Dreams and Words

The blackness seemed absolute. Within it, Dean existed. He could not feel his body, nor any sense of touch whatsoever. No light penetrated, no sounds, save soft, indistinct whispers. It was maddening. He listened to the sounds just on the edge of his hearing, desperate to know what they were. Were they voices? Some clue as to where he was?

He tried to call out, move his hands, anything - but in the darkness there was nothing. The quiet whispers came and went and no matter how hard he tried, he could not make out what they were saying. There was no sense of cold, warmth, or even pain. Only a yawning nothingness in the void.

Trapped in it, his mind active even if his body was not, he tried to count the seconds that passed. But numbers had no meaning here, time did not exist.

It might have been mere seconds or a thousand hours before it all changed.

The darkness cleared, showing a clear evening sky unlike any he had ever seen before. Two moons hung bright and full in the sky above him, and he could feel the rough cobblestone road under his feet. There was a smell of salt and sea in the air and the wisps of fog eddied close. They slid by him, touching his skin with an icy, damp caress. To his left, a sharp cliff descended to the pounding surf below. On his right a looming cliff face stretched up out of sight, the top of it hidden in mist and darkness. Behind him, a bell began to toll. Thirteen deep, resonant tones before it stopped.

Dean stared at the narrow, cobblestone road before him. It ended, quite dramatically, in the largest castle he had ever seen. Constructed of stone, the walls stretched up, reaching for the moons that hung above in the sky. A set of tall wooden doors opened, groaning as they slowly turned on massive iron brackets. Dean walked forward, through the doors, his breath hitching in his chest as he stepped inside the enormous building. Inside was even more impressive than outside. The entrance hall was lined with lit torches, flames flickering, gyrating. Above them were perhaps twenty or more levels of floors - walkways, doors, and balconies - a dizzying array of space, capped with a stunning stained glass skylight. The beams of colored light danced on his face more than two hundred feet below, lit by the rays of the bright, full moons. This isn’t my world. It can’t be. Dean struggled to understand what he was seeing and experiencing. He tore his gaze away from the brilliant skylight and cast a glance around the echoing entrance chamber. On one wall was a tapestry that appeared to be moving. The figures shifted, changed, and as he watched, he saw the history of this alien place unfolding. A great cataclysm, fire in the sky, and people fleeing through a rift. He walked towards it, soaking in the details, desperate to remember every moment it showed.

The gasp behind him ripped his attention away. Standing there behind him, just out of reach on the rich carpet, stood Maggie. Her dress was soaking wet from the rain, plastered to her body. She didn’t see him, her eyes riveted on the young man standing in front of her. Dean could see his face clearly. It was the same young man he had seen standing in the road - the one he had swerved to avoid hitting. His hair was raven black, straight, and settled at his shoulders. He turned for a moment and looked straight at Dean, his green eyes assessing and understanding the relationship.

Dean watched as the young man turned back to Maggie.

“Maggie, my love. I am so sorry. I wasn’t given a choice. I know that it doesn’t matter now, but I did try to return to you.”

Maggie reached out her hand and touched his cheek, “Conor?”

“I messed this all up, so bad. And I’m sorry for that. Sorrier than you can know, Maggie.” The young man had tears in his eyes. “I can’t fix it all, but I can make sure our son is safe, that he survives to live his life.”

He turned back to Dean, his face full of anguish. “The accidents weren’t your fault, neither of them. Thank you for loving Maggie and our son. I will try to right things for you.”

Maggie turned back, spying Dean for the first time and reached for him as she cried out his name.

The blackness that surrounded the three of them exploded with light. The road and castle vanished as the light burst forth from everywhere, bleaching out any other details. Dean reached out for Maggie, his fingers missing her and instead brushing against the fabric of her dress for a brief instant before she was gone.

Dean was utterly alone in the bright white wash of light.

In some ways, the light was more terrifying than the dark had ever been. In the dark, there was a chance that something, someone might be there. Friend or foe, the darkness hides everything. But now? Dean knew there was no one else there with him.

How long it surrounded him he couldn’t say. It seemed like forever, an endless moment strung out where time had no meaning. After a while, small sounds began to pierce the bright white void.

He heard the voice first. Quiet, a bare murmur. He concentrated on it, all of his being set on listening to what it had to say. Listening for minutes, possibly hours or days.

“Dean, come back to me.”

The white light never wavered, and it seemed infinite. Was he dead? Was this the afterlife?

Again, the voice...

“Dean? I’m right here, holding your hand.”

Another voice, lower in pitch said, “Keep talking, Mrs. Edmonds, who knows what they hear?”

If he was in the afterlife, in heaven, where was everyone else? His heart skipped a beat as he thought of Teddy and Sarah. But they weren’t here, were they? Did that mean that they had lived?

In the light he waited, suspended. Occasionally he heard murmurs, voices. Some familiar, some not.

There was no need for breath, for food, for rest. He couldn’t feel anything. Dean tried wiggling his fingers, his toes, even turning his head. Nothing.

Was this it? Was he doomed to exist here, in this halfway place, stuck between life and death?

“Let’s see if we can’t get some response here, Mr. Edmonds.” A male voice said. “Hm, the patient’s pupils responsive. And I’m seeing standard nerve responses.” There was a pause.

“His head wound has healed well. That was a nasty crack on the head he took, Mrs. Edmonds."

Dean waited, hoping to feel something. The doctor’s hands on him, any small wavering from this bright, shadow-less light that surrounded him. There was nothing, he was nothing.

“Will he wake up? Will he...will he be...” her voice cracked. “The children are asking to see him.”

Dean wanted to reassure her, tell her it was all okay, but he had no idea how. The children though, the children were safe, alive. He felt such relief at that news.

“Head injuries can be tricky, and they take time to heal. The children should wait until their father regains consciousness to visit.” The doctor’s voice was kind, yet matter-of-fact. “It is important that you are patient and keep a positive outlook. I’ve been studying coma patients for years. It helps to talk to them, tell them about your day, the weather, and their favorite foods. Anything really. Just be patient, Mrs. Edmonds, it has been less than two weeks. He was the most seriously injured of all of you.”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear her crying. Dean willed his mouth to work, to make even the most minuscule of sounds. There was nothing no matter how hard he tried. Held in this brightness, he was alone. He could hear everything, but say nothing. It was maddening.

“There, there, Mrs. Edmonds. Perhaps you should go home, focus on your children and come back tomorrow. You need to keep your strength up, I wouldn’t want you back here in the hospital. Your children need you.” The doctor reassured her, “Take the rest of the day, eat, and be with your children. You have a fine son and daughter.”

“Yes, Doctor, I’ll do that.” She said, still crying. Her voice was muffled now, probably buried within a handkerchief.

Dean could hear the squeak of a nearby chair and her sobs faded slowly from the room.

The doctor’s voice, so close to his ear, startled him.

“Mr. Edmonds, if you can hear me, I highly recommend you wake up soon.” The doctor’s voice was heavy with concern. “Your family needs you and your time is running out.”

Dean could hear steps approaching, then a woman’s voice, older, her voice rough and hoarse, as she said, “Good evening, Doctor. Any change?”

“No.”

“Shall I note a prognosis in the chart?”

“Prognosis? Hm, yes. Prognosis unclear.” The doctor sighed then, “Honestly? I give him less than a twenty percent chance of ever waking up. For all I know, the man might be a vegetable.” The doctor sighed. “I can’t bear to tell that pretty blond wife of his. She has barely left his side.”

The doctor and nurse walked away, their voices fading.

Dean remained alone, frozen in a sea of white light.