Gingerly I picked myself up and rubbed my sore head, moaning. “What the heck?”
It had been raining on the Monday morning I went to Paradise. Was it possible that it had been a dream? Had Jenen, Crenen, Menen, Veija, and that stupid Lon only been a crazy dream?
Surely not. Not after I’d accepted that it might actually be real.
“Hey!” a voice called.
I turned and recognized my sister Jana standing underneath her pink umbrella, waving at me from the other sidewalk. She was mostly dry in her black trench coat, brown hair trailing softly down one shoulder. I hurried from the side of the street, sneakers squeaking, and joined her, rubbing water from my burning eyes.
“Are you okay? Your head is bleeding.” Jana reached up to touch my hair.
I would have brushed her off, but I was too exhausted. Instead I nodded and focused on keeping my head above my feet, as her fingers inspected the wound.
“Jason, are you okay?” Her eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You've been missing for hours. What happened?”
“Nothing.” I stumbled as I tried to walk toward home.
“You're bleeding and soaked, and you call that nothing? I knew you were mental, but this is stupid.” Jana grabbed my arm to steady me. “Let’s get home and take care of that bump, and you can tell me exactly what happened.”
I didn’t know how to explain. What could I say? ‘Well, you see, I slipped in the rain; landed in a strange world of sharp-toothed ninja-like pretty-boys; was treated like some hero; swore an oath to the freakiest ninja of all; met a beautiful woman with no brain—and finally ended up back here just as I was beginning to believe it had all happened.’ I think not. No way was I going to let her know how mental I really was.
As I concocted the elaborate story I would have to tell to keep her happy, we reached the house; a two level, white structure large enough to comfortably hold my three siblings and me, as well as our parents.
Jana guided me through the living- and dining rooms to the floral kitchen, where she pulled out a first-aid kit from a bottom drawer near the fridge and began doctoring me up. “So,” she said, “you gonna give details or what?”
I shook my head. “Look. I’m in no mood for lies, let alone the truth. So, how about we skip the elucidation and just finish this. I’m…really tired.”
It was true, my body screamed with weariness, and my head pounded so loudly I could hardly hear. But, more than anything, I just wanted to be alone. It was absurd to consider my adventure more than fiction, but something kept me from writing it off as a fantastical dream of outrageous proportions—though it was certainly outrageous.
At last Jana finished with her bandaging (she got a little band-aid-happy with my face) and took me up the stairs toward my room.
“Just a second. I need a shower. The sap…” I switched directions in the hallway, slipping from my sister's grasp.
“Sap?” Jana asked, looking more concerned than before. Big sisters tend to worry over stupid things.
“From the tree.” I closed the bathroom door behind me and locked it. But instead of hitting the shower, I went to the mirror. As I’d suspected and feared, my hair was short again, and very flat from the rain. All signs of sap were gone, and my clothes were soaked and soiled, but not torn. I glanced at my hand, examining every inch—but the furapin-thingy's bite was absent.
For all my urges to return home I couldn’t help but feel like a piece of my heart had been torn away. It was over. I had done nothing to save them, and though it must’ve been a dream, I felt like I’d deserted them.
And it was all his fault.
“That jerk!” I slammed my fists against the counter-top, not caring what Jana thought.
Terrible realization struck me as I pictured the man responsible: I couldn't remember his name. Her brother. Wait—
What was her name? I tried to picture the Seer, but it was vague, like the passing vision of a late-night dream. I was trembling, and I gripped the sink to steady myself. I had forgotten. Somehow it was all fading—even as vivid as it had been a few minutes before.
Tears filled my eyes and I fell to my knees, shoulders trembling. “No,” I whispered. “Can’t I at least keep the memory? Do I have to lose that too?”
Jana was knocking on the door, calling to me, rattling the knob—but I hardly heard. I couldn’t say why—it made no sense—but my world somehow had shattered.
I tried to tell myself it was only a dream. Only a passing nightmare full of freakish ninja people with sharp teeth and evil agendas. Only a horrible dream with red furry critters—or were they pink? No. The eyes were pink. Or were they yellow?
I ran my hands through my hair, pressing my palms hard against my head, as though that would help me to recall everything that was lost.
Surely, I could remember his name. “Cren…something. Cren…en.” But the name only forced me to admit it was a dream. Like all dreams, most events, names, and faces had faded; all but the most significant parts. And Crenen had been significant.
I hadn’t even said goodbye. I tried to stop the tears, but something was lodged in my throat, and the sobs came. Like a small child, I cried.
I stayed there for a long time, until I finally collected myself. Then I climbed to my feet and opened the door to reveal a worried Jana.
I moved past her. “I’m okay.”
“You were crying,” she said, holding a screwdriver in one hand. Apparently, she'd been removing the hinges from the door when I opened it.
“Was I?” I reached my room and entered. Padded across the plush carpet to my bed.
Jana walked in after me and opened my dresser drawer. “Here’s your pajamas,” she said, handing them to me. “Did something happen at school?”
I shook my head. “I’m okay.”
Jana didn't look convinced. “Well, get some sleep. I’ll make you some chamomile tea.” She hurried from the room and left me to change my clothes.
When I finished changing, I pulled my covers down and chucked my soaked clothes on the floor. I was about to climb into bed when I noticed something rolling out of the corner of my eye. Turning back to my clothes, I spotted an object by my discarded pants. I knelt and picked up the little ball from the carpet. A grape.
Part Two
VENDAEVA
10
Panic Attack
The storm shook my windowpane. As I tossed and turned to make more noise than the rattling pane, I knew there was no point. Sleep wasn’t coming.
I threw my covers off and sat up, cupped my head in my hands, and groaned. The storm was just an excuse. The real reason I couldn't sleep was the same reason I hadn’t slept in months.
At first my family had assumed that I was nervous about graduating; but, my ability to lie also encompassed the awesome power of cheating and I passed the exams with ease. Now the family contributed my restlessness to my mental health and had sent me in for counseling. The result was a bottle of pills.
Even before graduation they'd been concerned. Who could blame them? My parents had a son who changed drastically when he slammed his head against the pavement. Truth be told, I still believed I'd been swept away to a fantastical world, but I refused to tell my counselor of the event because the only proof I possessed was a single, solitary, insignificant gerani, and who was going to believe that it wasn’t just some ordinary grape?
That ended up quite the issue at home.
I’d placed the precious gerani in the fridge, to preserve it as long as possible—but I ended up having to sleep near the refrigerator each night, while my entire family attempted to chuck it so that I would “get my head screwed on straight again.”
Jana was the most concerned. She’d made sure to relate the events of the evening when I’d returned home—including my sob-session on the bathroom floor—to each member of my family. Of course, Jana, like everyone else in the house, had the ability to exaggerate—which was suddenly to my detriment.
Now I was psychotic. I needed pi
lls. Pills would solve everything. They would make my sudden “depression” evaporate, leaving me whole and well and happy.
Right. Pills—meet toilet. Toilet—pills.
I didn't tell my family about Chas shoving me into the puddle, nor had I confronted him about it. I knew it would avail me nothing to tattle, and it hardly explained away my emotional state—not unless I was prepared to share everything.
I wanted to ask Chas why he’d pushed me, why his eyes had glowed yellow, but the opportunity hadn't arisen soon enough, what with exams swamping my life; and then Chas moved away right after graduation.
I counted the days since my return from Paradise. Then I counted the months. It was over six now. In my attempts to get back there, I’d splashed through puddles, ponds, and rivers. I’d purposely slipped and hit my head several times, with the only result being a powerful headache. There were times I questioned my sanity, but then I sought the gerani to comfort my troubled mind.
I wasn’t crazy. No matter what everyone thought, I wasn’t crazy.
Lifting my head from my palms, I gazed at the bedroom door. With a sigh, I slid from my bed and headed for the stairs. I'd made my family promise to leave the “grape” alone, since I still felt I “needed it desperately.” If they wanted a psycho kid, I would give them a psycho kid. Still, while they had agreed, I didn’t trust them. They might not be as good at lying as I, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t try.
I walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen; a cozy little room with floral décor on every available surface. My mother loved flowers so much that the rest of the family despised them.
I reached the fridge and hesitated. I'd often been tempted to eat the Fruit, to see if it might let me dream of the Seer again, but I was terrified it wouldn’t work and my one link to Paradise would be gone forever. I couldn’t take that chance. Besides, by now the gerani looked too shriveled, more like a raisin than a grape.
I pulled the fridge door open. My eyes sought the gerani's usual spot, and my heart froze. I searched every shelf, stomach clenched. Something caught in my throat and my hand trembled. The gerani was gone.
I searched again, and again, and again. I moved things, opened things, tossed things—still there was no gerani.
“No,” I whispered, slumping down, hanging on the fridge’s door handle. I’d suspected, but I hadn't actually believed they would remove it.
There was no getting the gerani back now.
There was no proof of Paradise.
But there was a way to get even with them, even if the consequences were severe. As the idea crept from the depths of my sinister mind, I thought of something Crenen had once said of me. “Weak already, after all.” The family believed that to be the case now. So, let them think they'd gone too far. It would only serve them right.
I stood back up, watched the contents of the icebox, cleared my throat—
And screamed.
The response was instantaneous, as though the entire family had braced for a reaction. So, I had only one option open to me: Make it worse than they could fathom.
I collapsed to the floor, not sparing myself bruises. I curled into a ball, hugging my knees to my chest, lying on my side, breathing hard. My father reached me first and lifted my head off the tiled floor as he spoke in soothing tones. I ignored him.
It wasn’t hard to act panicked. It was only an amplification of what I really felt. My one link, the one possible chance of remembering Paradise, had been taken from me—cruelly ripped away at the first sign of independence from said object.
The pain of their betrayal was sharp. They tried to communicate with me, but I pretended not to hear.
“Jacob, get his grape.” Dad’s voice.
This perked my interest, but I remained still. Tears singed my cheeks.
Rummaging sounds ensued. “It’s not here,” Jacob squeaked.
I shoved my guilt way down deep.
“Check his hands,” Mom said, voice quavering.
My hands were pried open.
“Nothing,” Dad said.
“Who took his grape?” Mom asked.
It was a silly situation if one were to watch it; an eighteen-year-old boy, lying helpless in his father’s arms, awaiting the return of his precious comfort object—a grape. But I didn’t care. If the family didn't collaborate against me, who had taken the gerani?
“I did,” Jana said.
A fire ignited inside of me. Why had she done that? What was I doing?
I didn’t move. I couldn't.
“You knew better,” Dad said. “We talked about this.”
“I know,” Jana said, and I pictured her hanging her head like a child.
“Why?” Mom asked, and I noticed the weariness in her voice.
“I didn’t think he’d actually react like this. I thought if I removed the stupid grape, he’d snap out of it. I’m tired of tiptoeing around him all the time.” Her voice was thick. “I don’t know what made him like this suddenly—I just want my brother back.”
Her words stabbed, but I didn’t move. Somehow, I couldn't. My limbs shuddered, and pressure squeezed against my head. My lungs hitched. The last piece of Paradise was gone.
I don’t remember falling asleep in my father’s arms. I only recall snatches of conversations and a few fleeting images of the next few days. It was as though the furry critter from Paradise had bitten me all over again; only, it hadn't.
I went from hot to cold to hot, over and over, and I tossed and turned in my bedding. It was an eternity of discomfort, and I wondered about my sanity during those long, torturous days and nights.
What caused the fever? I didn't know.
While I couldn't grasp the words being formed around me, half the time I felt a sense of urgency from the tones that circled my bed. In those moments, I struggled to free myself of my smothering blankets. It felt like I was swimming through murky waters without light and with only fleeting sounds. Then the urgency would leave, and I sank back into the depths of my dreams.
When I finally managed to pry my eyes open, only a little light streamed in through my curtained window. I attempted to blink my weariness away, but it stuck to my eyelids and forced them closed. Again, I blinked and managed to sit up. A wave of dizziness slammed into my head and I fell back on my pillows, grasping for some secure portion of my blanket to keep from spinning out of control. Darkness threatened to overcome me again, but I resisted.
“Key?”
I conquered the vertigo and looked around the room for the source of the voice. I would’ve assumed it to be a family member, but no one in my family called me Key. I was the only one who called myself Key, except a few creatures from Paradise.
“Crenen?” I couldn’t recall if the voice was male or female, so I had to take an uneducated guess, and though I knew Crenen called me “Strange Coward Boy,” none of the other Paradisian names would come to mind.
“Very good, Strange Coward Boy.” The voiced dripped with amusement.
“Why’d you call me Key?” I mumbled. My eyes scanned the empty room again.
“Strange Coward Boy named Key, yeah? Tall Strong Jerk tell us.”
The image of a tall, masculine man with black hair and bloodred eyes flashed through my mind. “Menen?”
“Well, yeah!” the chipper voice said. “Oh, by way, swim like fish on land flopping as you die.”
“Gee. Thanks.”
“Pleasure.”
I could imagine his sharp teeth split into a malicious grin.
Through my fever the questions I should’ve been asking were slogging to the surface of my brain like snails. “Why’re you here?”
“Slow, yeah? Come to visit. Missed feeding Paradisaical Purple Fruit against better judgment of Tall Strong Jerk.”
“That’s so kind,” I muttered. The annoyance I felt was real, but I had to wonder about the person I was hearing. Was I just crazy?
“We know. We always kind.”
“Why can’t I see you?”
>
“Not left Paradise, dolt.”
“Oh…” My mind shifted toward sleep. The light faded and flashes of strange people blazed in my head. I was starting to dream.
“Sleep, Key,” a different voice whispered. My heart stopped and I fear seeped into my limbs. “Soon…all…destroyed…last…vanish…” It faded in and out, so I couldn't understand, but I grasped enough.
“Lon!” I cried out, remembering the traitor’s name. But then I fell into blue mist. It swallowed me up.
When my fever broke, I awoke, shaken and sweaty. My father sat beside the bed when I opened my eyes, and he smiled. Dark circles had formed under his brown eyes, and his dark hair was tousled. Stubble adorned his normally clean-shaven face.
“You gave us quite a scare, Jason.” He leaned forward and rested a hand on my head.
I appreciated his quiet tones, because even that was enough to hurt my head.
“How long was I out?” I croaked, which made me aware of how thirsty I was.
Dad poured some water into a glass, and helped me sit up to take a sip, then another. When I was satisfied that my parched throat would be okay, I attempted the question again. “How long?”
“After you were out for three days, we took you to the hospital, because your condition was worsening. You've been here for six days.”
The hospital, huh? That would explain the smell of antiseptic. But had I really been out for nine days? Ridiculous. “Why…?” I asked, hoping he would understand my question.
“The doctors think it was a kind of nervous breakdown.”
I nodded; then, realizing what being in the hospital entailed, I glanced down. Sure enough, I was in the normal white patient gown. Great.
Looking up, I met my father’s gaze. “Dad. I'm fine, really.” Staying here anymore wasn't an option; not when I was required to wear a dress. Besides, I couldn't have had an actual breakdown. It had been pretend. A means of forcing the gerani thief into the open. I wasn’t crazy.
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