“Some kid of yours, Richard.”
“Yeah, some kid.”
“What do you think he’s thinking about right now.”
“I couldn’t say with much certainty, Luanne.”
“You remembered my name.”
“What did I call you before?”
“A few different things.”
“I’m sorry. It always takes me a few times to remember things.”
“Well you certainly passed that trait onto your son.”
“Then I can only hope he is stubborn as I am.”
“He’s going to be okay, Richard. I know he is. I’m sure somewhere in that head of his, he is slowly figuring it all out. When he wakes up, hopefully we can put this all behind us.”
“Do you kiss all your patients’ fathers?”
“Only the messed-up ones. Why, do you kiss all your son’s therapists?”
“Only the female ones.”
Once more they turn back towards James. She speaks. He listens.
“Please wake up soon James. Something else good has to come of this.”
CHAPTER 32: The Face of Fear
The Face drops its blade. It hisses at James and curses under its stale breath. It takes a step towards James. He steps back. It takes another forward. He takes another back. Once more, and it has James against the wall. There is nowhere to run now. He can already feel the chill rising from the creature’s skin. The sudden drop in temperature washes over him. A searing pain wells up from his guts. He feels an ache within every bone in his fingers, toes and chest. The Face locks its eyes onto the centre of his chest. He battles to move his arms into some sort of defensive position. Under the weight of trepidation, it feels like heaving a boulder. It leans into James, pushing its palm into the top of his rib cage. His heart pounds. Without any eye contact, it quickly lashes out and wraps its hands around his neck.
James kicks violently. His instinct takes hold and he tries to battle back. Against a stronger opponent his muscles soon start to weaken. The kicks become a meek attempt to wriggle free. His arms go floppy. His pulse slackens to a slight throb, then a murmur. His eyes roll back, rapidly blinking as he prepares to pull the veil. He starts to see visions of Von smile. He sees his mum laugh, holding Hal in her arms for the first time. He sees his dad carrying him through the woods. Life seems so blissful on the highlight reel. You do not remember the fear, the pain or the sadness. All you see is what the rest of world sees. You see your life from the outside in.
And then, you see clearly. Right before the end, you have a moment of pure clarity. You see what philosophers and spiritual guides have seen and were mocked for during centuries of false discovery. Your entire life flies by until the day you finally stop and ask the question. What is it that is truly killing me? It isn’t death. Death is just the messenger. No, what kills you is what lies within the blackest reaches of your soul. Greetings my friend, from underneath the Bodhi Tree. This is fear, in all its faceless glory.
From afar, The Face so easily latched onto James. But as it chokes him into submission, its eyes are closed. It will not even do him the service of looking him in the eye as it kills him. suddenly he realises. All he needs to do is draw its gaze. He puffs his chest out, trying to pump air into his constricted lungs. It is hard to squeeze out any words, but he moves his lips in vain. He leans in close to The Face, and whispers in its ear.
“Open your eyes.”
It grunts at first, trying to grip tighter. Still, it refuses to open its eyes. James pushes his chest out harder and whispers a little louder.
“Open your eyes.”
It starts to hiss and pushes him hard up against the wall. Its grip loosens for a second, giving James just enough time to swallow the pain and muster a scream.
“Open your fucking eyes!”
The Face shrieks in disgust. It takes a step back, with its hand still loosely gripped around him. It attempts to throw him to the ground, but stumbles and makes the mistake of looking. James has it, and delves deep into its stare. There is nothing below the blackness of its pupils. They are as vacant as the moon. He can see the strain in its cheeks as it tries to turn away. But it cannot. He has its eyes and he will not let it escape. He has seen The Face for what it truly is. A mask. Without the power of physical strength, The Face tries its last dirty trick. It unlocks its victim’s memories. Back at James flash the wolves, the spider, the car wreck, the seizures in class, the cruel taunts from schoolkids. Finally, it is the lifeless eyes of Dale, of Hal, and his mother. All at once, these images swirl around his head.
Its grip is weak now. Its only strength are the words it silently spits at James. Weak. Cowardly. Passive. Cheerleader. Bed wetter. It is false what they say about sticks and stones. Words can and will harm you, but only if you believe them. The harshest words are saved for ourselves, and the kindest for heroes we never meet. But not here, and not now. The Face’s words slide around James like water does on rocks. It has no power in this world, because this world belongs to him. This world does as he says. So, James speaks. He tells the wolves to return. They materialise from the dead bodies within the castle’s walls. All four of the creatures howl and arrange themselves into formation.
James pleads for their blood-lust once more. He tells them to smell the air. He tells them to taste the fear of The Face. He tells them to seek out the stench of rot. He tells them to prey upon the monster choking the life from him. He tells them to rip it to pieces; to strip its bones from its flesh. He tells them to do this, and to the wolves obey. The Face lets go of James and they both fall to the ground. The fog clears from James’ head and the wolves pounce. The attack is so close to him he can feel the heat of their breath. They tear at every inch of their helpless victim. A perfect silence fills the air as The Face finally dies. He hears its voice in his head fade away. The wolves have their fill.
There are distant flashes quickly followed by several claps of thunder. The world takes it turn now to speak to James. It tells him it is time to leave. As he rises to his feet, the wolves turn and face him. The alpha bows down, and growls quietly back at the others. In turn, their heads lower and they retreat into the corner of the keep. Their blood smeared teeth glint like daggers in the dark. They sit passively, watching their leader circle back towards James. The alpha licks its lips, cleaning some of the gore from its face. Its movements become slow and calm. With James managing only to rise to his knees, the wolf and its gigantic teeth meet him face to face. James hesitates, but quickly realises he is in no immediate danger.
The wolf looks at him with the gentlest of blue eyes. He remembers looking into the same eyes as a child and seeing only emptiness. It was an otherworldly monster, fuelled by nothing more than the hunger of blind rage. This time it is so much different. He sees a subtle glimmer. In its stare is something more than primal nature. He can see the soul within the beast. It pants excitedly before leaning into his chest. He offers his hand and the wolf allows James to cradle its head in his arms. It licks the palm of his hand and nuzzles its muscular body into his side. James rises to his feet and the wolf sits obediently before him.
It looks back at the other three members of the pack and they dutifully walk towards James. One by one they sit, and one by one they accept his placid hand. He enjoys the moment, as fleeting as it may be. He may have tamed the wolves, but now they must go. They dash away from the castle, aimed directly for the fiery mountain. Their fate is sealed. That much James knows for certain. The clouds roll in. The earth crumbles. The world finally falls apart. It is only logical to have such an ending. This world was built upon James’ fear, and without that fear there is no stability. The final grains of sand trickle out. Still, there is one final act of his time in Navoeth. The great escape.
He can already see a black veil on the horizon. It is his winged prayer. Like every girl in the real world would, Von completely ignored James’ wishes. He told her to go without him. Yet, here she is. He has never appreciated her stubbornness as much as he d
oes right now. The castle begins to crack down the middle. The brickwork comes tumbling down as the earth opens under it. Fire and ash engulf the sky. The ocean fills once more as giant waves roll in from the horizon. The skeleton forest is swept away like a matchstick city. Newly-deceased bodies wash away with it. The gorgeous destruction reaches a crest upon the mountain top as black water begins to lap at the castle’s towers. So little time left now.
James hold his breath. The waves start to crash over the walls, limiting what little safe space there is left. Von’s approach is swift, and he can almost see the blurry lines of her face. Eryr’s wings thrash hard against the breeze. A merciless wind brings with it salty lashings of black water. The last thing James sees is a flurry of her raven hair reaching out to him. Though The Face is dead, James still feels the power of The Shadow. It is the howling storm. It is the icy water. It is the searing fire of heaven’s burning stars. It is the fist of an unseen god hammering down. It is James, and it will follow wherever he leads. This he knows, and this he no longer dreads. He has faced the sum of all his fears. He has stared it in the eye, and he has defeated it. There is time enough now for one more leap. He steps back to gather momentum, and waits for a break in the waves.
There is a lapse in the storm, and finally he can see the features of her face. The glint of Eryr’s talons cuts through the darkness. She lets out a loud screech and begins to dive towards him. With one final clap of thunder, the castle disintegrates. Eryr makes one last push. A rush of adrenaline takes over James’ body. He launches himself as high and far from the walls as possible. He doesn’t look down, denying the ocean as it opens its jaws. He falls, extends his hand, and Von receives it. His feet feel the cold of the water, but once again he leaves the scene unscathed.
The earth below splits into countless giant chasms. Magnificent cliffs are reduced to nothing. Auburn forests are blanketed in water. The black ocean melts into the sky as the second sun takes its final breath. The clouds above them reverberate as a dying star consumes itself. Finally, it blacks out before breaking apart in the colourful streams. As James and Von head for the glass ceiling, the last thing they see is a gorgeous shower of comets. They provide the fireworks for what is this world’s final midnight. He marvels at the iridescent fingers as they creep across the sky. By the time the fireballs hit the earth, there is little left to destroy. Navoeth is dead, but they are alive.
They look up beyond the cloud-line to see their reflection. Eryr braces for impact. Sadly, she will take the brunt of this collision. It will be her very last action in this universe. At least it shall be a brave one. James whispers goodbye to her. She can’t respond, but she hears him. He wishes it could be another way, but some accidents are entirely necessary. An accident brought James into this world. Only an accident can take him back. He looks down one last time as the water consumes the fiery mountain. Goodbye Eryr. Goodbye Navoeth.
“Whatever happens, I love you Von,” come his final words.
CHAPTER 33: The Space Between
At the end of a life, it seems only right to discuss the meaning of it all. James drifts between two worlds, thinking back to a conversation he had with Professor Johnson. The wise professor asked him why James would always pout. In return, James asked Johnson why he always smiles. He assured the Professor that no one could possibly be happy all the time. Johnson agreed with James’ statement, reiterating that he himself was not in some permanent state of bliss. He was in fact, far from it. Professor Johnson struggled sometimes to convince himself that each day was worth getting out of bed for; that it was worthwhile shaving and showering and dressing and brushing his teeth and walking to work to deliver one more heartfelt, yet often-ignored lesson. Though this was the case, he would always force himself to smile.
James said that this still did not answer his question, and further reinforced the notion that a pouty face was a more honest reflection of his mood. Professor Johnson agreed, saying a smile is not proof of happiness, but an illusion thereof. He then asked James a very peculiar question. Is the illusion of happiness not better than a reality of sadness?
This question has taken on a whole new life, as James passes through these most extraordinary motions. Some people operate under the illusion that they could die at any moment. It may be due to an accident, disease, or the cause of their very own hands. Someone at this very moment may be seconds away from launching themselves in front of oncoming traffic. They may have lethal toxins already invading their nervous system. The reality is, it could happen and it is unwise to think differently.
But what if one kind smile was enough to reconsider ending life as you knew it? What if one tiny connection in an egocentric world could save someone’s life? What if it couldn’t? What if all our best efforts to mend someone broken counted for nothing? Some would say it was a waste. James would say the effort was still worthwhile. If the last thing you ever saw was a kind smile, would you not die happy? Or at least die with the illusion of happiness? If you can accept the fact that you too will someday die, you can kiss away your every fear. You can live for, and truly savour every moment. Do this, and your life will be poetry in motion. He floats away, and the words flow through him.
There are beautiful faces you’ll never see,
Fresh places you’ll never be,
But never lose the will to dream.
Tell your stories,
Of mountains green and oceans blue,
Don’t die with the music still in you.
CHAPTER 34: Cariad yn breuddwyd (Love is a Dream)
I wake up in the real world. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Sunlight pierces the glass and kisses my clammy skin. Beneath my pale arms, I feel the cold sensation of saline rushing through my bloodstream. The pain has not returned but my body feels weak. I look above me to see a get-well card mounted against the window pane. I do not know who sent it, but I can see my name written inside. It is a surprising reminder that someone missed me while I was gone. Above the card hangs a tiny sparkling gold decoration; made from card stock and glitter paint. The infantile embellishments suggest it was not intended for me. It must’ve been put there by some kid for a sick relative who lay in this bed before me. The thought makes me squirm in the stiff white sheets. I suppose the nurses admired its child-like cuteness enough to leave it hanging. Perhaps they felt too guilty removing it. I’m glad they didn’t. Through glassy scotch tape, I watch colourful beams of light as they dance against the far wall. Faces and daggers bounce around in circles. Every now and then, a little rainbow appears on the ceiling. It is an avalanche of colour against a sterile white backdrop.
In the next room, I hear a TV. The words are almost indistinguishable, and all I can gather is that it’s the news read by an impossibly nasal presenter. Whoever is watching doesn’t seem too interested. They flick through the channels and soon the newsreader is replaced by several obnoxious voiceovers and jingles. The ads cease when the viewer is hooked in with dramatic dialogue set to an ominous score. Now I can feel the pain returning. I hear the viewer’s deep grunt, followed by a thick, gross hacking of phlegm. I crease my nose up as I imagine a grotesquely obese old man, clinging to his life with a set of bloated fingers. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
A few minutes pass by and I hear the female character in the show start to cry. Daytime drama is the worst. He must think the same, as I hear him bang the remote against his bedframe and change the channel. A full cycle, and it turns out the news was the best option after all. The pain worsens as he turns the volume up a little louder. God, he must be deaf as well as old and fat. The nasally voice is now so loud I’m sure the entire ward can hear it. I look at the ceiling to see the rainbow is gone. Outside, a cloud moves over the sun and the decoration hangs in the shadows. There is nothing but blank space, so I stare at the machines attached to my side. They click and breathe and drip and occasionally make a disconcerting beeping sound. All the while, the TV next door drones away. The fat old man coughs and splutters until I
can barely hear myself think. What a warm reintroduction to the real world.
Then I hear something; a faint tapping sound. It’s close. What was that? Is there someone in my room? I look up. There it is again. It’s coming from a tall linen closet at the far end of the room. Holy shit. The knowing dread starts to boil inside me. Tap. Tap. Tap. Did something follow me back? I can’t sit up to see. I roll onto my left side. I feel a sting as the chords extend and rip the tape off my forearm. Tap. Tap. Tap. It’s louder now, trying to get out. One of the doors slowly creaks open. here it comes. Jesus Christ! How can this be happening again? I thought I killed it? There’s a scratch on the inside of the closet, followed by a loud clunking sound. The contents of the closet spill out. There’s a broomstick, followed by dozens of towels and clean bedpans. I hear a single cough, then a wheezing first breath.
It finally appears; the most beautiful sight in any world imaginable. It’s her. She crawls out, trembling as she slips over the mess from the closet. It takes her several seconds before she eventually finds her footing. Once upright, she skulks to the nearest corner, seeking the safety of the shadows. She still hasn’t seen me, but I see her. It’s her eyes that stand out; those big brown eyes.
Next it is her naked body that numbs the aching atmosphere. The pale light of the room frames her slender hips. She leans forward, using her delicate fingers to hold herself against the wall. Her stance in this position further accentuates her hourglass figure. I force myself not to look at her bare chest, but even in the dark I can clearly see her perfect shape. Her soft breasts rise and fall with every deep breath she takes. Her legs quiver, both from the cold and her own trepidation. They are immeasurably long and short and striking as she twists in all directions. I know it’s her, but still I have to ask.
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