FUTURITY

ALONE Pt 2

Jason jolted awake, still feeling the creature's claws around his throat.

He gasped and coughed. With shaky hands, he pried the sweaty sheets off of him. He stood and leaned against one of the white walls of his room. The warm sun's light shone on his back from the window, and he relaxed in its rays.

The yellow eyes again, Jason thought. The yellow eyes had never stopped coming as nightmares since the night of the murders. But this dream seemed so real. It felt very different from the others he'd experienced. Who was this creature? Why was Jason dreaming of him?

And why had the monster been aware of Jason watching him? Chills rushed up Jason's scalp and he shivered, suddenly cold. The intelligence in the creature's eyes shook something deep in Jason's core.

Were these visions, these dreams, connected to his parents' deaths? What had his mother seen before she was killed? Who would have attacked his parents so savagely-and why? The police in New Mexico had never found any evidence or eyewitnesses to give them leads, so they had stuck to their original theory that muggers had killed them as part of a robbery. There was no evidence to connect their deaths to the fugitive Benjamin Crowe, but Jason couldn't help suspecting Crowe's involvement. What were the chances of a psychopath on the loose in their city and his parent's brutal murders being unconnected?

His iPhone on the nightstand rang. He jumped. Grabbing it quickly, he looked at the screen.

It was from Shane: GOOD MORNING!

Jason smiled and texted something back and hurried to get ready. He and Shane had worked hard to keep in contact. They'd emailed, texted, talked on the phone, and Skyped. But like everything else in Jason's life, their friendship couldn't be the same.

Thirty minutes later, Jason locked the front door behind him. Uncle Max and Aunt Debbie always left for their office long before he did. He shouldered his backpack and reached the curb just as the bus arrived. Its brakes squealed, and the door opened. Jason went to the backseat. The bus began to move again just as his iPhone hummed. It was another text from Shane.

A few minutes later, Jason walked through the automatic doors of his high school. He weaved through the unruly crowd of teenagers toward his locker, listening to the snatches of conversation around him.

"I'm like totally going to marry him," a short girl said. She seemed always to be talking in the hallway about some new guy in her life.

"If I have to do one more simultaneous equation, I'm going to puke. The problems have gotten way too easy," a muscle-clad senior said while texting.

Jason got his books and hurried to his first class. Hours passed. And during the fourth period, Jason sat, cross-eyed, fixated on the way his teacher's mouth moved as she mumbled about human cells. He'd already stopped listening. He caught himself looking out the window. Outside, a tall maple tree towered over the school grounds.

Jason closed his eyes for a moment.

An old memory came to mind. Opening his eyes, Jason smiled. He saw himself ten years younger, running around the maple tree. His chubby face was smiling as he kicked a soccer ball.

Jason remembered how the maple leaves smelled, how the sun had felt on his skin. And the warmth that grew inside his chest.

His tall father followed young Jason, laughing. He seemed so strong, so invincible and powerful. Then all of a sudden, his father stopped like he sensed watching eyes. He turned toward Jason as if he saw through the vision and looked at him with a direct gaze. His father smiled as if he was warmly acknowledging his observer.

The disrupting sound of the bell scattered Jason's thoughts. His father and his younger self disappeared. And Jason bit his lip.

"All right, class," the teacher was saying. "Bring back your homework Monday morning." Jason hurriedly grabbed his stuff. As he left the classroom, his iPhone hummed in his pocket.

A text from Aunt Debbie: CALL ME.

Jason felt his face grow red. He punched in his aunt's number, gritting his teeth. After the second ring, she answered.

Jason didn't try to hide the anger in his voice. "Another business trip, huh?"

He heard her sigh. "I'm sorry about this."

Jason took a deep breath. "Okay, well, when will you be back?" Her silence made the sounds of the high school painfully loud.

"Monday evening or Tuesday early morning, I think. It's up to your uncle Max," she said finally.

"Okay."

Jason ended the call. He shook his head, more thoughts of loneliness came, and he forced his eyes up. A flyer hung taped to a locker door.

DRAMA: AUDITIONS FOR THE HOBBIT. SIGN UP HERE.

Drama. The thought reminded him of his old hopes to become an actor. Another memory came to mind.

"I can't do this, Daddy. I can't," Jason said. His ten-year-old frame shook under the Robin Hood cloak. Tears threatened to fall.

"Yes, you can," his dad said as Jason glanced on stage at the other actors. Friar Tuck bellowed against the tyranny of Prince John.

His father gripped his shoulders. "Well, I'm not scared you'll mess up."

"Why?"

"Because I believe in you, buddy. You were made to act. Okay?"

Jason balled his sweaty hands. "But I can't-"

"Yes, you can."

Jason looked into his father's eyes. And thoughts of the ominous stage lights, the fear of forgotten lines, and the eyes of the audience faded from Jason's mind.

His dad stopped for a moment. Moistness began to form at the corners of his eyes. He smiled, pride flooding his face. "You are so, so, strong."

***

Taking a deep breath, Jason turned the key in the deadbolt lock to his aunt and uncle's house and went to the kitchen. He set down his backpack and walked over to the blinking answering machine.

When he leaned over the counter and pressed the Play button, his aunt's smooth voice came on.

"Jason, your uncle and I are on our way to the airport for our business trip to New York. I'm just calling to let you know there is soup in the Crockpot for you."

The voice mail beeped, and that was the end of it. Jason slumped into a kitchen chair.

Jason sank farther into the chair. That was what his mom used to say all the time. She'd say it even when something awful happened-like a family member's death.

Jason leaned on the table, clasped his hands, and began to pray. The Sorns had always been a churchgoing family. He knew the stereotypical thing to do was to question why God would let something like this happen. And he had, off and on for the last few months.

Jason closed his eyes. God, I don't understand what You're doing. If You're here, get me through this. I can't take this much longer.

A bitter tear slipped free and he wiped at it with his sleeve. I can't stand this place anymore. I try and try and try, but it doesn't feel like home. More tears slipped and plopped on the table and he eyed the droplets, numbly.

It feels like hell. I hate this! I hate my life! He balled his hands into fists and screamed into his sleeve. How could this get any worse?

Another wave of images of the creature in the alley came. Yellow eyes burned his soul and though he struggled to block them, they came even stronger. His head felt like it was going to explode.

What was going on? Was he having an aneurism? A million and one different types of diseases and conditions flitted through his thoughts. Panic welled up and a sob began to bubble up his chest, but he bit it back. Should he call Aunt Debbie? Should he call paramedics? What if he should . . .

Unsure what to do, he leaned into his arms and sobbed.