The Aftermath at Mount Massive

Chapter 7: Hurt Them Before They Can Hurt Me Again

He woke up screaming.

His chest felt too tight, he couldn't get enough air into his lungs, it was like his ribs were a cage or a snake slowly constricting his heart and lungs. He was going to burst, he just knew it.

The room was dark, or maybe his eyes hadn't adjusted, maybe his eyes didn't work, he didn't know. He sucked in a small breath which gave far too little precious oxygen. He tried again and again to get more. In his head he heard screaming but he couldn't figure out if it was his or someone else's. His vision still hadn't come into focus, the world was still black. But something was cutting through the screaming, a voice. It was soft, but worried.

"Way...........lon....wa...lon........waylon!" It was his name being repeated desperately. Parts of it came through the screaming pressure in his head. He could hear it. "Waylon please stop, calm down," the voice kept saying his name. It never rose in tone and it stayed a steady rhythm. It was calming, soothing. Waylon felt himself relax.

That's when the screaming finally stopped. In that moment of silence he understood the two voices he had been hearing. One was his own, and the other was that of his wife. Hers had been the calm, nurturing one. The same voice she used on his sons when they had bad dreams. In this instance, he was the kid who had a nightmare.

"Is Dad gonna be ok?" Another voice sounded off to Waylon's right.

"Yeah, yeah sweetie he'll be fine, he just had a bad dream."

His eyes had finally adjusted to seeing in the dark, or perhaps to seeing the waking world, he still couldn't tell. When he tilted his head he could see the outline of two small figures standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry," he said, but his voice was hoarse and cracked from screaming. "Did I wake you? I didn't mean to." His ears were ringing, from what he couldn't decide. He prayed it wasn't the Engine coming back for him.

Their faces held a combination of fear and worry, two things a father never wants to see reflected at him. "You sure you're gonna be fine?" Alex said. He had always been the more emotional one.

"Yeah buddy, I'm fine. Just a bad dream, like your mother said."

"Do you need some warm milk?"

Waylon smiled. "That would be great. Come on, let's all get some." When he got out of bed he noticed that his shirt was soaked through with sweat. "You two go on downstairs, I'll be right there."

He tossed his soiled shirt to the floor when Lisa asked, "What were you dreaming about?"

"I don't know. I tend to forget when I wake up. Probably something horrible. Probably something fucked up." He slipped on another shirt and limped to the door. All he remembered was that he was running. He was running through the same halls of looping off white paint and chipped tile floors. In all honestly, even if he did remember what he had dreamed about, he wouldn't share it with Lisa. She didn't need to know what hell he faced. He couldn't do that to her.

"You're not there anymore," she said softly. "You're here, with us."

"I know," Waylon said and gave her a weak smile. "I know, I came back."

"We're all glad you did." Lisa stood up and started to pull the blankets and sheets off of their bed.

"Lisa, it's the middle of the night, what are you pulling the bedding off for?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm not a big fan of sleeping in your sweat. I'll change this out while you're down with the boys."

"Sorry," Waylon said, embarrassed.