He was one of the greatest Magicians seen in centuries. He had flown the Aurora, traveled through space, and helped liberate the planet Vita in the Pearl Galaxy, all at the age of 12. And yet, here he was, stuck in a wheelchair and left to fend for himself.
Jack felt ridiculous as he wheeled his way out of his room. Death would have been more preferable than this. Yet here he was, bound to a chair. He moved wearily through the house. Wren was off teaching Jennifer how to fly a falcon—an obviously bad idea—while Simon and Fletcher were out for a hike. Where Jesse was, Jack couldn't give a damn. Jesse was no longer his concern, and it would be too soon if he ever saw him again. He wasn't sure what he would do if he had to encounter Jesse and desperately hoped he didn't.
All he wanted now was to go home, back to his own universe, where even if people hated him, at least he didn't have to see them every day. He hated how everything had turned against him, especially since his arrival. He had come to this universe desperate and hopeful. He came for help and perhaps even a new friend. After all, what could be cooler than having an alternate version of yourself as a friend? When he and Jesse finally rescued Wren and Simon, they landed back in Jesse's universe with no way back home. At first, Jack was okay with this, seeing it as a chance to get to know Jesse and his world. He was excited then, while Wren and Simon just wanted to go home.
But now? Wren and Simon seemed less worried about getting back. They had made friends and connections here, but Jack was left the same as ever, surrounded by people who hated him and made it their mission to ensure his misery. If he had known it would turn out like this, he would have worked on the Gateway immediately after rescuing his friends, making sure they were gone.
He pushed himself down the hall, trying desperately to keep the forest and Jesse out of his mind. It had been a couple of weeks since that night—since Jesse came and proved his cruelty. It was also the same night Wren took away his whiskey, the one thing that kept him sane. He knew why she did it; she wanted him back, but deep down, he despised her for it. Who was she to decide what was best for him? He wanted his mind numb; he didn't want to think anymore. She was wrong if she thought she was helping.
He found himself in the kitchen, lost in his thoughts, as a rhythmic sound reached his ears. Maybe he could try running again. No one was here to stop him this time. He just wanted out—out of his mind, out of this life. He needed it to happen soon.
Jack's hands trembled slightly as he pushed against the wheels, searching the kitchen for something to nibble on. He rolled up next to the fridge, listening to its electric hum as he opened the door. He wasn't terribly hungry—in fact, he wasn't hungry at all—but he was bored and desperate for something to do. If it were up to him, he would have gone straight into town to stock up on whiskey, but Wren stopped him every time. She was like a nurse, always ready to put him back in his place the second he considered leaving. What was the point of giving him a wheelchair if he wasn't allowed to leave? Her only job seemed to be keeping him trapped.
He shook his head, trying to banish the comparison from his mind. Wren wasn't like them, but he couldn't help feeling the same way he had when he was younger—desperate to leave, with no one allowing him out. His chest tightened at the thought. The dark, lonely nights, pleading with anyone who would check on him to believe him—to believe he wasn't insane—only to be met with sympathetic looks. How he hated those looks, as if they weren't the ones actively drugging him, shining lights in his face late at night, and leaving the faucet in his room to drip endlessly.
That damn faucet, most of all. It was such an easy fix, he had always thought. Even if they were right about his sanity, they could have fixed the faucet. Its rhythmic dripping kept him up all night, taunting him, reminding him that the water was free to come and go, while he was trapped. It wasn't fair to see something so loose and free while he was decaying away. Some nights, he wished the pipes would burst and take him out. Maybe then they would fix the faucet, making it more bearable for the next patient. They were the ones driving him toward insanity, forcing him to be what they already believed he was.
The dripping sound seemed so real as he recalled the memory, and he couldn't quite figure out why. Its cursed rhythm was hypnotizing, dragging him down, making him feel as small, lonely, and forgotten as he had been back then. Only when he heard footsteps approaching did he remember where he was. He found himself back in the kitchen, staring at the sink and its leaky faucet, his grip tight on his chair and tears in his eyes. Each water drop fell in time with his quickening heart, piercing his ears.
He quickly pushed himself away from it, desperate to get away, desperate to prove it wrong—to show that he truly was free now. He rolled backward, unwilling to take his eyes off the faucet, fearing it might morph into the one he knew so painfully well. He was so focused on it that he forgot how he had been snapped out of the memory in the first place. Suddenly, he felt himself bump into something. Quickly, he turned to see what it was.
He looked up and found himself face-to-face with Jesse.
Oh great. Now he was being attacked from two sides.
Jack quickly rolled away from him, careful to avoid even looking in his direction. He wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of acknowledgment; he wasn't going to let him see him hurt again. He wheeled himself back to his room, retreating to where he belonged—away, out of sight, and alone.
The next day, the house was silent again. If he recalled correctly, they had all decided to take a trip out of town to explore one of the nearby cities. Wren had asked him if he wanted to join them, but he declined, stating he would have been more of a burden than anything. She had tried to convince him otherwise, but he knew the truth. So here he was again, alone and bored.
He rolled into the kitchen wearily; this time, he was genuinely hungry. But now that he knew what was waiting for him, he was almost tempted to let himself starve. Unfortunately, starvation brought up other memories he didn't particularly want to confront, so he picked his poison and decided to face the kitchen sink instead.
Much to his surprise, the kitchen was silent, filled only with the hum of the appliances. Not a single drop was heard. He ventured closer, expecting the drip to return, even if only at a slower rate. He sat and watched for what seemed like an eternity, but nothing dared to break the silence. Someone else must have gotten annoyed and taken care of it.
"Weird," he murmured aloud as he rolled away to finally find food, quietly thanking whoever had fixed it.
