Fever Dream Pt 03

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

always

belonged, baby. You just come to me, ok?" she said, with a small taste of pleading in her voice. It made clear what he already knew: It was her way of begging him not to leave her again. She no doubt had meant it to be comforting to him, but it only served to remind him of the decade long exodus he'd put himself, and his family through, and the long road to reconciliation he had ahead of him to make it right.

"I will, Mom. I promise...I'm not going anywhere." He assured her, receiving a feeble smile from her.

"Ok then...well I am off to the office for a little while. I have to talk to Dr. Sloan about taking time off last minute. Shouldn't be a problem. I'll be back in a few hours, sweetheart."

"Wait, you work at Dr. Sloan's...since when?" he asked, surprised. Up until his 18

th

birthday, she hadn't worked is entire childhood.

"Yeah...couple years after you...well, I needed something to do, something to work on, to keep my-I run his office for him, manage things. Sorry baby, I forgot there's a lot you need to catch up on. It's no big deal, I'll be back in a little while. Love you!" she said, giving him a peck on the cheek and heading towards the front entryway. "If you have to go anywhere for something, don't forget to grab your key...it's still on the rack...however don't forget, you're supposed to stay here, sweetheart...do you need to go anywhere, baby?" she asked, turning back to him.

"No, Mom. I'll be fine. If I work up the motivation, I might go for a run around the property but honestly, I don't want to go anywhere, or do anything." He said, being completely honest.

"Ok baby. Bye-bye!" she said, and with that said she was out the door and off to her office.

With the house now silent and empty, Jack took a long, deep breath. The fact that an exchange lasting less than 20 minutes, total, could take so much energy out of him was a testament to just how 'over-it' he felt. 28 years of life and still in the 'prime' of his life, whatever the fuck that meant. At 'peak' physical fitness, with a knowledge of dozens of ways to kill a human being, in just about any scenario one could imagine, and all it took to overwhelm him was a 20-minute fucking conversation with the person who brought him into this world. Apparently, this was the life he was destined for. To live in a mausoleum of his past, with a family full of entirely whole people, who both loved and resented him, while he lived as a breathing shell of a human being. That was the grand prize he'd receive for 'serving his country'...more like serving its interests. Exactly whose freedom had he

ever

defended? Who had he really saved? Protected? What good had come from

anything

he'd done while wearing that bullshit uniform? Was the world a better place,

at all

, because of anything he had done? No. He'd become a government sanctioned murderer, and his sentence for the crimes he'd been complicit in? A 3-month stint in a nut-house, a lifetime of dependence on pills to function, and a lifetime of chronic pain. Oh, and a check for a few thousand a month for life. At least he hadn't left empty handed. None of this took into account that now he got to spend however long he'd be lucky to get living alongside his most treasured person, who also despised him, and for good reason.

But, that wasn't exactly right, was it? She was angry, sure. Hurt beyond measure, no doubt. But she'd shown him a sign. It was small. Simple. Almost innocuous, but it

was

a sign. There was hope. However slim it was, he'd take it.

Fuck this self-pity bullshit! She won't put up with that shit, that I can guarantee. I can do this. I can fucking do this. She is the prize man, I can't fail this. I came back for her. I can fix this. I don't give a fucking shit what she wants, what she expects, what she needs, I'll fucking do it ALL! I'll take anything. Yelling. Punching. Silence. She can remind me of how much I fucked up every hour on the hour, I don't fucking CARE! Man up, asshole. You got this. She is the fucking prize. Without her...nothing else matters. I just gotta...I gotta just suffer and get through it. I just don't know how. How do I show her? How do I make her see? Will she ever? She loved the old me though. The softer one. The sensitive one. The gentle one. The kind and caring Jackson...is he still in here? Are you still here? I thought I killed you...but did I? Or did I just tie you up, gag you, and stuff you in a corner. A deep, dark corner of me, that I shut up and locked away years ago...to make it easier. Easier to fight. Easier to hurt. Easier to kill. I hope you're still there...I hope I can find you...I hope you're still alive...I need you. She loves you, not me. Can I raise you from the dead, and kill 'this' me instead? Can I be both? Maybe we can work together. If I let you out, and lift you up, will you help me? I need you to help me. Please help me, because I can't do this without you. I can't do this without her. I can't do this without her. I can't. Do this. Without Her. I can't.

With his world a shaking, aqueous blur he finally snapped out of his self-induced, mental hell. He wiped his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm down and focused on his breakfast. He wasn't in the mood for cereal, but the grapes and honey-dew melon slices looked and smelled good. He downed the entire bowl in minutes and drank the now room temperature glass of orange juice. Once done, he cleaned up everything, put the paper on the kitchen counter and walked over to the window. The long, sweeping lawn was just as green and beautiful as it had ever been. The pool was glistening, as was the hot-tub, and the pathway was clean swept as far back as he could see, with it encompassing the length of the pool area and then traveling off into the large estate lawn, cutting through the middle of the roughly 800 yards between the pool patio and the back woods, where the path turned into a dirt trail.

The one thing that almost always helped him to work through anger, frustration, even fear was an intense workout. Be that a long and fast run, a long and intense set of weights, or hitting the bags. He was contemplating on this when a new addition to the backyard caught the corner of his eye. It was a set of pull up bars, a fighting dummy, a heavy bag, speed bag, and a reflex bag, all situated in a great structure, from what he could tell. Each bag in the perfect place to move, or dance around, between them for fast switching. The entire set up was situated in the corner of the cement patio and the pathway, behind the pool.

After assessing everything, he formulated a plan to help him get into a place, mentally, to better bear what was to come between him and Stella. He needed a routine. He needed to create at least a small sense of normalcy, some goals, some tasks that he could accomplish, to help him find steady footing. If he was ever going to get his mind right and find the strength and courage to open up to Stella. To tell her what she demanded to hear, he needed to rely on anything he could find or think of that might help him be strong enough. Steady enough. Brave enough. First step, get in a good work out. Push the intensity. Run a full 10 miles. Then get those pull up reps knocked out. Finally, hit the bags with everything he had. Make 'em hurt. Get out

all

of this anger. This hate. This fear.

With that, he threw off his shirt, tossed it on the counter, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and without even stretching, he was through the back door and bolted full speed down the path towards a fast and furious run. It was time to push it.

CH. 13

"...Alright trouble-maker, let me talk to Sharon, ok?"

"...ok. Bye, Mom."

"...Hello?"

"Thanks again, Sharon. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. It's only for a week, maybe two?"

"No problem, Stel'...is everything alright? Anything I can do?"

"Oh no, no, everything's fine...something has just come up with the whole family and we need to figure some things out, and it would just be...easier, maybe...to sort them out without John there to share in the confusion. You know what I mean?"

"Oh, of course. That makes perfect sense...and seriously, don't even think about trying to sneak any money in here for having him, it's really no problem at all, we love John. I wish more of Conner's friends were like him, actually."

"Ok, now...easy, I know he can be a handful, but thanks so much for that. He really is a prince...anyway, ill drop his bag of things by when I leave work. Ok?"

"Sure thing...Stella...are you sure everything's ok?"

"Yea-...uh...ok, well...Jackson's back."

"

NO

...no way!"

"Yeah, way."

"Oh my God, Stella...Jesus...when?"

"Last night...he just showed up...scared the shit out of

everybody

."

"...wow...Hun, you are sure you're alright...I mean, where has he been...how is he?"

"All questions he has yet to answer...look, I'm sorry Sharon, but-"

"-No, no, I get it...seriously, don't worry about it, I know this has to be freakin' crazy on you all...I am assuming you don't want John to know yet...does he even know Jack exists?"

"Yes and no...mostly no, and for now, I want it to stay that way...until I figure things out...he knows I have another brother out there somewhere but luckily, he's never noticed or thought of it much...I mean he's 10, so..."

"Haha, right...well look, forget the two weeks, seriously, its summer. However long you need him to be here, we got you covered, I mean it. We'll keep him so busy with fun, he'll barely notice. But...do you want us to call you, or him to, every night or something, or-"