Time to Fall

Chapter Five: Agony

TW: CHILD DEATH

Tom blinked awake, sitting on the sofa, watching TV. Goddamn, it felt like someone had hit him over the head. He tried not to grunt or groan at the sharp pain in his head. It got worse and worse, like someone stuck a knife in it. He was watching sports. The football game. Why was he watching the football game on Tim's birthday. He could forget a lot of things, but anything involving Tim was at the forefront of his mind.

Why wasn't he outside? Why did he have the hourglass? He had just noticed it in his hands, and... that was usually Connie's domain, wasn't it? Maybe it was because he'd made the demands... Where was Connie? Shouldn't she be here for Tim's birthday? And the art exhibit. She'd been excited to show them. He'd been excited to see. Jane came in with a platter of snacks and sat down beside him.

Yes! Jane! It had worked! There she was, in the flesh. Curling into him. Quiet. Oddly quiet. Why was she being so quiet? Did it really matter to him so long as she was there? God, he could kiss Connie right now. She was so smart. She'd figured out a way to bring Jane back to him. This was all he'd wanted for year. Still... something didn't sit right with him about the silence. It was spoiling his mood. The Jane he remembered, the Jane he loved... she never stopped talking. Not unless things were gravely wrong, and she was very upset.

It hit him like a freight train: Where was Tim? Tim hated sports, but... it was his birthday, and... he loved spending time with his dad. Why was he watching sports at all? He should... he should be playing that Zeldon (or whatever the guy's name was) game with Tim. It may not be his favourite thing, but it was time with his son. Time that Tim needed. Time they both needed. Had they had a fight? God, he could be an idiot like that sometimes. He'd probably driven the kid into his roo. He should probably go up and talk to him. He looked up towards the stairs, debating it internally. Did he really want to leave Jane though?

Then... he saw something that made his stomach churn. A display... almost like a shrine to Tim. His picture in the centre, lots of dried out flowers, a little candle. Cards. So many cards. And the fact that Tom could read them so clearly made his heart sink- no, stop. His heart stopped. 'Sympathies'. 'Condolences'. 'You're in my heart'. 'May the Lord be with you in this time of grief'. Even one plain 'Sorry for your loss'. He had to be dreaming. This had to be some sort of cruel hallucination from Tinky.

"Jane..." Tom breathed, still refusing to believe it. She took his arm gently, leaning into it and squeezing it. "We... we..."

"I..." Jane corrected him, knowing exactly what he was talking about. The guilt had been riding on her all day. "I... lost him. I lost him."

"Janey, no." Tom tried to soothe, but he was still in so much shock that it wasn't convincing at all. "Don't talk like that."

"You told me not to push him to go on the high ropes that day." Jane shook her head. She broke down in tears. Tom hadn't realized just how close she'd been to them before. "You told me... fear can be crippling. I'm a psychiatrist. I should've known that. God, I shouldn't have cared so much whether he always stayed inside with his games. I shouldn't have forced him to try something he wasn't comfortable with. I should have let him just be himself. All I can see when I close my eyes is... him, Tom. Dangling by the foot from that harness in the middle of the zipline. The slip. All I can hear is the crunch of the fall. It just... it repeats, and repeats, and repeats, and there's no end. I... never got how painful your flashbacks were until... I started having them myself."

"Janey..." Tom sniffed, pulling her close and rubbing her back, before starting to cry himself.

That son of a bitch. That son of an actual bitch. He'd stolen his son. He hadn't warned them that that would happen if they brought Jane back. He hadn't... or had he? Regardless... he'd probably staged the death and everything, like he made Connie crash into the key. Oh god. Connie. He had better not have fucking done anything to Connie. God, his mind was going at a million miles a minute in every which way, and he had no clue what to feel. He was totally and utterly numb in the worst way.