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At some point, he became aware that he still clung to life. His mind danced between deep sleep and a lighter slumber. He could hear things. Smell things. He thought he might wake, but would then slip back into unconsciousness. He couldn’t make sense of what he heard. Not yet.
Jake found himself unable to tell the difference between his memories and his dreams. The dreams came frequently, and his tendency to float near wakefulness caused him to recognize and to remember them.
***
A wedding. His own wedding? No, but at the same venue. He sat in the audience. The bride entered to the sound of No Sleep Till Brooklyn by The Beastie Boys. It felt wrong somehow, but he accepted it as normal. Her face hid behind some kind of fog.
He looked around him and saw familiar faces. Steve. Liz. Bernard. His mother. Directly next to him sat Macy, dressed in a hideous orange dress. It looked like a bridesmaid dress. Macy stood and walked to the front, taking her place as the Maid of Honor.
The groom stood there now, though he hadn’t been there before. Cam Donner looked respectable in a khaki tux with his badge on the lapel instead of flowers. Despite being indoors, he wore his aviators. No officiator. Only Cam and Macy stood at the front.
Steve suddenly appeared next to Jake. He had been sitting farther away before. He wore his usual outfit, not at all appropriate for a wedding. He looked at Jake, frowned, and shook his head, as if mourning for some lost thing. Jake did not understand what had been lost.
Jake looked back towards the bride. The fog lifted to reveal Shandi, beautiful in a shoulderless white gown. She seemed to glide rather than walk as she went down the aisle. Cam and Macy beamed with pride and excitement as she approached.
Steve put his arm around Jake. To console him. For what? For losing Shandi to Cam? He searched for a feeling of regret that he didn’t feel, then became overwhelmed with all-consuming sadness.
His eyes focused back to Shandi. He needed to see her again, glowing and ethereal. Only this time, she did not glide down the aisle. In her place floated a coffin, being carried by unrecognizable men. Macy’s and Cam’s excitement vanished, replaced with inconsolable tears.
The wedding now became a funeral. Shandi’s funeral. Jake began to weep. Steve held him tighter. The tears became more powerful, swallowing him, filling the room with water. He couldn’t breathe. Steve disappeared, following by everyone else in the congregation. Jake gasped for air, alone and abandoned.
***
Jake felt certain that he had woken with a start, but he couldn’t be sure. No, wakefulness still eluded him. He wanted to conquer sleep. He needed to know without reservation that Shandi was alive. Some deep part of him had an overwhelming fear that she had died. Because of him, perhaps. That felt right. It had been her voice he’d heard, before falling unconscious. She fought with Deirdre. There had been a gunshot?
Now he fought to wake up. He felt himself drifting off again. He tried desperately to stop it, and forced his attention back to Shandi. He saw her for a split second, in jeans and a tank top, her phone in front of her, interrogating him about something. Then she vanished again.
***
He thought of Brooklyn. He had never been to Brooklyn. He told himself that he should not sleep until he got there. He wondered if Shandi had been there. Did people visit there often? He realized that he knew very little about Brooklyn.
A chessboard materialized in front of him, but no opponent sat on the other side. The white pieces moved on their own. He answered with nonsensical plays. The white king fell over. Jake won, but had done nothing to earn him that victory.
A creeping terror rose up from behind him. From inside of him. He recognized it, shuddering under the primal, relentless force. He felt it fill him from head to toe, conquering every inch of his body until he became unrecognizable. He transformed into something else. Something bigger.
He whisked away back to high school. In band, where he played the trumpet. The trumpet felt tiny in his hands, his monstrous fingers far too large to properly push the valves. He put the trumpet to his mouth to play, but he accidentally crushed it. It made him angry.
He heard a saxophone, playing random jazz music. He looked up and saw Cam, playing the saxophone as he had in high school, not as teenager Cam but as Sheriff Cam.
Still angry from crushing his trumpet, Jake stood up and howled, shocked by the chilling noise that issued forth from his throat. He waded through the chairs and music stands, throwing them from side to side. Straight towards Cam. He realized as he approached that he meant to kill Cam.
Cam did not stop playing the saxophone as Jake began ripping him apart. First his legs. Then his arms. The music became discordant as one hand stopped pressing the keys. Then the other, leaving only a throaty, reedy cacophony of noise. Cam continued to blow. It made Jake even angrier.
Though it seemed impossible, Jake ripped Cam’s head off. The saxophone dropped to the ground. Jake held Cam’s head in his hands. Someone screamed.
Deirdre glared at him. And Shandi. And Liz. All three of them. He had not gone to high school with Liz, but it seemed natural that she stood among them. Deirdre held up a gun and pointed it at him. His anger gave way to overwhelming fear.
She pulled the trigger, and a loud bang echoed through Jake’s head. He felt the bullet hit him in slow motion. He could feel it rip through his intestines little by little, blood spewing in every direction. He dropped Cam’s head and fell backwards into chairs and music stands, sheet music filling the air like snow. Shandi and Liz laughed. Deirdre yelled in triumph.
***
Again, his mind jumped awake. He couldn’t trust the reality of it, but a new brightness filled his vision. He blinked over and over, attempting to get a handle on what he saw, scared that it would be some horror scene. As his eyes adjusted however, he realized he was staring at a blank white ceiling.
Jake could feel the bed beneath him. He could hear the buzzing of the lights overhead. He moved his toes and his fingers. They all worked. This seemed more real than the dreams before. Though he couldn’t tell from within the dreams, he felt certain from outside them that he’d finally conquered sleep.
He looked around the room, recognizing a hospital room. Near the foot of the bed there sat a chair filled with Steve. His baseball cap covered his eyes, and his worn cowboy boots comfortably rested on the end of the bed. He wore a Class of ’97 shirt that seemed impossibly old. Jake smiled. No more nightmares.
For now.
Jake suddenly felt very hungry and very thirsty. He searched for a call button, knowing that every hospital bed hid one somewhere. Though he felt alert, his groggy state made the task difficult.
He kicked the bottom of Steve’s boot. Steve roused, slipped up his cap and gazed at him, smiling.
“Mornin’, Jake.”
Jake looked out the window at the bright light. “Is it morning?”
Steve looked at his Timex. “No, I guess not. It’s afternoon.”
“How long was I out?”
Steve rose. “Almost two days. The doctors didn’t know how long it would take. I should get someone.”
Jake nodded. Within minutes, nurses busied themselves with his care. They adjusted his bed to a sitting position. They brought him food and drink. He ate quickly at first, but realized that it would make him sick if he continued. Steve sat there all the while, not interrupting. He seemed to understand that Jake needed to meet his basic needs first.
After he’d eaten and drank, Steve helped him up so he could freshen up in the restroom. He found it easier than he expected. Unlike the car accident, it seemed that he had immediate control of his body and most of his strength. He splashed water on his swollen face and brushed his teeth with the cheap, plastic toothbrush provided by the hospital. He studied his face in the mirror. He looked more rested now than he had for days.
Once Jake returned to the bed, he forced himself to confront reality. He needed to ask a very important question, but the answer terrified him.
“Is... did she?” he asked. “Is she okay?”
Steve leaned forward in his chair with a grin. “Shandi? She’s fine. She saved your ass. She beat Deirdre half to death the way she tells it.”
Overwhelming relief washed over him. In his half-asleep state, he had convinced himself that Deirdre had shot Shandi. Assuming this, he’d feared waking up at all.
“And Deirdre?”
“Cam arrested her. She’s in jail. Hopefully forever, but they hadn’t pressed charges as of the last I’d heard. That really chaps Shandi’s hide.”
Fragments of memory started coming back to Jake, piecing together the strange things that Deirdre had said. She’d implied that he controlled the beast somehow. That her killing him could stop it. The memory felt far away, ambiguous.
“The beast,” said Jake. “Deirdre said that I was controlling the beast. That’s why she had to kill me.”
Steve did not answer right away, most likely trying to determine whether this claim represented the truth or a drug-induced fantasy. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “The Sheriff will want to know this, Jake. I should call him. You can tell him.”
Jake pleaded, “No. Not yet. Please. Shandi. Call Shandi first.”
Steve stopped. He looked at Jake, clearly weighing his options. Jake knew that he needed to talk to Cam. Jake’s testimony likely kept charges from being filed against Deirdre. They needed Jake’s perspective on the situation. Jake—more than anyone—desperately wanted to see Deirdre punished for what she had done, but Jake had almost died, and his perspective changed.
Steve turned back towards his phone. Jake didn’t know if he’d intended to call Cam or Shandi. Steve put the phone to his ear and waited.
Suddenly, the silence of the room broke with a nurse’s approach. The person approaching wore hard-soled shoes, frantically clopping forward with hurried purpose. Not quite running, but walking faster than normal. It couldn’t be a nurse.
As the steps grew closer, music began to accompany them. Not music. A ringtone. Steve smiled and put down his phone.
Shandi appeared in the room. She looked at Steve. Looked at Jake. Her eyes glistened. She dropped her purse on the floor, moved across the room in minimal steps and took Jake in her arms.
Jake reciprocated as tightly as he could. They held the embrace for what seemed like an eternity. Steve mentioned something about getting coffee and Jake heard him leave the room. Jake’s face burrowed against Shandi, eager to never let her go. She smelled wonderful; partly feminine and partly earthen.
When she finally let him go, she stayed near him. She looked at his face. She said nothing. She just sat on the edge of the bed, holding his hand, light tears occasionally running down her face. The happiness and relief that she was alright continued to overwhelm him. He began to cry as well. He wanted to say so many things, but didn’t know how to verbalize them all.
So, they sat. In silence. Together.
