His muscles burned. His legs ached. He was sure his ankle was broken. His rest didn't long. The sense of dread had returned. In the light of the clearing he was alone, but he could feel it -- feel something -- in the woods around him. There was no choice but to run.
Deeper into the woods he ran. His feet sloshed through a stream that the darkness hid from him, soaking his shoes. His footsteps fell heavier.
Drained of his strength and pale from fear he collapsed at the door of a tattered cabin. He groped desperately for the handle, praying that the owner had left it unlocked, and whispered his thanks when it turned with ease. Jared pulled the door shut behind him and braced it with a nearby wooden rocker. The building had no second floor, nor did it have a basement, so he took cover in the only place he could find. A rusted metal frame and a ratty, stained mattress would be his armor and his shield.
He pressed his eyes tight, and buried his head in his hands.
If the monsters can't see your face, then they can't hurt you.
The cabin turned a pale blue. Shadows at the windows revealed long, slender figures with horrific, distorted features. Jared held his breath as the doorknob slowly turned. The cabin trembled. A yellowed photo fell from the wall above him, and the frame shattered on the floor by his feet.
And then it stopped.
He didn't move. His lungs, seared from the inside, cried out for air, but short, noiseless breaths were all he would allow. He tried to turn his foot, hoping to work out the stiffness from his fall, and winced from the pain.
In the corner of the room it sat, staring at him through glassy black eyes. It observed him like an animal, slightly tilting its head from one side to the next, a marvel of its curiosity. Slowly it rose.
It stood like a man but with longer limbs and a curved spine. Its legs bent back like a horse, with three elongated toes on each foot. Long fingers grazed the floor as it crossed the space between them. It propped itself up on all fours and craned its neck to peer under the bed.
If the monsters can't see your face, then they can't hurt you.
Believing himself to be alone, Jared drew his hands away and looked deep into its lifeless gaze. That's when it lunged, skittering across the knotted boards to take him in its long, spindly fingers.
The dreams had been getting progressively stranger these last few weeks, one of the many side effects that followed swearing off the meds. Without them he felt clearer, more switched on, but at night when he was asleep his mind became a playground where demons danced. Tonight there were aliens, but those had been a staple since childhood. The night before he was haunted a gaunt apparition with talon-like fingers and hair made of straw. A week ago he was dragged into the depths of the ocean by a creature with dark black scales and the face of a child. If Dr. Parker knew about any of this there would be hell to pay, of that he was sure.
He contemplated trying to learn their meanings. He'd planned on noting them in his journal. He even went so far as to buy a book on dream interpretations. Every day he'd crack the spine and draw the same conclusion - I'm fucking crazy.
His sweaty feet left small prints on the tiled bathroom floor as he stumbled to the sink, trying to adjust his eyes to the stinging light.
He slid the waistband of his boxer briefs down slightly to examine the mottled purple skin of his right hip. Most of the people who walked into Darren Stracker's gym left a little banged up, but most of those people didn't get the privilege of being kicked by the owner himself. Almost twelve years they'd known each other, but every time they stepped into the practice ring Jared seemed to forget his mentor's versatility in the martial arts.
One hand fished through the medicine cabinet while the other rubbed at the bruise. His fingers lingered on a small scar, no larger than the head of a pin, at the base of his hip.
“Fuck,” he sighed.
There'd be no getting back to sleep now.
June 16, 2010
For the third time since leaving the garage, Kevin Sykes' brain tried hatching a plan that would get him back to the safety of his car, but every second he delayed only brought him closer to the automated glass doors of Mass General Hospital. The late spring sun was hot that day, and a thin sheen of sweat had beaded on his forehead. Had one of his children been here with him they'd have no doubt teased him for it. Hyperactive sweat glands were one of many inherited traits that Jared and his sister could thank him for.
Beside him walked his husband, Steven. The two were married on a cool and cloudless autumn day in November of 2004, only months after Massachusetts had made such a union legal. Only their closest friends and family had been invited, keeping the service small and intimate, but though the guest list was small they had the support of an entire community behind them. It propped them up and made them strong. Kevin wished he had that strength now.
“I think I forgot my phone in the car,” he blurted. “I'm just going to run back and grab it real quick.”
He could have predicted his husband's reaction, and Steven did not disappoint. A single, quizzical eyebrow shot towards the sky, and Steven bit lightly on his upper lip. It was the same face he made whenever he read over one of his firm's proposals, searching for a loophole. Nothing could get by him.
“It should only be a minute or two.”
Steven's memory and attention to detail served him well at the office. Kevin sometimes found it remarkably annoying. “You didn't bring your phone with you today. You left it at home, on the kitchen counter.”
“Are you sure? I distinctly remember putting in the glove compartment. Maybe I should just go double-check.”
He started to turn. The car was on the fourth floor of the Fruit Street garage. He could run to the entrance, but would never make it up the stairs before Steven chased him down. Kevin didn't have the endurance. He'd have to hope that the surprise would be enough to get him to the elevator before being caught.
Steven never gave him a chance to take that first step.
“Kev',” he said, gently placing a hand on his husband's forearm. “If you really want to go home, then we can, but all that means is more waiting, and more days of not knowing, and I know you're stressed out about this now, but that would only make it worse. If something is wrong, then we need to know now. You can do this. We can do this.”
“It's just...”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
“Do you?” Kevin jerked his arm away. “Do you really?”
As far as Kevin was concerned, it didn't matter what good was done inside those walls. It didn't matter how many lives were saved or cures discovered. Facilities of modern medicine had seen him through some of the happiest moments of his life. His children had been born here, all three of them. But the building was greedy, and twenty years ago it took one of his children back.
Hospitals were the last stop of those about to die. It was one of the few opinions Kevin and his son Jared shared.
“You're right,” Steven said somewhat meekly. “I haven't had the kinds of experiences that you have.”
“I'm sorry, Steve. I'm just... This is kind of terrifying, to be honest.”
“I know, Kev'.”
“It took my son, Steve.” Kevin began to tremble. He stumbled to the wall. The brick, though rough, felt cool against his skin.
“It took my son,” he repeated.
January 10, 1989
Kevin surveyed his family from the doorway, gathered together for the first time since last week's appointment, and the appointment before that, and the appointment before that. It had been three years since he walked out on them. He wondered if they would ever share moments as a family outside the walls of a hospital.
Wrapped in one of Andy's extra blankets, Stefanie had fallen asleep on a hard, wooden chair. The two boys, Jared and Andrew, stared intently at the deck of cards on the bed between them.
“Got any fish?” Jared asked. Kevin smiled at his other son's laugh. It was one of the few things the cancer spared the boy.
Mary-Ellen shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying so hard to lose herself in the pages of an Us Weekly, but the glances she stole at the wall clock told Kevin that she was just as anxious as he was. The doctor should have been here by now.
“Mom?” Jared asked. There was a bandage on his right arm.
Mary-Ellen set her magazine down on her lap, grateful for the distraction. “Hrm?”
“Andy and I were talking, and we think we should get ice cream tonight.”
“Oh you do, do you?”
“Yeah,” Andy piped up. “We should definitely get ice cream.”
She couldn't help but smile. “I'll think about it.”
Kevin hadn't been paying attention, so he was a little startled when Dr. Lawton shuffled into the room. He nodded politely and shifted the charts he held from one arm to the other.
“I'm sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, “I had the lab run something twice, just to confirm the results.”
Kevin watched the color drain from Mary-Ellen's face. Over the last few months the family didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to medical testing. “What is it?”
“It's nothing to worry about, Miss Sykes, but I was wondering if I could speak to you and your husband in the hall for a moment.”
“Ex,” she corrected.
“I'm sorry. My mistake. Would you mind stepping out?”
“Boys, can you play quietly for a minute while your father and I go talk to the doctor?”
“Ice cream?” Jared persisted. He was quite the little negotiator.
“Ice cream,” she sighed. “But only if you play quietly for the next few minutes. And try not to wake up your sister.”
In unison the boys whispered an “okay”. Their flair for the theatrical apparently knew no bounds. She joined the conversation in the hall and pulled the door shut behind her.
“I'm sorry to ask you to step out like this,” Dr. Lawton continued, “but I thought this was something that we should discuss before anyone said anything to your children.”
Now it was Kevin's turn to panic. “But I thought you said it was nothing.”
“No, it's nothing to be concerned with. In fact what I have to tell you is good news.” He opened one of the charts and flipped through its pages. “When we spoke last week I mentioned that a bone marrow transplant is something that we'd want to pursue if we could find an appropriate donor.”
Mary-Ellen's eyes lit up like a bonfire. “Have you found someone? Have you found a donor?”
“In a manner of speaking, we have.”
She reached for Kevin's arm; the first real moment of joy they'd shared in years.
“Jared and Andrew are fraternal twins,” the doctor continued, “so in addition to the preventative tests we'd run, I also asked the lab to see if he would be a viable donor. There are markers that we look for in situations like this. Alleles, they're called. The lab confirmed for me that he matches all six alleles with Andrew. They're consistent across the board.”
“Okay, okay.” Kevin rubbed a hand across his mouth. “What's involved here? When do we start? How do we move forward?”
“In the simplest terms, we'd sedate him, and then go in through the hip to extract some of the marrow. Once we have it collected we would then schedule Andrew for surgery, and transplant that marrow into his body.” He snapped the chart shut, and tucked it back under his arm. “If it's not rejected by his body, then it should start generating new cells. We can begin as soon as we get your consent.”
Mary-Ellen put a hand to her chin. Her expression was a mask of concern. “We should talk to Jared about this before we make any decisions. I think he has a right to...”
“Now,” Kevin interrupted. “Let's start it now. You've got our consent. Do what you need to do.”
June 17, 2010
Sweat-soaked and sore, Jared leaned back against the painted cinder wall of Stracker’s gym.
“Hey, quit it!” He jerked his head back, but the bruise under his eye was no match for Justine's prodding fingers.
She grinned back at him. A few strands of auburn hair had broken loose from her ponytail, dangling in front of vibrant green eyes. She brushed one aside and tucked it behind her ear. “Just let me see it.”
“Will you stop poking me if I do?”
“No promises.” This time her fingers went for a piece of the tape on his forehead. “So can I assume that lovergirl staged a daring rescue before the rest of your head got sliced off?”
“Nah, she didn’t. Kinda glad, to be honest.”
“Okay, that makes no sense to me.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because of the broken glass, and the eyes, and the whole ‘might end up blind for the rest of your life’ thing.”
“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m glad she stayed away. Look, I can handle getting my ass kicked, okay. It’s not that I enjoy it, but when it happens… I can deal with it. I work with dangerous people, you know. I saw what happened to Mackenzie Malone, and I know what it did to Thad. I don’t wanna be responsible for that happening to someone I…”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“You almost said it.”
Jared blushed. Regardless of their history, Justine was perhaps the last person who wanted to hear how he really felt about Amy Campbell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’ve actually got your hopes up here, don’t you?”
“Forget it.” He waved his hands dismissively. “Just forget I said anything.”
“Be honest with me, Jared – do you really see this going somewhere?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah. I mean, maybe it all blows up in my face, you know? Like, she did tell me that she left her husband because she got bored. And I’m not interesting. At all.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming here.”
“But right now I’m happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time, actually. I know I might be deluding myself, I’m not that dumb. She says that she wants this to work, so I have to take her at her word.”
“And if it does all go kaboom?”
“Then I’ll deal with it when it happens. But I’m trying not to think about it. I’m just trying to enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it.”
“Well, if it does all go ‘splodey, then you’re not without options. What with being a pseudo-celebrity and all.” A playful elbow poked him in the ribs. “If everything goes to hell, then here’s what you do. First, you’re aware of VH1, right?”
“Is that like a channel on this thing they call the television, because I have never heard of this nor do I own one.”
The sarcasm didn’t slow her down one bit, but it didn’t surprise him. Justine rode on the edge of an impending giggle-fit. “So we get you a show on VH1. It worked for Flavor Flav and Bret Michaels, and you’re just B-list enough to pull it off.”
“Wait, pseudo-celebrity? B-list? What the fu…”
“We’ll get you a tour bus, and the girls can all wear multicolored tights. We’ll call it – are you ready for this? ‘Syked For Love’. Guaranteed smash hit.”
He couldn’t resist her laughter, infectious as it was. Soon the two were doubled over: her from amusement at her own joke, and him from simply watching her roar.
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard, ‘Cal. Like, ever.”
“Shut up, it is not.” Another elbow landed, this one a little harder.
“No, I’m pretty sure it is.”
“Whatever. I don’t need the Justin Bieber of professional wrestling telling me that something’s silly.” She fanned herself with an open palm. The giggling had yet to subside. “So where is the girl these days, anyway?”
“She’s at home in California, I think. Prolly terrorizing the west coast.”
Justine all but shot from her seat. She was grinning from ear to ear. “Then you should totally come out with us this weekend. Some of the guys and I are going into town to see – I think his name is Brandon? Whatever, his brother has a cover band, and they’re performing at some dive in Cambridge. Drinks. Shitty band. Should be fun. You in?”
“Can’t.”
“Oh.” And just like that, the grin was gone. “She got you on a short leash?”
“No, she’s totally cool. I’ve gotta head over to my dad’s house, is all.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, he called this morning. Said that he was gonna call my sister about going over, and it would be cool for us all to get together. Kinda weirded me out, to be honest.”
“Well,” she shrugged, “it is Father’s Day, after all.”
“Yeah, it’s just… I dunno, kind of out of character, I guess.”
“Are you two still at odds? Because of the wrestling thing?”
“We’re at odds over a lot of things, ‘Cal. Sometimes I think the shit about wrestling’s just the way we express it.”
“What else is there?”
“Too much, ‘Cal. Too fucking much.”
Darren Stracker hated the phone.
In all the years of running the gym, he'd never had to deal with an influx of requests such as this. The sudden rise in popularity, he figured, could be traced to the recent success of his most famous student. So many names had been submitted for the fall training session that he’d been forced to bring on another trainer. So many more names had been waitlisted.
The reporters were the worst of the lot. As proud as he was of what Jared had accomplished, there was always the nagging fear that something he said would be taken out of context, or misquoted, and then there’d be a different kind of question to answer.
At least Martin wouldn’t have to deal with this. The eldest son of the Stracker family came to the gym after school three times a week, but no matter how much he pleaded with his father to hang out in the gym with the wrestlers, The Rule remained: schoolwork first, playtime second.
Darren Stracker would be the last of his lineage to run this gym, the last of his family to dedicate their life to the trade. His son would be better that this. His son would be better than him. The legacy of the school would be passed to one of his other children, one of the many men and women who gave their blood and their sweat in the ring one floor below.
Today the homework could wait. The school year was in its last days, the workload had lessened, and today there was no need to toil over fractions and personal pronouns and memorizing all fifty state capitals.
Marty rose from his seat at the small table in the corner of the office, quietly closed his textbook, and tiptoed to the near window. Through the glass he watched Joey and Paul spar in the ring. Danny stood nearby as Mike Number Two lifted weights.
None of it was as interesting as watching what Uncle Jared was doing. Nothing else ever was.
Darren sighed as he set the phone back in its cradle. “Fuckin’ bloggers.” Martin gasped. “Shit. Don’t tell your mom I said that. And why aren’t you doing your homework?”
“They like to laugh a lot.”
“Who does?”
Martin pressed a pudgy finger against the glass. “Them.”
Darren slid his feet into a ratty pair of sandals and stepped to the window to share his son’s view.
“Oh, you mean them. Well, they’ve known each other for a long time. Since before you were born.” He smiled down at his son. “Plus they have kind of a – how should I say this – ‘unique’ friendship.”
Martin screwed his face into a frown, and stared out the window. He loved to laugh. He laughed all the time with his friends, especially when Brandon would come over and tell jokes about their teacher, Mr. McIntyre. He never laughed with girls, though. Girls were gross.
His eyes went wide as Justine punched Jared lightly in the shoulder.
“Dad!” he shouted, pulling away from the glass. “Why did she hit him? I thought hitting is bad.”
Darren placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder, shaking the boy with his own laughter. “You remember the other day when Jordan Green chased you around the playground during recess?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember what your mother told you about that? About why she chased you around the playground?”
“She pushed me in the dirt.”
“Okay, do you remember what your mom said about why she chased you and pushed you in the dirt?”
“Mom said it was because she liked me.”
“Well, there you go. It’s the same thing here.”
“Miss Justine likes Uncle Jared? More than friends?”
“Something like that.”
A few seconds passed as Martin thought about what his parents had told him. It didn’t make sense, not entirely. More than friends meant holding hands, and kissing, and sometimes babies. None of that sounded the least bit appealing. Especially the kissing.
“Eeeew,” Martin said at last. “That’s gross, dad.”
She followed him out into the hallway, making sure to keep a few feet between them. It was bad enough that she'd probably come off as jealous when she tried to run down his girlfriend, and the last thing that Justine wanted was to follow that performance by seeming clingy.
Darren descended the last few steps to meet them in the hall as his son watched from the office door above.
“Heading out?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Jared replied, “got to take care of a few things at home. Busy weekend to get ready for, plus I’ve got a gut feeling that I’ll find a redhead at my door sooner than expected.”
Darren simply nodded. Martin took the opportunity to express his rather profound opinions on the matter. “Be careful, Uncle Jared. Girls have cooties!”
Jared looked up at the boy and stifled a laugh.
“Girls do not have cooties, Marty,” his father chastised.
“Some girls do,” Justine said. She breezed past them, grinning back over her shoulder as she approached the door to the lounge.
A firm hand on his arm barred Jared’s path towards the exit. Darren Stracker nodded to his protégé.
“Marty?” He never took his eyes off his student.
“Yeah?”
“Homework.”
Martin mumbled all the curses he knew (that wouldn't get him grounded) as he vanished back inside the office. If there were any lingering doubts as to his displeasure for being sent back to his schoolwork, they were erased by the stomping of his feet.
“Look, Jared, we've known each other for a long time. You're one of my kids. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
“Great.” He snaked his right arm around Jared's shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. “Alright, so I've got a piece of advice for you, but I don't want you to take this wrong way. You've got yourself a girlfriend, and you've told me yourself that it's working out, yeah? Happy and all that other bullshit, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But you're here, getting all chatty with an ex about god-knows-what, so listen close to what I have to tell you, and again, don't take what I’m about to say personally.”
Jared bit his lip and nodded, expecting the worst. Darren was a good mentor and an even better friend, but he had a thing for honesty. At times it was almost brutal.
Today there were no words of wisdom. Only a smack to the head.
June 17, 2010
She was the spitting image of her mother from the color of her hair right down to the freckles on her cheeks. They shared the same quiet strength, and had a wicked smile that could hold a man captive for days. His son was a different story. Jared and Kevin were more alike than either would admit to. But they were stubborn, neither wanting to be the first to back down over an issue, regardless of how trivial it seemed.
Both children had inherited their mother's kindness, and for that Kevin was eternally grateful.
Stefanie chewed at the straw of her iced mocha, waiting for her father to say something. While they didn't avoid each other, it was rare for the two to go anywhere together, and rarer still for her father to call her up for coffee on a Thursday afternoon.
She found the silence maddening. “So how's Dudley? He still chewing the table?”
Dudley, an eight-month-old puggle, was the newest member of the Sykes family. He'd been a gift from Steven to Kevin for their fifth wedding anniversary last fall.
“Oh, he's good. He's calming down a little, but everybody's been telling us that even after they lose their baby teeth that they go through a phase at around eight to ten months, and then the chewing starts up again.” He drew the cup to his lips and let the scent of roasted beans waft to his nose. “We're thinking of crating him again.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah. And he starts puppy kindergarten in a few weeks.”
“Well, that should be fun.”
He bit his lip and nodded. “We're looking forward to it.”
Stefanie stirred her drink with her straw, jabbing at the ice cubes. She had her father's gift for impatience. “Dad, I don't mean to be a pain, but...”
“I have cancer,” he blurted.
Her eyes went wide. Her jaw fell slack. All she could say was, “Oh my god.”
“I was tested a week ago, and then again earlier this week. They wanted to be sure, I guess. Just found out yesterday.” He swallowed hard. “It's a form of leukemia. 'Hairy cell', they call it.”
“Oh my god,” she said again. “Is... is it...?”
“I… I don't know. I honestly don't. They say that since we caught it early that it might respond better to treatment.”
Stefanie picked up her cup to take a sip, and promptly set it back down on the table. She had no idea how to react. No idea what to say. Everything, even the simplest of tasks, they all felt foreign. “I don't know what to say, dad.”
He reached across the table and laid a hand on top of hers. “You don't need to say anything.”
“Did you tell mom yet? Have you told Jared?” She drew a sharp breath. “Oh god, he's...”
“I know.”
“Does he know? Have you said anything?”
“No, not yet.”
“You have to! He has to know.” She drew her hand away, immediately reaching for the oversized purse she always kept nearby. “I need to call him.”
“Stef, please. Put your phone away. I need you to promise me something.” Reluctantly she complied, and he waited until her gaze met his before continuing. “I need you to promise not to say anything about it until I get a chance to talk to him. This isn't going to be an easy conversation, but I'm the one who needs to have it. Can you do that for me? Can you promise me that?”
“Dad...”
“Please, Stefanie.”
She slumped her shoulders and let her hands fall into her lap. Under any other circumstances she'd have painted him as a typical Sykes man, stubborn and headstrong to the last. Her big brother had always looked out for her, and it killed her to keep secrets.
Her father pleaded with his eyes, and she relented. “Okay.”
She hugged her father goodbye, hopped into her car, and pulled the door shut behind her. She smiled at him as he backed out of his parking space, and kept a keen eye on his car as she started her own engine. It wasn't until she was sure he was out of sight that she dug in her purse, pulling out a cell phone and flipping it open. Speed dial number 3, just like every phone she owned.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, Jared. It's Stef. I just had coffee with dad, and he mentioned that you'd be going over there on Saturday. Look, umm...” Not simply shouting it into the phone was harder than she expected. “You guys should probably talk. There's just... He mentioned there was something that he wanted to talk to you about. Give me a call, or... Well, I guess I'll just see you over there. Bye.”
She snapped the phone shut and slid it back into her purse. Only then did she let herself cry.
June 18, 2010
He vaulted off the couch at the sound of the doorbell, knocking the remote control to the floor. Amy was due to fly out in a few days, but knowing her she'd grow impatient and show up early. He smiled as he gripped the doorknob, and braced himself for the inevitable pounce.
To say that Jared Sykes and Arthur Humperdink did not get along would be an understatement. To Arthur, Jared was that boy, the type his son should not be exposed to for fear he would be corrupted beyond repair. The tension between them came to a head on Thanksgiving of 2008 at a Rochester, New York hospital, only hours after Alexandra Pierce and Amy Campbell had decimated Jared's best friend, and Arthur's son, Mervin.
On that day Arthur's anger came in the form of punches. Jared hadn't even tried to defend himself.
They met again a year later under equally grave circumstances. Respect – and to a certain degree, fear – necessitated that Jared sit as far away from the Humperdink family as he could, as the clan nervously awaited news of their son's condition. He'd cried just as hard as any of them, though they wouldn't accept him as one of their own.
Today it was that same fear which stayed Jared's tongue, leaving Arthur to break the silence.
“I'm sorry to bother you,” he said, “I'm sure you must be very busy.”
The box he carried appeared as though it might burst at any minute.
“N-no,” Jared stammered.
“I can only imagine what you're thinking, but you should know that I'm not here out of anger.” He gestured slightly with the box. “I... My son... He wanted you to have this.”
“Oh... Okay. Umm, do you... Would you like to come in?”
The response came quick. “No.”
“I understand.”
“Some of these things were in his will.”
“I, uhh, I didn't know he had one.”
“It was drafted two years ago, after the accident in New York.”
Arthur's cheeks flushed, and Jared's heart sank. If Mervin knew, if he only knew that his best friend was now falling in love with the woman who'd almost ended his life, it may very well have destroyed him.
“Oh. Right. That.”
Arthur shifted the weight of the box in his arms, clearly struggling to keep from dropping it. “I don't mean to be rude, but could you take this before it falls?”
He took the package from Arthur's hands without a second thought, quickly taking it to the living room before returning to the door. He'd half expected Arthur to be gone, yet there he still stood.
“Are you sure you, uhh, you don't wanna come in?”
“Quite.” Just as Jared had expected. “Again, I don't mean to be rude, but if it were up to me I would not be here at all today. I'm only carrying out the wishes of my son, is all.”
Jared hung his head. He'd hoped for the opportunity of mending a fence with Arthur Humperdink, perhaps to redeem his failings with the man's son, but there seemed little chance of that.
“Y-yeah. I understand.”
Arthur drew in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through his nose.
“There is something I think you should know,” he said, “I... My wife... We don't hold you accountable for what happened. It... It was beyond your control. I admit I feel somewhat cheated out of time with my son because he decided to spend his life roaming the country with a wrestler, but what happened to him, it's not your fault.”
Jared had to grab the wall to keep from falling over. The first of the tears had shown itself.
“I should go.” Arthur turned away. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you.”
“Wait.” Jared said. It was barely a whisper.
“Hrm?”
“Wait,” he said again, louder. “Just... Please just wait.”
Arthur turned again, clasping his hands at the waist.
“Yes?”
“I, umm, I...” Jared rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand. “I wanted to tell you that, umm, you were right. About me. Like, all those years ago. You were right that I was a bad influence. You were right that I was wasting my life. And you were right that because of me he had to put his life on hold.”
His body shook from holding back the sobs. His own father never cried, not in front of him anyway. His mother, however, had always made a point to tell him that the mark of a true man was being unafraid to show your emotions. “A real man never hides how he feels,” she would say.
Arthur simply tipped his head.
“You were right about everything.”
“Jared...”
“No, please, you have to let me finish.” He leaned into the wall harder for support. “Everything you ever said about me, you were right. And he knew it. The last time I saw him, the last... The last time we spoke he stood right here and he said it all, and he was right, and you were right, and I'm so goddamn sorry.”
Arthur's lips curled into a weak smile.
“If that is what you think,” he said, “then I'm afraid you never him very well at all.”
“No, I...”
Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “My son never saw you like that, Jared, no matter what he may have said. He looked at you like family. He saw you as his brother.”
Even the wall could hold him no longer. Jared collapsed to his knees as the sobs wracked his body.
January 11, 1989
Jared never liked the doctor's office, but hospitals were the worst. They weren't so bad when he was visiting with Andy, because his brother was always there to protect him, but today he was in a room all by himself, on his own bed, with his own set of beeping machines. There were lights up overhead, bright and hard on his eyes. It reminded him of the scary movie he'd seen at Joey's house, with the flying saucers and the creatures who stole people into the sky. That gave him nightmares for a week, and that was only television.
He figured these nightmares would last a long time.
His eyes darted to each corner of the room, trying to find something to occupy his mind, but it wasn't working. Soon there would be needles and sharp things. Staying home from school no longer seemed worth it.
Mary-Ellen put a comforting hand on his shoulder the minute his lip began to tremble. “It's okay, honey,” she said, “it's okay to be a little nervous.”
“Mom, I'm scared.” Tears welled at the corners of his eyes.
“I know, honey. I know. But the doctors say you won't feel a thing. You'll be asleep for the whole thing.”
She hated that her boys – the 'men of the house' – had to grow up so early. They'd lost so much of their childhood to this monster, forced down the path to adulthood far before their time. No child should have to deal with this, she thought, and offered a silent curse to the heavens.
“Mom?” His eyes moved away from her, ashamed. “Do I have to do this? Isn't there some other way?”
Kevin sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned an arm over his son, partially blocking the boy's view of his mother.
“Hey,” he reassured, “you'll do great. And like your mom said, you won't even feel it. Just think, after this is all over you and Andy will be able to play out in the yard again. It’ll be just like before.”
Mary-Ellen's jaw fell slack. She got up and stepped away from the bed. How could he? To his own son, no less.
“Do you mean it?”
“I do,” he said. “I promise.”
June 19, 2010
Remarkably, dinner passed without incident. To Stefanie and Steven this came as something of a surprise. Normally Jared and his father got together the two were able to maintain some level of civility, at least for a time. After that an otherwise trivial comment would spark an argument, which would lead to claims of wasted potential, which would invariably lead to one of them storming off and the two not speaking for a week.
Tonight there had been pleasant conversation, some lighthearted wrestling with Dudley the puggle, even a few laughs. All the while Stefanie held back her nerves. The conflict had to come. It was inevitable. Her father had confided in her a secret, made her promise not to share it, but she knew what would happen once word got out. Old wounds would be reopened and rubbed raw. Worse was that she knew why. She'd only been three at the time, but she knew.
She stayed behind with Steven when her father walked Jared to the door, waiting for the first sign of an argument.
Kevin Sykes laid a hand on his son's shoulder. “It was good to see you tonight. I had a good time.”
“Yeah. Was fun.” Now was as good a time as any. “Hey, umm, I wanted to ask you... Did you guys get a chance to come out last weekend? You know, to Amherst and all that?”
“We didn't, unfortunately.” Kevin pursed his lips. “We wanted to, it's just that something came up.”
There was always an excuse.
“Oh. Sure.”
“We'll be sure to catch the next one though.”
Jared tried to hide his frustration, but pieces of it still slipped through. “Don't really know when next time'll be. This was, like, the first time back home in almost two years, so...”
“I'm sorry.”
“Right.”
“I am. Truly.”
“No, it's fine. I get it. I know you hate what I do. It's just... Maybe once, you know? You might not think so, but it would actually mean a lot.”
“Next time.” Kevin patted his son the shoulder, trying to his best to sound accommodating. “You've got my word.”
Jared shuffled to the door without a word and turned to offer his goodbyes. At the end of the hall Stefanie was doing her best to get his attention, all the while trying even harder to be inconspicuous. “Ask him,” she mouthed, and punctuated the statement with a furtive nod.
“Oh, before I go,” Jared said. “Stef said that there was something you wanted to talk to me about.”
Kevin Sykes froze on the spot.
April 24, 1989
Both of his parents were there when he opened his eyes. Jared rubbed the sleep away, not quite sure if he was dreaming.
His mother spoke first.
“Jared,” she started, but she could get no further. She raised a hand to her eyes and wiped the tears away. “Jared, I'm so, so sorry.”
He glanced to the door. Out in the hall, beyond the threshold, Stefanie had buried her face in the fur of a stuffed bear, staining it with her tears. Every sob shook her small frame, until she'd had enough and ran back down the hall to collapse in her room.
Mary-Ellen tried to speak, but found no voice. She reached out with trembling hands for her son, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him in close.
“I'm sorry, Jared.” Held tight against her, she could feel his heart begin to race. “I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”
He strained to look over her shoulder, to look past her to where his father stood. Whereas Mary-Ellen wore her heart on her sleeve, Kevin Sykes always did his best to hold his own emotions in check. He was a statue, stone-faced and impossible to read. Today even he could not keep from crying.
“Jared... I don't know how to say this.” He stepped softly towards the bed and the fractured fragments of his family. “A-Andy... Your brother...”
Jared felt the urge to vomit rise within him. He pressed his eyes shut tight and told himself that he was still dreaming; that this was an awful nightmare and that when he woke up his family - his whole family, would be gathered around him and smiling. Together again. They would be healthy and happy, and would live as such forever after. He, like his brother, had a powerful imagination that built worlds of fantasy to play in. Today there would be no castles to hide in, and no brave knights to protect him.
“He passed away this morning.”
Mary-Ellen felt her son go limp against her. “It's okay, baby. It'll be okay.”
“Y-you p-promised,” he said, his words muffled the fabric of her shirt.
He tried to move away, but she held him tight.
“Y-you promised me,” he said again. “Let go of me.”
“Shhh, Jared,” she reassured, feeling his arms tense. “It's going to be okay.”
“Let go of me!” His shriek cut the air. Violently he jerked back, freeing himself from his mother's embrace. The blankets were kicked aside, and in a flash he was on his feet.
With a primal roar he tore the lamp from his bedside table and threw it clear across the room. The porcelain shattered against the wall, tearing a hole through a poster. His mother gasped as she moved away from the bed and out of his reach.
“You promised!” he cried again. He took hold of a small bookcase and dragging it to the floor. One by one he picked up the scattered books and threw them blindly about the room.
“Jared!” his father barked. “Jared, calm down!”
“You promised!”
The boy growled as he charged towards his father, slamming into him with the full weight of his body. Kevin stumbled backwards, but he lost his balance on a wayward shoe and awkwardly collapsed to the floor with his son still on top of him.
Jared climbed onto his father's chest, screaming and cursing through the sobs as he flailed his arms wildly. A white-knuckled fist caught Kevin in the cheek, and the strength of the blow surprised him.
“You said if I had the needle that Andy would be okay and that he could come home but he's not and now he's gone and it's all my fault because you said I had to!”
Tiny fists fell on Kevin Sykes like a hailstorm, and with them came a wave of curses. Some were things Jared had heard at school. Others he'd heard on television. He didn't know what many of them meant, but he shouted them anyway.
Kevin tried to protect himself, but the speed at which his son swung was more than he was prepared for. “Jared, stop! Stop!“
“But you said! You said!”
Mary-Ellen darted across the room and threw herself on top of her son, knocking him off her ex-husband. He struggled against her, but she held him tight to the floor. He kicked his legs out hard, but this time she didn't budge.
“Jared, calm down,” she pleaded. “Please.”
Gradually his struggling subsided, and again he went limp. The tears came in force. Kevin pulled himself up off the floor and found that his lip had been bloodied.
“But you promised,” Jared whimpered. “You promised.”
June 19, 2010
“Dad?” Jared waved a hand before his father's face. “Dad? You okay? Hellooooooo.”
“Wow, sorry.” Kevin jerked back, startled. “I must have spaced out there for a second. I'm sorry about that.”
“Eh, I know the feeling.” He offered a lighthearted smile. “So, yeah, about what Stef said. Something that you wanted to tell me?”
“Oh, no. It's nothing.”
“Uh, okay,” Jared shrugged. “You sure you're alright? You seemed kinda out of it today.”
“I'm fine, Jared. Really.” He offered a grin of his own. It was another trait that father and son shared, the ability to craft a perfectly convincing smile regardless of circumstances. “I promise.”