Crumbling Walls (Jack and Emily #1)

by Laura Strandt

  Tim banged his head on the table he was under and stood up rubbing the back of his skull, “What do you mean?”

  With a raised eyebrow, he saw through Tim easily, “You know exactly what I mean and by the way you smacked your head down there, I’d say you are sitting on information I want and you think I shouldn't get.”

  “Dad ...”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing big, okay? He just … he got into it with some guy a couple days ago, but it never went beyond some yelling in the hall. Nobody got into trouble and it was over before it started.”

  “Tim …”

  “I’m keeping an eye on him.” Leaning against the fender of the van, “Look, he's Jack. Everything always works out for him, haven't you figured that out by now?” With a shake of his head, “He'll come out smelling better than the fucking rose parade. He just has to slog through a few piles of shit to get there.”

  Will wanted to call his son out for swearing but mostly he just hoped Tim was right.

  ▪▪▪

  Elizabeth took a different approach, coming up behind Jack one night while he sat at the kitchen table, homework spread out and eyes unblinking. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she surveyed the work in front of him then kissed him lightly on the cheek, whispering into his ear, “Mama always loves Jack. Don’t forget that, okay?”

  He came so close to crumbling at those words that when he opened his mouth, a barely coherent, “I won’t,” met her ears.

  She waited another minute, but when he stayed quiet, she squeezed him, “You’ll be fine, I promise,” then continued upstairs to bed.

  ▪▪▪

  Emily didn’t wake up when the footsteps passed her door, she’d never fallen asleep, given the look that Jack had on his face when she’d said good-night. He’d been laying on his bed, his earphones firmly jammed in his ears and his iPod resting on his chest. He only opened his eyes when he felt her sit down on the edge of the bed, “Hey you.”

  “Hey.”

  Lying in silence, he continued to look at her until she reached up, tracing once again the now healed scar on his chin, “You were awfully quiet tonight.”

  With a shrug, “Just tired.”

  “Real tired or leave me alone tired?”

  Kissing her newly de-casted fingertips, “Real tired. Too much homework, not enough time.”

  Knowing full well he hadn’t cracked one of his books or even opened his backpack, “Jack …”

  “God, I’m just tired.” He let go of her hand swiftly, “I just need some sleep, okay? I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, um, I’ll go then.” Getting up, she moved towards the door, “G’night.”

  Hearing him rolling over, he didn’t call goodnight back and she went quietly to her room, wishing he would just tell someone what was wrong or she would have to.

  ▪▪▪

  When his footsteps passed by around one in the morning, she gave him a good 20 minutes before following. Creeping down the stairs, she found him curled on the couch, staring at the Weather Channel. Without looking, “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

  She took that as an invitation to sit down, “You didn’t. I was already up.”

  Finally looking at her, his eyes glassy, “Why?”

  “I’m worried about you.” Pulling her legs up and tucking her feet under Jack’s thigh, “You need to talk to somebody. You can’t keep doing this.”

  “What? It’s just a little insomnia.”

  “It’s May now, Jack. A ‘little’ insomnia shouldn’t last two months. Trust me.” He looked at her sharply and she continued, “I’ve been hearing you from the beginning. At first I just figured somebody had a really overactive bladder and I would fall back to sleep, but then I noticed no one ever came back.”

  Tossing the remote down suddenly, he stood, his face glowing in the flicker of the TV, she could see the anger, “I’m fine. I just wish everyone would shut up and trust me. I’ll work it out. I just need a way to work it out.” With that, he brushed past her, leaving her to stare at the international weather maps, completely dumbfounded.

  Tim came into the living room, rubbing his head, making the hair stand on end, “Em?”

  Turning towards him, “Did we wake you up? I’m sorry.”

  He sat down next to her, yawning, “I just heard talking. Was Jack down here with you or have you gone schizophrenic on us?”

  Normally, she would have smiled, but not tonight, “Yeah, um, I seem to have said the wrong thing to him.”

  “Pissed him off?”

  Nodding, "Pretty much.”

  “What’d you say?” Not answering, she just stared forward until she felt Tim’s hand on her arm, patting her gently, “he’ll be fine in the morning.”

  Without thought, she scooted over a little and rested her head on his shoulder, “I don’t think he will.”

  Deciding to be honest with her, “Actually, I don't think he will be, either. He hasn't slept in awhile, has he?”

  Emily knew late-night honesty should flow in both directions, “Not really. I hear him coming down about one or so. I usually leave him alone and hope he falls asleep on the couch but,” shrugging, “I'm pretty sure he stays up until just before Will comes down.”

  “Do you think we should tell Mom and Dad? I mean, I think this messed him up way more than any of us realizes.”

  “Or he realizes and just doesn't want to admit it.”

  “Well, we are a stubborn bunch.”

  “No kidding.”

  Not sure if he should continue, he bit the bullet, “Um, both Mom and Dad have asked me how he's doing. I haven't really said anything though, just told them I'd keep an eye out.” Sighing and absently leaning his head against hers, “Some of the teachers are wondering, too.”

  “I haven't heard anything.”

  Tim chuckled through his nose, patting her knee again in amusement, “Like they'd ever ask the girlfriend. Besides, I don't think anyone wants to pile anything else on you.” Leaving his hand there, he raised a finger in the air, “But it occurs to me that I never asked how you're doing? I mean, granted, that asshole is dead and gone now but still, it's not like you had a great last day with him.”

  Not sure how she felt with Tim's continued invasion of her space, she pushed it to the back of her mind, realizing she was invading his just as much with her head on his shoulder, “I'm doing a lot better than Jack. I still have my share of nightmares, but they're nothing like they could be. I think going down to the morgue and seeing him there helped a lot.”

  “You went down to the morgue? Are you kidding me? How did that not freak you out more?”

  “Like I told Elizabeth, last time I didn't check to make sure he was dead. This time I had to. And since then, I've been pretty okay.”

  “You're a lot damn braver than me.” Propping his legs on the coffee table and sliding down into the couch, he moved his elbow forward, letting his hand dangle from the end of her bent knee, “So, should we just keep a good eye on Jack and go from there or do we have an intervention of A&E style proportions?”

  She'd been asking herself this same question over and over for the last month, “He didn't turn me in when he found out about me, when he realized I was alone. I just … something tells me I need to push him about it, but I don't think I can. I think I'm gonna have to wait and see what happens.”

  Tim finished the thought, “Unless we realize we haven't got that choice anymore.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I agree.” Picking up the remote with his other hand, “Feel like watching bad TV for a little while with me?” Feeling her nod against him, “Cool.”

  After about 20 minutes, she heard Tim snore lightly and, sitting up, she shook his shoulder, “Tim, go to bed.”

  Opening his eyes immediately, he shut them just as fast, “Huh?”

  “Go to bed.”

  Without further argument, he stood and stumbled his way to his room, leaving Emily to turn the TV off before she headed
upstairs. Fighting the urge to go to Jack’s room, she instead crawled under her own covers and turned on her side, hoping sleep would come quickly.

  ▪▪▪

  Things came to a head, however, one Friday evening a few weeks later.

  Around six that night, just after Jack and Emily had finished doing the dinner dishes, Tim came into the kitchen and asked to borrow Jack’s set of car keys. A simple request from one brother to another and the response should have been an easy one. Instead, Jack, after another sleepless night, another rapidly escalating eye-pounding headache and feeling that it was about damn time for Tim to keep track of his keys, had had enough. Turning from the stove, he dug up his keys from his pocket, then whipped them at Tim. The metal ring missing the intended target of Tim’s chest, instead going higher, catching him in the chin, “Make some fucking copies and don’t ask me again.”

  Instant anger had Tim automatically move towards Jack, but he only got two steps in before Jack registered what he'd done and, stepping backwards, knocked Emily, who was behind him, first against the corner of the counter, then down to the linoleum.

  Jack could only look at her, then, without a word, he bolted from the house, the back door banging behind him. Both Tim and Emily stared at one another for a moment before Tim, holding his throbbing lip in one hand, extended the other towards her, slowly pulling her up, “You okay?”

  Tears jumped to her eyes, “Yeah, I just wish the edges were rounded.”

  He’d never done it before, but without thinking about it, he pulled her into a hug, “He needs to talk to Mom and Dad.”

  It was strange contact to her, but she gladly accepted it, hugging him back, “I know. I’ll talk to him when he gets back or I’ll tell Will and Elizabeth myself.”

  Stepping back out of the hug, he took her face in his hands and aiming it towards him, he leaned in a bit, “Good … now, do you think my lip’s gonna swell up? Tell me the truth, I can take it.”

  Emily forgot he wasn’t a six year old Sam and, with a teary smile, kissed her fingertips, then touched the spot where he did indeed have a red indent and the makings of a small bruise, “It’ll heal before you get married.”

  For a single, split second, he looked like he just might do something else, but then he straightened up, his hands falling to his sides, “Works for me.”

  Reaching around, she rubbed her back where the corner had dug in, “Are you gonna be mad at him?”

  He wanted to, he really did, but looking at Emily with her paled skin and still watery eyes, biting her lip absentmindedly, he gave her a half-smile and mashed down his annoyance, “Naw, I was the idiot who lost my keys in the first place. I probably deserved to be smacked with them.”

  “Not really,” locking eyes for a few moments, Emily broke the look, “but thanks.”

  Picking up the forgotten keys, “I'll see you later, okay?”

  With a nod, “Do you think he'll be gone long?”

  “No idea.” As he shrugged, “He'll be back when he's ready.”

  With that, Tim left her standing in the kitchen, alone for just long enough to swipe the last bit of wetness from her cheeks before Elizabeth came in, several boys in tow, “You sure you and Jack don't want to go to the library with us?”

  “Um, yeah, I've got plenty to read and Jack rode his bike over to Dex's house, something about video game coma. He asked me to tell you.”

  “Oh … well, all right then. We'll be back in about an hour.”

  The rest of the evening passed quietly, Emily leaving Jack a voice mail filling him in on his supposed evening at Dex's. She wasn't sure he'd get the message, but it was about all she could do, so she left it at that. Lying in bed later that night, she first heard Tim come in, then, just before midnight, she heard the faint spinning of gears that signaled Jack was home as well.

  ▪▪▪

  After the kitchen incident and knocking Emily down, Jack, flying away from the house on his bike, pedaled blindly for a few minutes, until it occurred to him he needed a destination. Luckily, the first destination seemed to be Dex's house, which he'd unconsciously been headed towards in the first place. Hoping his friend would be home, Jack parked his bike against the garage and knocked on the side door. It took a few minutes, but Dex pulled it open, rubbing his apparently just dyed chartreuse mohawk vigorously with a towel, “Dude.”

  Bypassing the customary 'dude' back, “Can I hide out here for awhile? My house is getting crowded.”

  He ushered him in, still scrubbing his hair dry, “Getting? I'm surprised you people don't bust out the seams of that place on a daily basis.” Any other day, this would have made him laugh and Dex, knowing this, stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor, turning to him, “What did you do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dex had the ability not to question when necessary and, as witnessed through his friendship with Emily, could bite his tongue when called for, but this, in his mind, was not one of those times. Tossing the wet towel over one of the kitchen chairs, “What did you do to warrant needing a place to hide? I don't harbor fugitives unless I feel justified, so spill it.” Jack wondered if he had the energy to work up annoyance at the order, but Dex saw it coming and cocked an eyebrow as he leaned against the kitchen counter, “And don't get all pissy. It's a legitimate question and given you've interrupted my evening off in an empty house, I think I deserve what I demand,” and, just for kicks, he added, “please and thank you.”

  In a sudden rush of jumbled thoughts starting at his own house this morning and ending with the thoughts he'd been trying to ignore for the past six weeks, he felt his throat begin closing. It was a frightening sensation, even though this was not the first time he'd felt it in recent days.

  Dex watched his friend go from normal to scary as all hell in under three seconds and he nearly freaked out himself, but being the strong, fairly composed individual that he was (yet holding on by a mere thread of sanity as he would later admit), he could only squeak out, “What the hell?” before digging his cell phone from his pocket, ready and willing to call 911. Jack, however, could still think clear enough to know what the phone meant. Croaking out a 'no' as he pointed at the phone, he watched through his now tunneling vision as Dex tossed it forgotten on the kitchen counter.

  After that, things progressed quickly. His lungs began screaming for air and the panic set in, strong enough to make his last attack look like child's play. One hand was clawing at his throat, looking for any way to get air into his body, the other flailing around for something to grab onto.

  Vaguely, he felt hands on his upper arms and saw a fast-fading Dex swim close into his vision.

  He couldn't concentrate on anything else, however, but the fact that air was not moving to his lungs, supplying his brain or keeping him from passing out on the floor. Trying to think relaxing thoughts or any thought at all at this point seemed ludicrous and, about to give into the darkness graying his vision, he heard a voice screaming in his ear. It must have been screaming because the blood pounding in his ears was deafening at this point and screaming had to be the only way Dex could be heard.

  And then a small bubble of fresh air slipped down his throat. He had no idea how it got in through the vice squeezing his windpipe, but he welcomed it, using its minute amount of sustenance to force his brain to begin playing his Mario Brothers video game in his mind. Using every ounce of willpower to forget the visions that had set him off in the first place, he played through the first level of the game, focusing only on what move came next.

  Dex was sure his friend was dying on his kitchen floor. As he got a firm hold on Jack's panicked movements, he asked over and over what was wrong, what he could do, what was happening, “Calm down! Jack! Jack,” sure that if Jack did indeed ever get back to normal, he'd at least be deaf in his left ear from the screaming he was doing at him.

  For some reason, this thought relaxed him just enough to make him stop yelling, bringing his tone back to just below ear-drum puncturing, “Son
of a bitch, if you die in my kitchen, I'm gonna be so pissed I'll find a way to come haunt you in the afterlife. I eat grilled cheese sandwiches in here, for God's sake!” He had absolutely no idea where the grilled cheese part came from, but he didn't care, realizing that just after he said it, Jack began to get some color back in his cheeks.

  Jack, as he continued to play the video game in his head, suddenly heard mention of grilled cheese sandwiches. Instantly, he also realized he was moving air again. A very tiny amount, mind you, but honest to God air was rushing into his lungs. He stopped his chest scraping, bringing his floating limbs back under control, feeling for the first time the steel grip of Dex, who was an inch from him, if that, looking whiter than even the crayons in Sam's coloring box. Reaching up, he put his hands on his friend's upper arms, steadying his jelly-like legs, “Grilled cheese?”