Author's note - First, I just want to say how sorry I am for the VERY LONG delay from parts 2 to 3. This isn't even all that I planned on for part 3 but, as I'm back to writing in earnest to finish this story, I wanted to put this to you. A year is ridiculous for anyone to wait for anything short of a finished product, but this is what I have so far, with so much more to come. I have spent a long time fully fleshing this story in my mind and inspiration comes when it comes, and it has come in a big way. I'm even gonna skip putting this through an editor so that it's in your hands as soon as possible. Please feel free to comment, message or otherwise reach out to me for suggestions, edits, advice or any reason you feel spring to you. Again, thank you so much for taking the time to peek into the lives of these characters. Things are only going to get more interesting and MUCH more intense from here.
*****
Pt. 3 The First Step
CH. 12
An ache, dull and consistent, was what brought Jack's consciousness to the forefront. The ache, originating in his trapezius muscles and radiating throughout his shoulders and up his neck, was at all times present. Ever since that fateful day during a deployment to the middle east in his nightmare the night before, they had caused him pain, and according to his multiple doctors while in the Army, they always would, and to top it off, it would only get worse with age. They were part of the reason he had been medically retired, but a relatively minor part. The rest of the reason was infinitely harder a burden to bear. The chirping of birds, waving of trees in the wind, and the unmistakable sound of the custom-built waterfall pouring water into the pool down below in the back yard, reminded him of his location in the world. Home.
He had apparently been sleeping on his side prior to awakening, and with a second's hesitation, dared to open one eye to see what was what.
It was bright, and the sun was clearly shining down on the world in full strength outside. He opened both of his eyes and began rubbing them, while slowly stretching his entire body of the sleep still held within his limbs and muscles.
What a fuckin' day!
He laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling, searching his mind. Searching for a reason,
any
reason at all to get out of bed. Any part of the absolute nightmare that was yesterday, that could possibly give him reason to move a single muscle towards the edge of the bed. The slightest shred of justification to sit up and start a routine that would only lead him downstairs, to the real world, with its problems...
his
problems. He had almost finished the search of his life without seeing a single reason to get out of bed and had just made up his mind that this was where he would spend the remainder of his day, his night, his entire life, and had turned his head just slightly towards the rest of his room when he saw it. A feint glimmer of hope. Folded as neatly and crisply as he had ever seen, was a pair of his athletic joggers with a white V-neck t shirt, pair of no-show white socks and boxer brief underwear, spotlessly clean and set in a perfectly arranged line on his desk, with his duffle bag closed and put neatly under it. It should have been a relatively mundane display, except for the obvious care it must have taken to put everything in such a flawless display, right where he could see them. As he had this thought, he also noticed a fresh, clean towel, also perfectly folded with his toiletry bag set parallel on top of it on his desk chair.
Turning his head back to the ceiling he knew it could only have been one of two people, and with the ocean sized divide between him and the first, his money was on the second: Mom. Such a small gesture suddenly meant the entire world to him. This was a reason. A good enough reason. An amazing reason to get out of bed today, if for nothing else, for him to go downstairs and tell his mother how much it meant to him, to have someone do something nice for him when he had caused so much pain to such important people.
With this renewed sense of spirit, he quickly got out of bed, grabbed the towel and his bag, and headed for a short but hot shower to wash a long and fitful night off of himself. Once dried, he took another second to look down and smile at the display of his clothes before quickly putting them on, and slipping his running shoes on, in case he wanted to work out at some time today. After getting dressed, he picked up all of his bags and gear and stowed them in his closet, shutting it. He casually walked down the staircase and turned into the kitchen where another display awaited him.
At the head of the table sat a bowl on a placemat, with a spoon and box of Chex, again perfectly aligned. Above this was a tall glass filled with orange juice and a small bowl with an assortment of fresh fruit in it. Beside the food was the day's paper as well. As he began to feel emotion overwhelm him at the sight, he suddenly realized that this spread must be for someone else, his father perhaps, or mother. Just as he came to this conclusion the sound of padding footsteps from behind him alerted him to another presence. He turned around to see his mother.
"Good Morning, Sweetheart!" she said, beaming at him and approaching him arms outstretched for a hug. A hug which he enthusiastically accepted. He held her tight and basked inwardly at the sensation of someone greeting him happily. In itself, not usually something that might stand out to him, but recently, it was rare enough to bring him close to tears.
"Morning, Mom." He started. "...mind if I hold onto you for a few minutes?"
The question seemed to be one she would agree to as her hold around him tightened significantly.
"Oh honey...You never have to let me go if you don't want to." She responded, emotion thick in her voice. After a few minutes, his hold loosened, and he looked down at her.
"Thanks, Mom...I know I don't deserve it, but I really needed that."
"Oh nonsense! I'm your mother. You can come to me, day or night, anytime at all and I'll hold you all you want sweetheart. I don't care what you've done, or how long you've been gone, or what we are going through...you're my baby, and I'll
always
want to hold you." She said, with a tone filled with both affection and finality.
"Ok, Mom." He started. "...anyways, is this your spread?"
She looked at the food on the table and chuckled, looking back at him. "No sweetheart, I already ate earlier. This is for
you
!" she said, smiling and patting his arm, then walking around him to sit in the chair beside the one intended for him. With this realization, he was again overcome with emotion, but did well in keeping it off of his face. "Well then thank you...
and
thank you for setting my stuff out upstairs for me too, you didn't have to do that...or this." He said, smiling at her, but his smile was returned with a quizzical look from his mother.
"Oh honey, I didn't put this out for you...and I'm not sure what you're talkin' about upstairs." She said, a smile returning to her face as she watched him put two and two together.
"Oh...uh...maybe Dad, or Carrie...Carol...
Caroline!?
Right? That's her name?" he said, feeling more foolish as the seconds passed.
"Noooo...not them..." She answered melodically, a smirk coming across her face, waiting for him to say the only logical person after them.
"Oh...oh." He said, looking down at the food sitting before him.
As he pictured her setting out everything upstairs, stealthily so as to not wake him, and taking the time in the fresh hours of morning to put together not just a hastily assembled assortment of food but a Zagat style display of breakfast for him, he sat down in his chair slowly with tears flooding his eyes. Trying to suppress his eyes response and failing, he looked to his mother who was smiling knowingly at him. She simply put her hand on his and squeezed.
"She was down here for 45 minutes...setting this up for you baby, making sure everything was
just
right. I didn't dare say anything...you know how she gets when you 'interfere in her business'..." She said, squeezing his hand harder. "You two are gonna be fine Jackson...this is a
good
sign. She still loves you very much. You just gotta be patient...and be
extra
accommodating...let her come to
you
. I know how you two are...although maybe you've changed..."
"I have...a lot. I don't let people boss me around or tell me what to do anymore." He said, with a tinge of defiance, but as he said it, he realized when it came to Stella, doing what she asked never bothered him. He never felt pressured into following her lead, not really. Had he gone too far in his quest to be an island? Was the transformation total enough that he could never get back to that place again? His thoughts were interrupted by a question he was less than prepared for.
"Honey...what'd you mean last night...when you said you didn't know who you were anymore?" she asked, her face a mask of concern.
He'd forgotten he said it, and now that some of the dust had settled from the previous night's explosive homecoming, he was far less inclined to give her a clear answer. He was still unsure just what his life was now, and about the journey that had led him here, but more importantly, he was unsure of what to do next, with anything in his life. This meant that even if he wanted to answer her, he didn't even know where to begin.
"Oh that...I don't know, Mom...I was in such an awful place last night...I didn't even know which way was up." He said, not being entirely untruthful. "I'm still figuring things out I guess. Being home...it's a lot to take in all at once."
"Of course, baby. I understand completely. You just need some time to get settled, get a new routine going...reconnect with us." She said, sure of her wisdom. "I know there'll be some times when things get you down, and it seems like progress is slow going, but if you ever feel like you aren't meant to be home again, you just put that out of your mind, baby. You come to me, and let me hold you tight, and set you straight...this is where you have
