Thousand Year Switch

Chapter 3

Mom had finally bid doctor delicious goodbye and turned back to me. "Lucas, honey? Ready to go home?"

"Yeah, Mom." I glanced over at Dad hopefully. "Are you coming too?"

He ran his fingers through his hair again, making it even crazier. "Um, well, now that we know you're alright..."

Mom glared at him. "Never mind, Lucas. Your Dad has more important things to tend to. I'm sure there are some rich people who want to buy a hummer or something. So you know, getting hit by a bus takes a back seat to business."

Dad frowned, trying to ignore her, but his face twitched. "Lucas, you'll be fine, right?"

I looked at Mom, with her arms crossed over her chest, staring at Dad angrily. Dad looked at me, his face pleading. I knew he could only stand to be around Mom so long, and why did I want him to come back to the house with me anyway? He'd only talk about sales and then him and Mom would fight and give me an even worse headache then I had now.

"I'm fine." I tried a grin. "Like the doctor says, I just need some sleep."

"There, see," Dad said. "He needs sleep. There's nothing I can do if I come back with you guys."

She didn't reply this time, just shot him one last black look before turning back to me. "Come on. Let's go."

I was ready, ready to get out of this place. It smelled like bleach and chemicals and sick people. I just wanted to go home and get on my computer and shoot some aliens or something, or watch some brainless sitcom for awhile and then go to bed and sleep forever. Anything to stop my brain from going in circles, thinking about non-existent girls and squabbling parents and drunk bus drivers. I needed to sleep.

3 Days Later:

I woke up with a scream on my lips, hands in front of my face. The face in front of me was the bus driver. Double chins wobbling, skin ashen, eyes blank of humanity. For a moment I stayed frozen, waiting for the clamor of footsteps down the hallway, waiting for my wide-eyed mother in her frilly night dress to burst in and drag me back to the hospital. 

But there was only the oppressive quiet, the creak of the sleeping house.

So my scream had been silent.

My eyes adjusted, taking in the familiar shadow shapes of my bedroom. Dark squares of posters on the wall, the black maw of my closet, the hulking set of drawers in the corner. 

If I shut my eyes I would see him again. I knew I would. His eyes bothered me the most, because they were so empty. Was he, as the doctor insisted, a figment of my imagination, a creation of my shell shocked mind? Then why did I remember his face in such disturbing detail? Why had he haunted my dreams for the past three nights? The lack of sleep was beginning to take a toll, and I could only fend off my mother's concerned questions for so long. 

I stared at the dark ceiling. Counting sheep was just not going to cut it. I couldn't stop thinking about his eyes. I'd seen drunk people before. That wasn't drunk. I'd seen eyes like that in horror films, on shambling zombies and possessed men. 

Dead eyes. Not for the first time I wished for my old life, before Sara had died, and our family had fallen apart. Mom and Dad had made us move just before she'd died, they said we would get ahead with Dad's new job, but we didn't get ahead. Sara died, and we collapsed in on ourselves like a black hole. 

All the move did was take me away from my friends and force me to start at a new school, a school of uniforms and strict rules and kids who thought they were better than everyone else. I missed my best friend. I shut my eyes and imagined what she might be doing right now back at home. Carly was probably playing zombie slaying games on the computer or watching an old horror movie, curled up under the fleece blanket on the old green couch in the den. I wished I could just walk over to her house like I used to. Instead I was alone, cowering in my bed like a little kid, scared of zombies. 

I shivered and dug myself deeper into my covers, like a ten year old hiding from monsters in the closet.