Patrick rolled his eyes and made a “Psh” noise, the ease of which surprised him.
“Not even close. We get through maybe two boxes a day, and we’ve got about a billion more in the garage. My parents are always busy with work or some project or another, and I’ve got school.”
“And who wants to go home and unpack after seven hours here, right?”
“Exactly,” Patrick laughed. That came easily, too.
“So what do your parents do?”
“My dad’s the new Irrigation Supervisor or something; I’m sure he’d love to tell you the entire title.”
“Oh, right, Mrs. Spotts said that on the first day. Doy.” She quickly made a forehead-slapping gesture. “What about your mom?”
“She does website design and stuff. She’s sort of a freelance programmer, you could say.”
“Awesome!” Rachel seemed sincerely impressed by that fact. “I’ve always loved that kind of stuff. I bet that means she gets to work from home, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s great for her because she can work at her leisure, and it’s great for us because she can still make us dinner every night.”
Rachel laughed at that more loudly than he expected, and he laughed a little with her.
The two finally stepped through the double doors and out into the quad, but before Patrick could follow up with another funny remark Rachel turned to leave.
“Well I’ve got to go to chem, but I’ll see you at break!”
Patrick was for some reason a little taken aback, but gave a little wave and said, “Okay, see ya.”
Rachel walked quickly away to the left, and Patrick continued down the covered walkway to the science labs.
Biology was another blur to him, and he barely managed to catch and scribble down the homework assignment. Hoping he didn’t miss anything else important and surprised at his lack of attentiveness, he gave Mr. Poulton a nod and headed outside.
He walked to his preferred bench, which was by the woodshop classroom. It seemed to be rarely occupied, and today was no exception. He sat down and watched the students cross the quad in every direction, and after a minute he spotted her walking toward him. The butterflies all twitched a little when he saw her coming, still smiling, still friendly and interested in his company. It was somehow very surreal.
“Hey,” she said as she sat down beside him, unshouldering her book bag.
“Hey,” he returned with a smile. “How was chemistry?”
“Fun! We’re working on polymers and we made this weird foam stuff. What class were you in, again?”
“Biology.”
“How was that?”
Patrick wondered if she would ever ask that sort of question when he had an actual answer.
“Not as fun as chemistry, it sounds like.”
“Yeah, chemistry’s a lot more hands-on, but I definitely like biology a lot more. But you were telling me about your family before!”
“Oh, right. Other than my parents I’ve just got a little sister named Lizzy. She’s always been good with people, and really popular in school.”
He wasn’t quite sure why he said that.
“But I’m hogging all the conversation!” he said in an attempt to change the subject. “What about your family?”
For the next ten minutes they talked. Rachel told him about her dad, who was a carpenter, and about how her mom had died of cancer when she was really little. Patrick of course felt like a jerk for bringing it up, but she insisted that it wasn’t a touchy subject and that he shouldn’t feel bad for asking. She told him about how she was an only child, and how she got along really well with her dad, seeing as each of them was all the other had. She had family in Arkansas and Oklahoma and a few aunts in Nevada, but come Christmastime it was just the two of them. She had lived in Hillward all of her life, but wanted to move to a bigger city to go to school in a few years.
Their conversation was incredibly pleasant. Patrick surprised himself by speaking so outwardly to someone he didn’t even know, and felt oddly invigorated for it. It was as if the two of them were already friends and just needed to be reminded about each others’ pasts.
But all too soon the bell rang. They continued talking as they made their way up the walkway and through the hall to their history class. When it was over they talked to their next class. They met up at lunch and talked even more as they ate on the bench. They laughed as they critiqued each other’s lunches, and Rachel came about an inch away from shooting apple juice out of her nose when Patrick compared her professional-quality turkey sandwich on sourdough to his hastily assembled salami on soggy potato bread.
The talk and the laughter only got easier as time went on. He never struggled with finding something to say, he never said anything particularly strange or unintentionally offensive, and above all, there were no awkward pauses.
By the time school was out and the two were walking home the memory of the strange dream had all but left Patrick’s mind. Didn’t dreams seem so much more profound immediately after waking? They always lost their magic as the day wore on…
There was another very real magic happening now.
*****
On the slow walk down the street Rachel told Patrick funny stories about Mr. Poulton.
“And I don’t usually like it when kids are mean to teachers,” she was saying, “but I couldn’t believe Matt would say that! Just up and called him a jerk, right to his face!”
Patrick laughed, able to recreate the scene easily in his head using what he had observed of the man’s extreme characteristics.
“Mr. Poulton was so mad it looked like he wanted to hit him!” she continued, laughing herself. “But he had this… this look on his face and no one even dared to laugh!”
His biology teacher had a very stern face that was much like a loaded cannon, and as such Patrick hoped it was never pointed at him while armed. In light of the story though, that somehow made it all the more funny. The two of them laughed as they walked through the shade of the trees and past the quaint houses, and just as it began to die down the sound of an engine approached from behind. Patrick turned to see a car drive by.
It was Dean. He glanced at them indifferently and sped off down the road, kicking up dust and loose leaves in his wake.
Rachel noticed him too, and though Patrick wasn’t sure why, it seemed to temporarily rob the remaining laughter from their conversation. For the first time they walked in silence, the only sounds those of distant cars and children. As they approached Rachel’s street they stopped and she turned to Patrick.
“I had fun talking to you today.” She was giving him that smile again.
“Me too.” He returned it, finding that he was better at it each time. “I’m glad I finally had someone to talk to.”
“Yeah…”
There was a quick moment of silence where they only looked at each other, smiling. Patrick’s first instinct was to look away or say something to avoid awkwardness, but he was surprised to find that it wasn’t awkward at all. It was something else…
Then she hitched her bag higher on her shoulder.
“Okay, see you tomorrow, Patrick!” She waved and walked quickly away.
Something about the fact that she addressed him by his name stuck with him, and his head was all fluttery and light as he continued walking home. He could scarcely see the road in front of him for all the thoughts soaring through his mind. This was an entirely foreign sensation to him, and whether a silly crush or true love or a simple friendship, it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was something very natural and very special. For now, that was more than enough.
He thought about their slow stroll as he walked home, thought about her smiling at him as he had dinner with his family, thought about sitting by her as he feebly attempted to do his homework, and in his spare time found himself simply lying on his bed, recalling the conversations they had throughout the day. As he slipped into bed for the night he even for
went pondering on the woods in lieu of entertaining excited thoughts of what the next day would bring.
*****
Patrick opened his eyes to darkness, yet he could see everything. It was all crashing together—the trees and the leaves and the dirt and the vivid trail of every animal that had tread past. The cries of the bats rang horribly in his ears, so loud it was unbearable. The crickets were shrill, and a thousand of them were calling at once. There was no wind and no motion at all, but the night was far from still.
Again, his body was unnaturally low to the ground. His hands wouldn’t work, and he began to panic under the oppressive noise and the smells; they crashed through his mind and threatened to suffocate him. As he crawled they only got worse and worse until his brain was a tumultuous mass of clashing and writhing color. He was caught in this nightmare world again, this world full of sensations he couldn’t even comprehend…
He had to get out. He had to get back to his home, back to the real world, the one that was quiet and still and full of light. All he wanted was to get back to that place of brightness where he could see and the things that he saw actually made sense! Back to his bed and to rational thought and simple sleep.
Patrick tried to run, but he couldn’t move his body correctly and stumbled to the ground after a few steps. He clambered back onto his feet and tried again, but only managed to keep tripping over his own malfunctioning legs. In his panic he could only claw at the ground and drag himself forward, painfully scraping his elbows and chest as he went. But he couldn’t stop; he needed to get out. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, there was something wrong with him, he wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He ran and hobbled and tripped through the woods. He couldn’t see a thing, but jumbled images danced in his mind’s eye and he tried his best to avoid colliding with what he could only assume were trees. He hoped at every turn that they would end, that he would see a plane of moonlight ahead… But they didn’t end, and soon he got the sinking feeling that he had only been running deeper into the forest. His terror momentarily trumped by sheer despair and hopelessness, he stopped.
Crouched awkwardly, he looked into the trees. He wanted to leave, to find his house and his normal life more than anything else, but above all the smells and sounds and colors there was another feeling, separate from the others. There was some other presence here now—something that he couldn’t explain. There was a smell that was both new and familiar. And as he peered through the trees he could sense that tall and menacing shadow from before. It stood like a malicious beast, glaring at him from the middle of a clearing. He trembled, that foul, acrid smell assaulting his lungs. Its ancient unseen eye watched him, and he wanted to get away but didn’t know how. He wanted to run—this thing, it wasn’t like the others, it didn’t belong here—but he couldn’t move and the forest was closing in around him, and when he opened his mouth to scream a foreign and horrifying yowl issued from his tightening throat.
Soon he was lost—engulfed in a storm of his own fear.
Chapter 5
When Patrick woke up, he was scared.
His eyes snapped open and he sat up in his bed. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his arms and legs.
The sun was up. His alarm clock would be going off soon. Every last remnant of sleep had left—as had the very last of the night—but he didn’t dare look out the window.
He didn’t eat any breakfast. He didn’t grab his lunch from the fridge.
Patrick didn’t see anyone on his way to school, though he wasn’t really paying attention. He only walked slowly, looking down, his mind a confused and terrified blur. Before long he crossed the yard, walked down the noisy hall, and sat down at his desk.
A deep and primal fear had set itself in him, and even after fully waking and coming to this room filled with noisy people the dream still hadn’t left his mind. It was the first time in his short years that he felt something was deeply and seriously wrong—that his life might be threatened. It felt as though something dark and horrible was waiting for him around every turn. As if the validity of everything he knew and thought to be true was in question. He wanted to forget—wanted to think about something else—but he couldn’t. It was too real. Too close…
“Good morning, Patrick.”
He turned and found Rachel settling down next to him. She was beaming.
Suddenly it seemed the joy he felt the previous day was more of a dream than the nightmare. The laughing and smiling and outright glee all seemed so distant now. All that was left was the fear.
He didn’t know what to do or say. He wanted to be cheerful and return her smile, but this time he couldn’t shake the feeling.
“Hey,” he managed with a smile he hoped wasn’t as weak as it felt.
“My neighbor’s stupid rooster kept me up all night,” she said, opening her binder and leafing through it. “How did you sleep?”
All he could think to do, naturally, was lie.
“Pretty good,” he said with a lame little nod.
She didn’t say anything else, but as he pretended to look through his own binder he could feel her eyes on him, and after a moment he thought she probably sensed that something was wrong. He wondered if she would inquire and hoped greatly that she wouldn’t. What would he say if she did? He couldn’t describe something he didn’t even understand himself.
But she didn’t say anything, and soon the teacher walked in and started class. The question hung over them though, yearning to be asked, and the tension ate away at him. More than ever in his life he wanted to get away from everybody and go home, and he seriously considered feigning some sort of sickness.
But even then, what would he do? There was no way to escape these thoughts and this fear. Maybe being around people was a better distraction.
Patrick hardly heard a word that Mrs. Spotts had to say, and he almost forgot to turn his homework in as he walked out of the classroom. Rachel followed him and despite the lingering question and Patrick’s coldness, she fell in step with him.
“Mrs. Spotts is really sweet,” she tried again, “but I think her assignments are just a little too easy, don’t you?”
Patrick still wasn’t looking at her, but he had to say something.
“Yeah,” he agreed. He planned on leaving it at that, but it didn’t feel like enough, so he continued. “Probably took me about four seconds last night.” That was definitely another lie. Caught up in his giddiness he had stared at the assignment for half an hour before managing to start. He wanted to feel that now—experience it all over again—but somehow it felt a little like trying to enjoy a joke at a funeral.
“Yeah,” Rachel gave a little laugh, obviously relieved that he had said something. “Me too.”
They were quiet for the remainder of the walk through the hall. The rest of the students laughed and shouted loudly and obliviously. The reverberation in the echoing hall threatened to give Patrick a headache.
When they reached the quad, Rachel said, “See you at break,” and headed off to chemistry. Patrick was relieved, and continued on to biology.
Again, he hardly heard a word that Mr. Poulton was saying. At one point the man had to sternly dissuade a few guys in the back from talking, but even that was hardly enough to keep Patrick’s attention. The more the day wore on the more confusing his thoughts became, and the more stagnant and unwelcome the fear.
When the break bell rang Patrick wished he could find some isolated corner of the campus and sit there for the next fifteen minutes, but found himself heading for his favorite bench anyway. When she came he did his best to smile at her.
“How was Mr. Poulton today?” Rachel asked as she sat down.
“He had to yell at some guys for talking, so pretty normal, I guess.”
Rachel laughed, but she didn’t say anything else.
They sat in silence, watching the other kids hanging around the quad. After a few minut
es he forced himself to say something in an attempt to heal the situation somewhat.
“Hey, sorry if I’m a little… weird, today. I’m not really feeling so good.”
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” He didn’t look at her face, but she sounded genuinely concerned.
“I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t sleep as well as I thought I did. Maybe I’m coming down with something. Probably nothing, though. I just feel a little weird, I guess. I’ll be okay.”
The bell rang much sooner than he expected, and he was relieved.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope you feel better soon.”
The two of them got up and walked to Mr. Vincent’s class. Neither of them said a word, and though he originally thought that his claim of possible illness might alleviate some of the tension, the walk was as uncomfortable as ever.
They entered the classroom and headed for the middle. Patrick picked a random spot and sat down, but Rachel hesitated for a moment. It was obvious that she wasn’t sure whether she should sit by him, though he pretended not to notice and occupied himself with taking his history book out of his bag.
When she finally made the move, two girls walked in front of her and took the two seats next to Patrick, which were the only empty ones on that side of the room. She walked past them and sat by the far wall, perhaps as though she had meant to all along. Patrick wanted to say or do something, but he couldn’t think of what. So he opened his book to the appropriate page, still playing dumb and feeling like a complete jerk for it. He felt Rachel’s eyes on him for a second, and then Mr. Vincent walked in.
“Hello, class,” he said quietly as he put his things down on the desk. “A few meager hours and you are free to enjoy your weekend, though I hope I can keep your attention for just another seventy-five minutes or so. Then feel free to go completely brain-dead during your other classes.”
The students laughed.
“And the reason I would like your attention is that there is nary a subject out there in the realm of academia that is quite as exciting or important as… cuneiform script!”
During the lesson Patrick’s mind was torn between memories of the dreams and guilt for his strange behavior. No matter how hard he tried to focus on Mr. Vincent he found his mind trailing off, and if it wasn’t for the bell he might have stared into space for hours.