Trust

✍ Fracture

I can't remember how I got from the station to the hospital. Everything that happened after the call seemed to warp itself into a blackhole of memories. I remember Evan helping me to the car and telling me to strap myself in. I remember the colours of the scenery speeding past as they blurred and swirled together into a contortion of ghoulish figures.

Most prominently, I remember that I'd wanted to wake up. I'd wanted this nightmare to end. I'd wanted to believe that the last 24 hours had been naught more than a bad dream. I'd wanted so badly for all that to be true that I actually began to think it was the truth.

I'm going to wake up. I'm going to wake up. I'm going to wake up.

I chanted those words like they were a mantra, desperately holding onto them like a child clinging on to their parent. I needed to believe that they were true; my world was fracturing and falling to pieces and I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

When we got to the hospital, Adam was waiting for us in the lobby. I noticed then how much he'd grown in the past couple of months, both in terms of physique and maturity. His looks had changed from a child to one closer to that of an adult's and so too had his personality. I remember thinking, 'Becky Litt's going to regret ever letting him slip through her fingers' and instantly feeling a sense of grim satisfaction and pride.

"How are you?" Adam asked as we headed to the lifts. "How's Chase?"

"He's alright, I think. He says he didn't kill anyone." My voice was impeccably calm, something I attributed to being sure that all this was merely a figment of my overactive imagination. I knew I was going to wake up sooner or later so it felt silly- stupid, even- to panic.

Adam shot me a wary look and I stared back blankly at him.

"Pops? Are you alright?" He squeezed my shoulder gently. I nodded, smiling brightly.

"Of course. Never better. Why d'you ask?"

Adam exchanged at Evan and I didn't miss my godfather's blue eyes clouding over. A guarded expression replaced his earlier open one.

"Nothing. Just checking."

Evan was shaking his head slightly. He looked tired, No, he looked more than tired; he looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. But that wasn't all; there was something else on his face as well: worry. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the past few hours.

"It'll be alright," I said. My voice sounded incredibly cheerful in the dull, empty space. "It has to be."

*****

I eventually fell asleep in the waiting room with my head on dad's lap, curled up into a foetal position with one of Evan's college jackets draped over me. There wasn't a bed or anything, just chairs. They weren't even comfy, but I was tired and I doubt that even a nuclear bomb would've been able to keep me awake.

I did not end up sleeping well. My dreams were almost worse when I was asleep than when I was awake. I dreamt about flying monkeys, my mother dying during her operation while I stood by, completely helpless, giant ducks trampling my town and a ghosty figure that looked like Chase, fading away into blackness. His face was ashen and when I looked closer, blood began to flow from his eyes, straining his shirt and covering his face in a ghastly red. He never said a word; just stood there with red pouring down his face and bleeding onto his hands.

And that was when I woke up, screaming.

*****

"She needs to rest."

I tucked my legs against my chest and stared at the wall. Maybe the adults weren't aware of this, but I could hear every word of what they were saying. I knew they thought I was having a mental breakdown, a kind of coping mechanism where my brain decided to mix reality and fiction so I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of what was actually real.