The Golden Hen

Chapter 5: The Return of the Hen

Note: If nightmares and drowning are triggers for you, please skip the first section in italics.

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Water rushes in through the open windows. As the van fills, time slows down. Water laps at his waist then his shoulders. Soon his head will be underwater. Gradually the van sinks to the bottom of the river. But it's so peaceful. There's no noise. Just water. He's cushioned by the water as he falls. This is the end. Shouldn't he be afraid?

His arms stretch out languorously, caressed by the water. His left hand bumps against something. As he gazes at the ceiling of the van, his fingers delicately probe the surface of what he touched. Something soft. Hair. Then something hard with indentations. A mouth ... He turns to look and is filled with horror. Harper floats beside him, his eyes opened wide in a death stare.

He struggles to swim out of the window, but his left foot is stuck. No matter how hard he kicks, he can't yank it free. When he glances behind him, he sees Harper's hands clamped against his foot, holding him in place. With one last frantic jerk, he breaks free.

He swims toward the surface, his lungs on fire from lack of air. Desperately he uses all his remaining strength to swim toward the light, away from his prison, away from his coffin.

After swimming for what seems like miles, he sees a shape above him. A boat? If he can reach it, he will be safe. He finally reaches it and puts out an arm. Is this a boat? He grabs at the sides, and it capsizes.

He no longer sees a boat but a body floating above him, face down. He knows the person. It's a younger version of himself. It's what he looked like when he ran away. When he drowned in the lake. His own face stares back at him with empty eyes.

Flee! But where? Back down to the van? He gulps more gallons of water. His head pounds.

Someone seizes his legs. He screams and risks a quick look over his shoulder. It is his younger self holding on to him, refusing to let go.

"You're not me!" Neal yells, struggling to free himself. "Stay away!" His voice comes out only a whisper. He's too exhausted. He can't fight it anymore.

"Neal, it's okay ... Relax ... You're safe. C'mon, open your eyes."

He felt hands gripping him. They weren't cold, but warm and strong. But if he opened his eyes, would he just see himself?

Opening his eyes a crack—God, his head hurt—he tried to focus. This time, it was Peter's face in front of him. His eyes looked enormous, but they were filled with concern, not terror.

"That's it ... Take slow breaths ... You're safe."

Leaning into the solid strength that was Peter, Neal slowly brought his breathing under control.

His heart was no longer trying to pound out of his chest, but he was beyond exhausted. Pain spread from his chest to the jackhammer in his head.

A glass appeared from somewhere. "It's just water. It will help." A woman's voice. Ellen? She wasn't at the lake. But then, neither was Peter.

"Feeling a little better?" El asked.

Neal nodded slowly, not trusting his voice.

Peter relaxed his hold on him. "I'm going to disentangle you from these sheets. You can't be too comfortable."

Neal began to take in his surroundings. He was on the floor next to the bed, sheets, and blankets twisted about him. He groaned and leaned back against the side of the bed as Peter and El unwound the bedding.