Forgotten Flame

The blame game

I didn't have many good memories as a teenager, not after the Gavin and suicide escapade. But one of the things I could remember, was how my dad would creep into my room with hot milk and set it down on my night stand after I had woke him up from my nightmares. He would then make me move over so he could sit against the headboard beside me whilst I drank the drink, my teeth chattering the cup through fear until it was gone. Then he would pick up the well thumbed copy of Lord of the Rings and read it until I fell back to sleep...

Something so simple as my nightmare warrior meant my dad and I had a strong bond. We always had, but his understanding that somethings were better left unsaid was what had me sticking to him like glue until he passed.

For the past two nights I had dreamt of him. Dreamt of the soft words of how one little hobbit who lived in a smelly little hole could take on armies with a best friend and a special ring. But these dreams would eventually twist into terrifying and bloody nightmares. How my dad would suddenly choke and eventually projectile vomit blood like something off The Exorcist.

I would wake up, sweat riddled and panting heavily, clutching at the sheets with tears down my cheeks. Each time Zak would get up, get me a new shirt, help me sit up, remove it and then replace it with another, before climbing back into bed.

No words exchanged. Just actions.. Much like my dad.

But when I woke again at 3.22am two nights after the home invasion, I found myself alone in Zak's bed.

My heart pounded in my chest as I scrabbled out the bed and almost tore the door off, in fear that he would be led on the floor, bleeding profusely.  But when I opened it to a dimmed hallway with no Zak on the floor, I allowed myself to take a breath.

Padded through the house, I found him. Sat in front of the TV, the security camera footage playing. My eyes darted back and forth as I watched myself get out of the pool, topless and totally oblivious to what was going to happen. I pulled on Zak's top and walked into the house.

My heart was in my throat when I saw myself stood in the lounge speaking to myself.. With one of the intruders crouched on the ground hiding in front the couch. Less that 8 feet away.

I didn't see him, I certainly didn't hear them as I walked back to the bedroom. That's when he launched his attack.

Wincing when my head impacted the wall, how one of the intruders pushed past the other dropping the laptop which I moved under my body. Then the kick to the face.

I stopped moving.

There were hand gestures and they even put the light on before the boot to the side of the ribs was delivered. Then they shut off the light and simply walked out the door.

The TV rewound and it played again. Only this time I tore my eyes off the screen and moved towards Zak until he picked up my feet. Pausing the footage and dropped his head.

"Zak?" I asked gently as he lifted his head. "How about coming to bed?"

"No." He answered before pressing play on the remote and the footage began to play again.

I frowned gently, feeling a pang of upset spiking into my chest. I had my suspicions that he wasn't sleeping, mainly because he looked awful, he was miserable and he wasn't eating.

But then neither was I.

The house had taken on a whole new meaning of silence.

I moved from my position and sat down on the edge of the couch looking at Zak. His eyes were blazed at the TV, wide and alert as he watched the footage again. I knew instantly from the bags under his eyes that he hadn't been sleeping. Not a wink.