THE NIGHTMARE WITHIN: Chapter 1

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Kevin woke slowly, afraid to open his eyes.  He could feel the morning sun warming his eyelids, a red, welcoming warmth.  Stretching his arms behind his head, gripping his feather pillow in his hands, he felt the familiar comfort of his mattress.  When he did open his eyes, something was wrong.  Totally wrong.  He was in his bed, having slept on his mattress.  Not his Uncle David's lumpy mattress, not in the cramped bedroom at his grandma's house all the way in Chicago.

He swung his legs off the bed, taking stock of the bedroom.  Albert Pujols stared down on him from his life-size poster.  Then there was his 50th anniversary corvette poster with models from every year, his favorite being the 1962 classic convertible.  His dresser, nightstand, and desk--all in order.  All of this was right, and somehow, none of it was right at all.  When he stood up, the hardwood floor creaked its familiar creak.

A voice called out from downstairs, breaking the morning silence and multiplying his confusion.  "Kevin, come on.  You gotta eat something before we leave."  It was his dad's voice, sharp and authoritative, but from the tone, he could tell he was in a good mood.  Then the voice joined his mom's in conversation.  Comforting and reassuring, muffled by the distance to the kitchen, but still closer than he ever thought the two of them would be again.  His mind started whirling, creating a list of questions and grappling with their answers.

What's going on?

Like a sheet of paper from a notebook, he took hold of the list of questions in his head and tore it out, crumpled it into a ball and threw it over his shoulder.  He didn't want to consider anything.  All he wanted was to go to those voices and feel the affectionate embrace of his family.

He padded down the stairs, whipped around the corner, and stopped so suddenly his feet skidded on the wood floor.  It really was his dad.  With his shirtsleeves unrolled and his tie loose, he offered Kevin a wry smile, and then brought a plate of French toast over to the kitchen table.  His mom had her back to him at the stove, turning bacon with metal tongs.  The bacon sizzled and splattered, and it smelled like heaven.  Seeing his parents midway through their morning rituals, Kevin had an uneasy sense of familiarity.  Sure, he had seen his mom make bacon a hundred times.  And his dad always set the table.  It was something else.  Something outré-familiar.

"Nice of you to join us.  I'm afraid the French toast isn't as warm as it was five minutes ago, but then again, if you were hungry enough, you would've been down earlier," his dad said as Kevin took his seat on the far left of the table.  French toast was his favorite.  He could eat it three times a day and never get sick of it.  His dad heaped some onto his plate, and then patted his shoulder to let him know he was just kidding.  His dad didn't think much of breakfast, and usually only had a cup of coffee before leaving for the office.

His dad had touched him.

Kevin looked at his arm, stunned.  Even through the fabric of his t-shirt, he could still feel the rough touch of his calloused hand.  All of this was wrong.  All of this could never happen again.  Because… because he had left his mom at his grandma's house, and his dad… his dad was never coming home again.

"Kevin, what's wrong, honey?" his mom said when she turned from the stove.  She was wearing the rainbow brooch he had made for her from plastic beads and pipe cleaners the year before for Mother's Day.  She wore it high up on the lapel of her blouse where everyone would see it.  When he had given it to her, he had waited for her to wear it.  Every time the family would go out for some special night, he would scan her lapels for the rainbow brooch.  She had never worn it.  After enough parties and get-togethers went by, and he ran out of excuses why she hadn't worn it, Kevin had given up on her wearing it at all.  He figured she had not liked it.  In fact, she hated it.  He had been secretly heartbroken.  Now, on this morning, this morning of all mornings, she wore it prominently.