The Sparrow

Chapter Four

There is a casserole waiting on Reza's doorstep when he arrives back home, and he stares at it for a very long time. It isn't the dish that he is thinking so hard about, though. It is his brother and the pain in his stomach. He turns the keys and unlocks his door before bending to retrieve the food that someone kindly gave him. The bottom of the glass container is still warm against Reza's skin, and his stomach growls loudly as he smells it. He  walks into his apartment and sets it on the counter, pausing to read what is written on the sticky note. 

Tuna casserole. Return clean dish to 122. 

The scrawled writing is neat, undoubtedly belonging to a woman. The note is not signed, as usual, though Reza does notice that he has received at least five dishes from that apartment number since he's moved here. Apparently this woman cares a bit more about the screaming in the night than most. Perhaps she has children or younger siblings and takes pity on him, a fourteen year old living all alone with his nightmares.

Reza leaves the note and casserole on the counter top and goes to his bathroom, flicking on the light to illuminate the cracked walls. He avoids looking at his face in the mirror as he lifts up the fabric of his sweatshirt. What he sees is what he expected, but he can't understand how it can possibly be there. An ugly purple and red bruise colors the pale skin of his stomach, just to the left of his belly button. The exact spot that Reza was stabbed by the specter earlier that day. 

Reza clenches his jaw and pulls his shirt back down. He uses the bathroom before heading back out into the kitchen, pausing a moment to simply look at the steaming dish on his counter. Tarsis is the one behind the nightmares, isn't he? Reza scours his tiny kitchen for a fork, then takes the lid off of the casserole and takes it with him to sit in the center of the floor. He sets the dish in his lap as he eats, not bothering to get a plate. 

As he eats, he deeply ponders. Tarsis... why would he do it? It isn't impossible to dream walk, though Reza wasn't aware that his brother possessed the skill necessary to do it. But he never took the nightmares that seriously, always assuming that it was his mind conjuring up fake memories. If this is dream walking, why would Tarsis show him this? He must be trying to deter Reza from coming after him, for some unknown reason. Did the slaughter really take place like that? Even if it did, Reza wasn't there to see it. Why would Tarsis place him there in that memory, then kill him? Is he trying to scare him away?

You should have stayed home, little brother. A familiar voice echoes through his head, haunting him, threatening to drag him back to the nightmare. But he is wide awake, why is he being plagued now? Perhaps it never was a dream, at all. What is Tarsis is showing him that scene in a vision of sorts? Is that even possible?

"But I did stay home!" Reza doesn't realize that he has said this out loud, shouting in his frustration. What is Tarsis trying to say? What is he trying to tell him?  Reza stops eating and stares at his floor, though he is not seeing the peeling laminate. His fair brow furrows in annoyance, as he is deeply bothered by the many unanswered questions that cloud his over trafficked brain. Tarsis, what are you doing to me? If only the response wasn't the empty apartment around him, maybe Reza wouldn't feel so alone.

By the time that he finishes chasing his thoughts around, he realizes he has eaten half of the casserole and it is 6:30. He wasted almost two hours thinking and didn't get any closer to the answer of why his brother would dream walk to Reza, only to utter those words and stab him.

You could have at least told be something useful. Damn it, Tarsis! He feels like screaming, but instead climbs to his feet and digs around for something to put the rest of the food in. Fifteen minutes later Reza has his dirty clothes gathered into one bag and has the clean dish ready to be returned to it's owner. Reza flips the sticky note over and takes a pen from the counter.