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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Thank you for all the reviews. Sorry it took so long, but the plot bunnies refused to move from their designated spots and create ideas. Also, RL had been a bit unkind of late but things are slowly moving back under control. Hope you like this and I’ll try and post the chaps to the other stories as soon as possible.
Preparations
The Centre – Monday morning
Lyle entered his office with a light step, relaxed from the weekend spent outdoors. He whistled a nonsensical song, happy with his preparations. He filled a tumbler with some scotch before sliding into his chair. He leaned in and punched a four-digit extension number.
"Did you find anything?” Lyle asked, turning the chair so that he stared out his windows.
“We have a hit on the site that has some potential. Do you want me to forward the information to you?”
“How much potential?” he asked, watching the surf break on the rocks.
“Ninety six percent probability. I’ll know more once I have received the second reply.”
Lyle smiled and brought the drink to his lips. He took a long sip, and then answered, “As soon as you know I want the information brought to me. Then I want you to delete all the files that relate to this search.”
“I don’t think I have access rights to do that. I’ll need a higher security profile to do it.”
“Don’t worry about it. You will have what you need.” He answered as he hung up the phone.
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The Russell home - Wednesday
The air was hazy, mist tendrils drifting between the darkened stumps of the trees. He could see his breath materialise in front of him. His breath drifted away from him, fleeting in its existence before it became part of the whole and escaped with the rest of the cold mist. Another breath escaped. It was as if part of his soul was scattering right in front of him, splitting into different directions. He became more aware of the lack of sound. The mist dimmed everything, even the sound of his heartbeat. He tried to focus into the trees around him, to find his way.
He was lost.
His heartbeat increased. Panic forced him to turn left then right in a vain attempt to find his way. How did he end up here, in the middle of nowhere? His blood turned ice cold when the soft sound of laughter drifted towards him on the cloud of mist. He took a step back and stumbled. His feet were entangled in roots that had grown over them. He jerked on the roots, trying to dislodge them, slicing his hands on the thorns that had somehow sprung up. The laughter was sinister, cold and without remorse. It filled him with fear.
The mist took form, materialising into something more solid in front of him. He swallowed, facing the spectre that had formed in front of him. He couldn’t move. His whole being was frozen by guilt as he stared at the face of the rancher who had helped him. A litany vibrated inside him, trying to explain that he was sorry. The blood still dripped from the gaping wound in the man’s chest. The dark maroon color he remembers, the pool of blood that had slowly spread from beneath Michael’s body.
His feet were free.
He turned away from the nightmare and ran. He darted past the tall columns of trees, trying to run from his guilt. The laughter followed, swift and sure behind him. He glanced behind him, trying to ignore the screaming face that wanted to swallow him whole. He ran faster, if that was possible at all, the trees now a blur. The cold tendrils of fingers brushed his body, bringing with it the coldness of death. He shut his eyes, held his breath and ran past the coldness. He couldn’t think past his terror, past the knowledge that he had killed the rancher.
It was his fault.
He stopped. Turned. Waited.
A tombstone stood in front of him. Reflecting of the moonlight, mist dancing on the ground. Edged into the stone was his name.
Alone.
Coward.
Death.
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J hurt. He was sitting on a rock, staring down the steep slope towards where the creek meandered through the red rock. Sweat still dripped down his body from the run. He had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. One pill was not enough anymore to keep the nightmares at bay. The light increased, he could feel the heat of the new day on his back. A cramp in his left calf muscle reminded him painfully how hard he had pushed himself this time. He stood, stepped away from the precipice and stretched. The dull throbbing pain made him feel alive. He eased the calf muscle loose, before beginning a slow jog back down the mountain towards where there house sat. Hopefully he could get out of the house before his parents woke. At least then he wouldn’t need to answer questions.
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The car swerved dangerously on the road before Jarod managed to bring it under control. He honked furiously to the slow moving Ford in front of him, barely giving the other driver the chance to move to the curve of the road before he blasted past. As he drove automatically, he remembered his father’s frantic voice on the phone.
“Jarod, J’s disappeared.”
His immediate thought had been the Centre, but if that had been the case, why would they only have taken J. He thought briefly about Lyle, but dismissed it immediately. His nemesis was dead, nothing would bring him back. The only logical conclusion he could draw was that J had decided to run away.
“He was not in his room when I woke. He usually went for a run in the mornings but he never returned.”
The conversation was still real, still there in the back of his mind. He had asked if J had not gone to school early but according to his dad that was not the case. He finally saw the turn-of to the tracks and took it at 40 miles an hour. He nearly skidded out of control, but once again managed to bring the car under control. He was angry at J for making his parents worry. He mind was still conjuring up ways of handling the situation when he spotted J’s blue sweater next to the tracks. He brought the car to a stop just in front of the boy, the dust clouds roiling around them as he got out and glared at J. J glared back equally hard, his hands in fists next to his side.
“What where you thinking, or better yet, you didn’t,” he growled, his own stance tight and full of unshed anger.
“Leave me alone,” J said, turning his back on his older brother. Jarod stepped towards the boy and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him around so that J could face him. He wasn’t prepared for the fist that connected solidly to his jaw. He reeled back from the blow, the car bringing his tottering to a standstill and providing some support. J had already turned and had started to walk away. Jarod felt his anger rise, and he used the car to push from and tackled J to the ground. He ignored the scrapping of skin from his elbows, instead focused on getting the wriggling body beneath him under control. His hands grabbed J’s writs, folding over the scars that marked his own. He pushed the boy’s arms over his head, pushing it into the ground. His body sat heavily on J’s abdomen, his stare into J’s cold eyes silently warning him to be still.
J fought the weight and grip of his brother for a full minute before he realised the futility of it all. He went limp, admitting defeat. He turned his head to the side, not acknowledging his brother that towered over him.
“How can you do that to our parents?”
He ignored the burning in his eyes, instead focusing on the pebble that was making indentations in his lower back. It was painful, but instead of letting his brother know, he relished in it. Pain made him alive; it was what defined his life since Lyle.
“J!...Dammit, answer me, why are you doing this?”
He slowly turned his dead eyes towards his brother, showing no emotions. He gathered saliva and then spit, watching with satisfaction as the projectile landed on Jarod’s chin. He brother looked at him with shock, silently letting J’s hands go and wiping at the spit. Jarod rose, grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him into the passenger seat. Without a word they drove back to the farmhouse, the silence deafening in the car. J wanted to say he was sorry, he regretted his action but he couldn’t get himself to open his mouth and say the words. It was as if he had been dumb-struck, all the more to see the hurt in his brother’s face.
They finally stopped in front of the house, his parents opening the door, waiting. He didn’t even look at his brother as he opened the door and left. He watched his father’s questioning face as Jarod drove off without a word. His face burned from shame, he could feel the heat waves rolling from his body. His dad’s face shifted back to his guilty stance, the now slowly rising anger asking questions that he had no answer to.
“Get in the house. Now.”
He nodded, walking past his dad, glancing at the worried look in his mother’s face. He made it to his room before he burst into tears, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He regretted the whole day, he regretted what he had done to Jarod, and he regretted the look on his father’s face.
He wished he was dead.
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West coast
“Jarod, what happened?”
Jarod smirked; eyeing the red mark on his jaw that he knew would turn black and blue in a day. He grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, gingerly pushing it against the now forming bruise.
“I think J has finally grown up. He hit me.”
Miss Parker stared at him incredulously, her gaze disbelievingly. “He did what?”
“He took his right fist and connected it to my jaw. And then proceeded to walk away. I tried to find out why he was doing this, but he ignored me and then, as if hitting me wasn’t enough, he spat in my face.” Jarod gave a short laugh, grimacing as he pushed the ice pack against his face. “And you know what made my day; he didn’t even have the gall to say his sorry. Not even one word.”
Jarod watched as Miss Parker grabbed her jacket. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She turned, her eyes angry as she gazed at Jarod. “J needs to be taught a lesson and I intend to do that. With or without your parent’s approval.”
“How do you plan on doing that? J is ignoring everyone, denying all who want to help him.”
Miss Parker groaned, throwing her jacket on the chair. “Fine, Jarod. But if that boy lifts one more hand to you, he will learn the hard way what you and his parents have done for him.”
Jarod nodded; there was nothing else to do. He was fed up with the way J acted. He felt guilty about his own actions but he knew that J needed to at some stage take responsibility for his own actions. He could only hope that some day J will learn to forgive him, too.
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Dr Brown’s residence, Saturday morning
Dr Brown gave a good look at his patient. Dark smudges underneath J’s eyes told him that the boy was not sleeping well. J was not looking at him, instead focusing on the sleeve of the top he was wearing. His fingers was nervously plugging at the frayed edges, his feet shuffling again till with a guilty look he stopped them moving.
“J?” he waited until the dark eyes focused slowly on him. He could see all the emotions that the boy was trying to suppress rage inside, silent and deadly.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?”
The boy nodded, and then looked away. The psychiatrist noticed the increased tugging at the sleeve.
“J, don’t you want to take your top off. I’m sure that you have to be uncomfortable in this heat.”
J looked into the knowing eyes of Dr Brown. Slowly he took the top off, folding his arms against his chest after he had dropped the top on the sofa next to him. He was tired of fighting. His nightmares now included Jarod and even with the sleeping pills he couldn’t get more than an hour sleep in at any one time. He was falling asleep in class, jerking awake in fright when the teacher touched his arm. He could still remember the laughter of his class mates, increasing his anger even more. He had been suspended for a fortnight when he had chosen to show one of the class members what happened if he was made fun of. The voice of Dr Brown reminded him that he was not alone in the room. He unclenched his fists and leaned back into the softness of the sofa. He tried to pretend that everything was all right but when he looked up again, he knew that he had failed.
“Can I see your arms, J?”
Wordlessly he extended them. He didn’t need to look to see the ugly red scars that now criss-crossed his forearms. He self-consciously rubbed the lines, drawing his arms back to his chest again.
“When did you start doing this to yourself?”
J looked at the lines, seeing in his mind’s eye once again when his hand had drawn the razor blade across his arm and watched as the blood welled up from the cut. The pain had been bitter sweet, a sharpness that brought with it the knowledge that he deserved the pain, that the pain was his friend. It wasn’t the same as when Lyle had cut him, but for now it had to do.
“J, are you listening?”
He swallowed, and then nodded. He was tongue-tied, unable to express what was inside him.
“J, I want you to focus on me. Can you do that?”
J moved his eyes from his own cuts, looking at the concerned gaze of the psychiatrist.
“I want you to tell me when you had started to cut yourself?”
He finally managed to open his mouth, and he managed to croak out, “T…Thursday.”
Dr Brown breathed in, aware of how vulnerable J was at the moment. Something had happened that had driven J further from healing and he needed to find out what had happened.
“What happened on Wednesday?”
J couldn’t live with it anymore. He had no idea how to tell it, but it came out haltingly and with jumpstarts until he had told all. He ended up leaning into the psychiatrist, his arms pressed tight against his body as Dr Brown hugged J to himself. His body jerked with each sob, as he finally allowed his emotions to exit. He had no idea how long they sat like that, when he finally felt the arms loosen around him.
“Feeling better?”
He smiled, wiping at the tears that still clung to his face. “Good. Why don’t I make us some coffee and you can use the bathroom to clean up a bit.” J nodded, watching the psychiatrist leave.
Five minutes later he was again seated on the sofa, Dr Brown seated in his chair.
“J, you know what you have to do. It is going to be hard but you need to speak to your brother.”
J agreed, hoping that he would get a chance to speak to Jarod. He took another sip of the coffee, enjoying the smell and taste of the drink.
“Do you want to tell me about the nightmares that you had been having?”
J flinched as a flashback hit him. “I…I,” he looked down, wondering how he was going to explain that he had been responsible for the death of the rancher that had tried to help him. Dr Brown waited patiently, prodding every few minutes until J had managed to tell some of what had happened. Dr Brown looked at him, putting his now finished cup of java on the table in front of him.
“Sometimes people believe what they want to and not the truth because it makes it easier for them to deal with what they experienced.”
A surprised look centred on J’s face as he mulled the statement over.
“J, did you pull the trigger of the gun?”
“No, but…”
“I asked a simple question. The rancher may have lived longer if he had not chosen to pick you up, but it had been his choice. He knew the risks. This was not your fault, J. You were not the one that had pulled the trigger.”
J’s hands gripped the mug tight, his eyes glistening with unshed tears again.
“J…it was not your fault.”
He wasn’t even aware of the mug hitting the floor, as images flashed before his eyes again. Michael’s face when he had washed his feet morphed continuously with the dead face of the rancher when the pool of blood had slowly spread from beneath his body. And he remembered the voice of the Albino telling him that he would never escape the Centre. His body started to respond to the bile that rose. A bin was pushed under his nose and he let go, allowing the liquid to spill into the bin. He heaved again, emptying his stomach in the blue bin of the physiatrist.
A glass was pressed against his lips and he rinsed his mouth clean. He had no idea why but somehow he felt better. He knew that he still had a lot of issues to deal with but little by little he was going to win. He had finally come to the realisation that the Albino had been responsible for the rancher’s death on one level. He could only hope his unconscious understood. At least it will be hopefully be one nightmare less.
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West coast – late afternoon
Jarod enjoyed the feel of Parker’s hand in his as they sat and watched the sun set. His dad had phoned earlier after having spoken to Dr Brown. J was making progress, slowly. For now they had to keep all blades from the boy. His parents had been shocked when J had told them about the self mutilation he had put himself through. The psychiatrist had suggested that until J was strong enough, they had to remove any temptation of the boy to hurt himself again. J wanted to speak to him and they had agreed that they would have a chat tomorrow after lunch.
He turned his head from the setting sun to watch the play of light on his best friend’s face. Her dark hair framed her face, the sun’s last rays creating a halo around her. He stared, not wanting to believe how beautiful she looked at that moment. She turned, he gaze settling on him, frowning slightly at the look in his eyes.
“Something wrong, Jarod.”
He lifted his hand and softly stroked her cheek. He tucked in a stray hair, and then leaned in and kissed her so deep that he thought he was going to drown. He forgot about J and the problems of his family, his ignored his own demons and instead focused all his power he had on the woman next to him. She returned the kiss and when he finally broke away, he was breathless. Her whole being smiled back at him and he had never been more content than at that moment.
“I want to show you something.”
She followed his lead, her hand light in his as he stepped down towards the water. The surf was less violent, low tide calming the ocean for a little bit. He stepped into the water, ignoring the wetness as she followed.
“What is it, Jarod?”
He laughed, spinning her with him. The spray wet both of them, leaving glistening trails down her face. He stopped, holding her steady before kneeling down and pulling a box from his pocket. He looked up as he presented the ring in the surf, watching her face glow.
“I know that I may never be the perfect husband, but I was never so certain of one thing but this, Parker. I want you to be my wife. I want you to share my life with your’s for now and all eternity. I want to wake up next to you in the morning and watch you sleep at night. I want to grow old with you.”
Miss Parker could not believe it. She had never expected this, thinking that Jarod wanted to get everything under control before their friendship turned even more serious. Her answer was to bowl him over, and as they rolled in the breakwater she screamed her happiness for the whole world to hear.
“Yes!”
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Reviews are welcome. ALWAYS.
Thank you for all the reviews. Sorry it took so long, but the plot bunnies refused to move from their designated spots and create ideas. Also, RL had been a bit unkind of late but things are slowly moving back under control. Hope you like this and I’ll try and post the chaps to the other stories as soon as possible.
Preparations
The Centre – Monday morning
Lyle entered his office with a light step, relaxed from the weekend spent outdoors. He whistled a nonsensical song, happy with his preparations. He filled a tumbler with some scotch before sliding into his chair. He leaned in and punched a four-digit extension number.
"Did you find anything?” Lyle asked, turning the chair so that he stared out his windows.
“We have a hit on the site that has some potential. Do you want me to forward the information to you?”
“How much potential?” he asked, watching the surf break on the rocks.
“Ninety six percent probability. I’ll know more once I have received the second reply.”
Lyle smiled and brought the drink to his lips. He took a long sip, and then answered, “As soon as you know I want the information brought to me. Then I want you to delete all the files that relate to this search.”
“I don’t think I have access rights to do that. I’ll need a higher security profile to do it.”
“Don’t worry about it. You will have what you need.” He answered as he hung up the phone.
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The Russell home - Wednesday
The air was hazy, mist tendrils drifting between the darkened stumps of the trees. He could see his breath materialise in front of him. His breath drifted away from him, fleeting in its existence before it became part of the whole and escaped with the rest of the cold mist. Another breath escaped. It was as if part of his soul was scattering right in front of him, splitting into different directions. He became more aware of the lack of sound. The mist dimmed everything, even the sound of his heartbeat. He tried to focus into the trees around him, to find his way.
He was lost.
His heartbeat increased. Panic forced him to turn left then right in a vain attempt to find his way. How did he end up here, in the middle of nowhere? His blood turned ice cold when the soft sound of laughter drifted towards him on the cloud of mist. He took a step back and stumbled. His feet were entangled in roots that had grown over them. He jerked on the roots, trying to dislodge them, slicing his hands on the thorns that had somehow sprung up. The laughter was sinister, cold and without remorse. It filled him with fear.
The mist took form, materialising into something more solid in front of him. He swallowed, facing the spectre that had formed in front of him. He couldn’t move. His whole being was frozen by guilt as he stared at the face of the rancher who had helped him. A litany vibrated inside him, trying to explain that he was sorry. The blood still dripped from the gaping wound in the man’s chest. The dark maroon color he remembers, the pool of blood that had slowly spread from beneath Michael’s body.
His feet were free.
He turned away from the nightmare and ran. He darted past the tall columns of trees, trying to run from his guilt. The laughter followed, swift and sure behind him. He glanced behind him, trying to ignore the screaming face that wanted to swallow him whole. He ran faster, if that was possible at all, the trees now a blur. The cold tendrils of fingers brushed his body, bringing with it the coldness of death. He shut his eyes, held his breath and ran past the coldness. He couldn’t think past his terror, past the knowledge that he had killed the rancher.
It was his fault.
He stopped. Turned. Waited.
A tombstone stood in front of him. Reflecting of the moonlight, mist dancing on the ground. Edged into the stone was his name.
Alone.
Coward.
Death.
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J hurt. He was sitting on a rock, staring down the steep slope towards where the creek meandered through the red rock. Sweat still dripped down his body from the run. He had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. One pill was not enough anymore to keep the nightmares at bay. The light increased, he could feel the heat of the new day on his back. A cramp in his left calf muscle reminded him painfully how hard he had pushed himself this time. He stood, stepped away from the precipice and stretched. The dull throbbing pain made him feel alive. He eased the calf muscle loose, before beginning a slow jog back down the mountain towards where there house sat. Hopefully he could get out of the house before his parents woke. At least then he wouldn’t need to answer questions.
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The car swerved dangerously on the road before Jarod managed to bring it under control. He honked furiously to the slow moving Ford in front of him, barely giving the other driver the chance to move to the curve of the road before he blasted past. As he drove automatically, he remembered his father’s frantic voice on the phone.
“Jarod, J’s disappeared.”
His immediate thought had been the Centre, but if that had been the case, why would they only have taken J. He thought briefly about Lyle, but dismissed it immediately. His nemesis was dead, nothing would bring him back. The only logical conclusion he could draw was that J had decided to run away.
“He was not in his room when I woke. He usually went for a run in the mornings but he never returned.”
The conversation was still real, still there in the back of his mind. He had asked if J had not gone to school early but according to his dad that was not the case. He finally saw the turn-of to the tracks and took it at 40 miles an hour. He nearly skidded out of control, but once again managed to bring the car under control. He was angry at J for making his parents worry. He mind was still conjuring up ways of handling the situation when he spotted J’s blue sweater next to the tracks. He brought the car to a stop just in front of the boy, the dust clouds roiling around them as he got out and glared at J. J glared back equally hard, his hands in fists next to his side.
“What where you thinking, or better yet, you didn’t,” he growled, his own stance tight and full of unshed anger.
“Leave me alone,” J said, turning his back on his older brother. Jarod stepped towards the boy and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him around so that J could face him. He wasn’t prepared for the fist that connected solidly to his jaw. He reeled back from the blow, the car bringing his tottering to a standstill and providing some support. J had already turned and had started to walk away. Jarod felt his anger rise, and he used the car to push from and tackled J to the ground. He ignored the scrapping of skin from his elbows, instead focused on getting the wriggling body beneath him under control. His hands grabbed J’s writs, folding over the scars that marked his own. He pushed the boy’s arms over his head, pushing it into the ground. His body sat heavily on J’s abdomen, his stare into J’s cold eyes silently warning him to be still.
J fought the weight and grip of his brother for a full minute before he realised the futility of it all. He went limp, admitting defeat. He turned his head to the side, not acknowledging his brother that towered over him.
“How can you do that to our parents?”
He ignored the burning in his eyes, instead focusing on the pebble that was making indentations in his lower back. It was painful, but instead of letting his brother know, he relished in it. Pain made him alive; it was what defined his life since Lyle.
“J!...Dammit, answer me, why are you doing this?”
He slowly turned his dead eyes towards his brother, showing no emotions. He gathered saliva and then spit, watching with satisfaction as the projectile landed on Jarod’s chin. He brother looked at him with shock, silently letting J’s hands go and wiping at the spit. Jarod rose, grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him into the passenger seat. Without a word they drove back to the farmhouse, the silence deafening in the car. J wanted to say he was sorry, he regretted his action but he couldn’t get himself to open his mouth and say the words. It was as if he had been dumb-struck, all the more to see the hurt in his brother’s face.
They finally stopped in front of the house, his parents opening the door, waiting. He didn’t even look at his brother as he opened the door and left. He watched his father’s questioning face as Jarod drove off without a word. His face burned from shame, he could feel the heat waves rolling from his body. His dad’s face shifted back to his guilty stance, the now slowly rising anger asking questions that he had no answer to.
“Get in the house. Now.”
He nodded, walking past his dad, glancing at the worried look in his mother’s face. He made it to his room before he burst into tears, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He regretted the whole day, he regretted what he had done to Jarod, and he regretted the look on his father’s face.
He wished he was dead.
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West coast
“Jarod, what happened?”
Jarod smirked; eyeing the red mark on his jaw that he knew would turn black and blue in a day. He grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, gingerly pushing it against the now forming bruise.
“I think J has finally grown up. He hit me.”
Miss Parker stared at him incredulously, her gaze disbelievingly. “He did what?”
“He took his right fist and connected it to my jaw. And then proceeded to walk away. I tried to find out why he was doing this, but he ignored me and then, as if hitting me wasn’t enough, he spat in my face.” Jarod gave a short laugh, grimacing as he pushed the ice pack against his face. “And you know what made my day; he didn’t even have the gall to say his sorry. Not even one word.”
Jarod watched as Miss Parker grabbed her jacket. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She turned, her eyes angry as she gazed at Jarod. “J needs to be taught a lesson and I intend to do that. With or without your parent’s approval.”
“How do you plan on doing that? J is ignoring everyone, denying all who want to help him.”
Miss Parker groaned, throwing her jacket on the chair. “Fine, Jarod. But if that boy lifts one more hand to you, he will learn the hard way what you and his parents have done for him.”
Jarod nodded; there was nothing else to do. He was fed up with the way J acted. He felt guilty about his own actions but he knew that J needed to at some stage take responsibility for his own actions. He could only hope that some day J will learn to forgive him, too.
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Dr Brown’s residence, Saturday morning
Dr Brown gave a good look at his patient. Dark smudges underneath J’s eyes told him that the boy was not sleeping well. J was not looking at him, instead focusing on the sleeve of the top he was wearing. His fingers was nervously plugging at the frayed edges, his feet shuffling again till with a guilty look he stopped them moving.
“J?” he waited until the dark eyes focused slowly on him. He could see all the emotions that the boy was trying to suppress rage inside, silent and deadly.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?”
The boy nodded, and then looked away. The psychiatrist noticed the increased tugging at the sleeve.
“J, don’t you want to take your top off. I’m sure that you have to be uncomfortable in this heat.”
J looked into the knowing eyes of Dr Brown. Slowly he took the top off, folding his arms against his chest after he had dropped the top on the sofa next to him. He was tired of fighting. His nightmares now included Jarod and even with the sleeping pills he couldn’t get more than an hour sleep in at any one time. He was falling asleep in class, jerking awake in fright when the teacher touched his arm. He could still remember the laughter of his class mates, increasing his anger even more. He had been suspended for a fortnight when he had chosen to show one of the class members what happened if he was made fun of. The voice of Dr Brown reminded him that he was not alone in the room. He unclenched his fists and leaned back into the softness of the sofa. He tried to pretend that everything was all right but when he looked up again, he knew that he had failed.
“Can I see your arms, J?”
Wordlessly he extended them. He didn’t need to look to see the ugly red scars that now criss-crossed his forearms. He self-consciously rubbed the lines, drawing his arms back to his chest again.
“When did you start doing this to yourself?”
J looked at the lines, seeing in his mind’s eye once again when his hand had drawn the razor blade across his arm and watched as the blood welled up from the cut. The pain had been bitter sweet, a sharpness that brought with it the knowledge that he deserved the pain, that the pain was his friend. It wasn’t the same as when Lyle had cut him, but for now it had to do.
“J, are you listening?”
He swallowed, and then nodded. He was tongue-tied, unable to express what was inside him.
“J, I want you to focus on me. Can you do that?”
J moved his eyes from his own cuts, looking at the concerned gaze of the psychiatrist.
“I want you to tell me when you had started to cut yourself?”
He finally managed to open his mouth, and he managed to croak out, “T…Thursday.”
Dr Brown breathed in, aware of how vulnerable J was at the moment. Something had happened that had driven J further from healing and he needed to find out what had happened.
“What happened on Wednesday?”
J couldn’t live with it anymore. He had no idea how to tell it, but it came out haltingly and with jumpstarts until he had told all. He ended up leaning into the psychiatrist, his arms pressed tight against his body as Dr Brown hugged J to himself. His body jerked with each sob, as he finally allowed his emotions to exit. He had no idea how long they sat like that, when he finally felt the arms loosen around him.
“Feeling better?”
He smiled, wiping at the tears that still clung to his face. “Good. Why don’t I make us some coffee and you can use the bathroom to clean up a bit.” J nodded, watching the psychiatrist leave.
Five minutes later he was again seated on the sofa, Dr Brown seated in his chair.
“J, you know what you have to do. It is going to be hard but you need to speak to your brother.”
J agreed, hoping that he would get a chance to speak to Jarod. He took another sip of the coffee, enjoying the smell and taste of the drink.
“Do you want to tell me about the nightmares that you had been having?”
J flinched as a flashback hit him. “I…I,” he looked down, wondering how he was going to explain that he had been responsible for the death of the rancher that had tried to help him. Dr Brown waited patiently, prodding every few minutes until J had managed to tell some of what had happened. Dr Brown looked at him, putting his now finished cup of java on the table in front of him.
“Sometimes people believe what they want to and not the truth because it makes it easier for them to deal with what they experienced.”
A surprised look centred on J’s face as he mulled the statement over.
“J, did you pull the trigger of the gun?”
“No, but…”
“I asked a simple question. The rancher may have lived longer if he had not chosen to pick you up, but it had been his choice. He knew the risks. This was not your fault, J. You were not the one that had pulled the trigger.”
J’s hands gripped the mug tight, his eyes glistening with unshed tears again.
“J…it was not your fault.”
He wasn’t even aware of the mug hitting the floor, as images flashed before his eyes again. Michael’s face when he had washed his feet morphed continuously with the dead face of the rancher when the pool of blood had slowly spread from beneath his body. And he remembered the voice of the Albino telling him that he would never escape the Centre. His body started to respond to the bile that rose. A bin was pushed under his nose and he let go, allowing the liquid to spill into the bin. He heaved again, emptying his stomach in the blue bin of the physiatrist.
A glass was pressed against his lips and he rinsed his mouth clean. He had no idea why but somehow he felt better. He knew that he still had a lot of issues to deal with but little by little he was going to win. He had finally come to the realisation that the Albino had been responsible for the rancher’s death on one level. He could only hope his unconscious understood. At least it will be hopefully be one nightmare less.
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West coast – late afternoon
Jarod enjoyed the feel of Parker’s hand in his as they sat and watched the sun set. His dad had phoned earlier after having spoken to Dr Brown. J was making progress, slowly. For now they had to keep all blades from the boy. His parents had been shocked when J had told them about the self mutilation he had put himself through. The psychiatrist had suggested that until J was strong enough, they had to remove any temptation of the boy to hurt himself again. J wanted to speak to him and they had agreed that they would have a chat tomorrow after lunch.
He turned his head from the setting sun to watch the play of light on his best friend’s face. Her dark hair framed her face, the sun’s last rays creating a halo around her. He stared, not wanting to believe how beautiful she looked at that moment. She turned, he gaze settling on him, frowning slightly at the look in his eyes.
“Something wrong, Jarod.”
He lifted his hand and softly stroked her cheek. He tucked in a stray hair, and then leaned in and kissed her so deep that he thought he was going to drown. He forgot about J and the problems of his family, his ignored his own demons and instead focused all his power he had on the woman next to him. She returned the kiss and when he finally broke away, he was breathless. Her whole being smiled back at him and he had never been more content than at that moment.
“I want to show you something.”
She followed his lead, her hand light in his as he stepped down towards the water. The surf was less violent, low tide calming the ocean for a little bit. He stepped into the water, ignoring the wetness as she followed.
“What is it, Jarod?”
He laughed, spinning her with him. The spray wet both of them, leaving glistening trails down her face. He stopped, holding her steady before kneeling down and pulling a box from his pocket. He looked up as he presented the ring in the surf, watching her face glow.
“I know that I may never be the perfect husband, but I was never so certain of one thing but this, Parker. I want you to be my wife. I want you to share my life with your’s for now and all eternity. I want to wake up next to you in the morning and watch you sleep at night. I want to grow old with you.”
Miss Parker could not believe it. She had never expected this, thinking that Jarod wanted to get everything under control before their friendship turned even more serious. Her answer was to bowl him over, and as they rolled in the breakwater she screamed her happiness for the whole world to hear.
“Yes!”
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