Chapter 1
John awoke with a start; shuddering and slightly disoriented as yet another burst of terror froze his thoughts. He scanned the room, frantic for landmarks from the Land of Daylight. There! There was his Spiderman poster hanging above the cluttered desk. Smiling faintly to himself as relief swept away the fear, he snuggled back down into the warm nest he had created with his Spiderman coverlet and let his pale blue eyes close, reopening the portal to the Land of Dreams. The strange click that had torn him away from Smaug and Bilbo must have been part of the dream. With an anticipatory sigh, he let go of consciousness again, hoping that Middle Earth would rise back up to greet him. Just as the warm gold of the autumn sun above Mount Doom began to rematerialize, he was rudely jerked back to the waking world by another click, louder this time; just outside of this bedroom door.
A faint light, pale and red or orange, played slowly across the crack below the door. John scrunched down in his blankets, making himself as small as possible. He left just enough of his face uncovered to stare, petrified, at the poster of the Hulk hanging on the back of the door. His stomach was churning and tears swelled unbidden in his eyes. He wished that his parents were not away, again, or that his cousin had decided to spend the night after all. Just as the knob began to turn, his paralysis broke. He slid quietly off the side of his bed and scooted hastily beneath it; the thick, shag carpet scraping painfully across his bare chest and thighs. From his new vantage point John could see a pair of boot-clad feet standing on the other side of the now slowing opening door.
Terror again gripped him in its awful embrace, paralyzing his limbs. His insides felt loose and watery, like a raging river trying to burst its barely adequate bonds. He desperately needed to pee, too. Sweat, reeking of fear and pain, ran off his slender sides, soaking the carpet beneath him. He was shivering both from the cold air of the room and the cramping spasms in his lower abdomen. His Daredevil briefs clung clammily to his skinny hips and the tense rise of his bottom. He could feel his balls crawling up into his groin, making him have to pee even worse. With his eyes squeezed tightly shut, John could only hear the quiet squeak of his door’s hinges as the intruder swung it all the way open. The heavy tread of booted feet clumped ominously across the room, right up to his bed. John held his breath. His heart sounded like thunder. His guts cramped in agonizing waves. He heard a quiet but harsh laugh, evil and low. It razored through his spine and his skull making him wonder if his head would split from the pressure. Biting down on his tongue until tears ran freely from his eyes and the coppery taste of his life essence began to fill his mouth, he tried to contain the scream he felt growing inside him.
Suddenly a cool, leather covered hand touched his shoulder and all of his composure shattered. Screaming wildly for help, he felt his bladder and bowels violently empty mixing with the stink of his fear into an unholy stench, the rising ordure of terror. The ordure caused John to retch, turning his terrified shrieks into hitching whimpers. Striking out blindly with both hands, the panicked boy heard the voice of his attacker for the first time.
“John, John, come on honey, wake up. It’s just a dream.” The gentle voice kept repeating this litany. A comforting hand, warm and soft, stroked his sweaty face. The terrifying darkness slowly dissipated in to the soft glow of his desk lamp. John looked up into the scratched yet caring face of this mother. The stink of fear, urine, and excrement lay heavily on the room, invading his nostrils. He colored a furious mahogany.
“It’s over, John,” his mom crooned, stroking his hair as the last vestiges of the night terror released him from its freezing grip.
“Sorry, Mom,” he whispered, now fully awake. He was tangled in his favorite Xtreme skiing coverlet and the sheet was knotted around his hips. A dark stain covered his briefs and the sheets around his waist. He slipped, mortified, out of his mother’s comforting embrace, swallowing a mouthful of bloody saliva from his perforated tongue, and covered himself up as best as he could. His heart finally slowed and he looked around his room. The posters of Duran Duran, Dashboard Confessional, and Eminem had replaced his favorite superheroes two years before. The tough gaze of Eminem bore down on him and he found himself seeking the more compassionate eyes of Simon le Bon.
“Hey, Dr. Amis said they would still come occasionally,” Ms. Marilyn de Grun said, tousling her son’s damp black curls. At age 15 he was too old for the babying she so wanted to do, but dammit, it helped her calm down too. She smiled at John’s grimace, then turned and grabbed his old robe from the bedside chair. “Why don’t you get a shower while I change your bed?” she said, wrapping the old robe around his slim shoulders then turning away so he could stand up without further embarrassment.
John rose and quickly put his robe on, securing it firmly about his narrow waist. He went to his dresser and grabbed a pair of clean underwear, silently thanking his mother again for nixing his switch to boxers the previous summer. He grabbed his new robe from the hanger behind the door and disappeared down the hall to his bathroom. One of the advantages of being the only child was that he did not have to share a bathroom. He could hear his mom getting fresh sheets from the linen closet at the head of the stairs. Otherwise the house was silent. Angrily, John slipped out of his robe and befouled shorts, quickly rinsing the shorts out before throwing them in the laundry. He had learned the hard way about stains. After he was finished, he stood under the hot stream of the shower and let his shoulders and back finish relaxing. The terror of the night finally melted away; at least until morning. After the water began to cool, he quickly scrubbed himself clean, got out of the shower, and dried off. Before slipping into the fresh underwear, he studied himself in the mirror. A strange bruise was already forming on the front of his left hip, and his chest was painfully abraded.
Marilyn de Grun waited until she heard the shower running to strip her son’s bed. The plastic undersheet John groused about had saved the mattress, again. She sprayed it with disinfectant, dried it, and then slipped a new sheet onto the queen bed. After quickly making up the bed, she carried the soiled detritus of the nightmare downstairs to the laundry room and started them soaking. She would wash them in the morning before heading to the office and her monthly partnership meeting. She smiled at the idea of her being a lead partner at ASAP Designs, Inc. A stab of guilt overcame her reverie when she remembered her first late night partnership meeting 38 months before; the night that had brought on the nightmares. Shaking off the guilt, she hurried back upstairs.
“Good night, Mom,” John called from his room.
“Good night, John,” she replied. She knew he’d be fine for the rest of the night. His window was open and the cold, fresh November night air crept out from under his door. Fresh air seemed to help him ward off a second dream. She smiled and then returned to her own bedroom exhausted.
“Is everything okay?” a voice whispered.
Marilyn jumped, and then remembered that Darren, her boyfriend had spent the night for the first time. “Yep,” she sighed, sitting on the edge of her bed letting the bone-chilling screams wash from her mind.
“I’m sure glad you warned me about the screams,” Darren said sitting up and hugging her in his strong arms. “They really are enough to curdle your blood.” He kissed her neck and coaxed her back under the warm quilts. The two of them had been going out for just over a year now. He knew that John’s father had been a petty criminal who was now serving natural life over a gun deal gone wrong. How a successful lady like Marilyn had gotten involved with a criminal, Darren wasn’t sure; she never talked about it. He did, however, know that she had never married the man. Jamal Delacroix had been sent to prison mere months after John had been born and, as far as Marilyn said, John totally accepted that his father had died in an automobile accident.
“Thanks,” she mumbled gratefully as she nestled against the comfortable strength of his body. Soon she was breathing easily again and the night returned to its peaceful darkness; except in Darren’s memory. The boy’s terrified screams and anguished shrieks haunted him until the pale light of dawn began to soften the hills far to the east of town, bringing a pink glow to the master bedroom.
“Come on John, time to get up.” Marilyn knocked on his closed door a second time. Darren was showered and dressing in her bedroom. She hoped that John wouldn’t be too upset that someone else had heard his screams in the night. Darren coming over had kind of been a spur of the moment decision and John had already been asleep. She knew his dreams, and sometimes the messy results, embarrassed him deeply. They were the reason, she was sure, that he never had anyone over for the night, and why he never stayed over anywhere. They had tried everything: drugs, psychoanalysis, dream therapy, even the Good Nite disposable underwear. Nothing seemed to help. She slapped the wall in frustration, not seeing Darren behind her in the hall.
“Is everything kosher?” Suddenly he was coping with her weight against his shoulder. She was bawling. He embraced her tightly, trying to figure out how to comfort her.
“I’ve tried everything,” she wailed. “What’s wrong with him? I’m a good mom, aren’t I?” The litany continued, muffled by his now damp shoulder.
“It’ll get better, Mar,” he chided gently, patting her hair. Just give it more time.” Slowly, steadily, the hysteria subsided to quiet weeping. “We’ll find a way to help him.” Darren froze, surprised at his display of audacity, and the extent of his feelings for this woman. He’d known of his further interest for a few months but until that moment he had not admitted its depth. He broke from the revelation to be spitted through by her turquoise eyes.
“Do you mean that, Darren?” she whispered fiercely. She had quit hoping to find a partner who could accept John’s troubles. That always ran away soon after they found out; not that there had been many prospects until her career had recently stabilized. She felt a fluttering in her chest, unlike anything she had experienced since Jamal had first asked her out during their senior year in college. That had been her great love, even if some of it had turned out less than perfect.
“Yes I do, my love,” Darren avowed. He held her close, not wanting this feeling to disappear. Through his euphoria Darren felt a cold glaze begin coating his other shoulder. He looked over the railing of the stairs into the entryway of the old gothic revival home, and found himself staring into the anger and mistrust burning in John’s golden eyes. The boy’s coffee, mocha skin darkened as emotions warred across his face.
“Mari,” Darren murmured.
“Hmmm?” she replied hugging him tighter. Feeling him go slightly tense she looked up at the sudden worry in his face. She quickly followed his gaze down to the hurt and confused countenance of her precious son.
“Oh God,” she sighed covering her mouth as she left Darren’s protective embrace and started down the stairs to her son. “John honey,” she stammered feeling Darren one step behind her. John shook his head bitterly and ducked down the hallway towards the kitchen.
“Did you tell him?” John growled as soon as his mom crossed the threshold of the kitchen door. “Did you?” He looked at her his gaze filled with tears, loathing, and possibly a little hope.
“Yeah, I did, John,” she replied her voice filled with defeat and sorrow. “I told him about your nightmares so he would know what was going on if you happened to have one while he was here.” She shrugged, raising her hands to her shoulders and breathing deeply. She wanted so badly to cuddle her hurting child, but the tension in his lanky frame warned of a multi-megaton explosion in the offing. When John gets this angry it was best just to let him blow up and work it out afterwards. She was pretty sure that most child development specialists would disagree with her approach, but they had never tried to weather one of her son’s storms. “What was I supposed to do?”
“How could you?” Anger and terror shook in his voice, threatening to engulf him. “It’s my secret!! Mine!!” His voice rose cracking slightly in protest. “So your newest boyfriend knows your son’s a freak.” Bitter sarcasm and self-loathing dripped from each word. “How long is this one going to last? Does he feel sorry for the bright lady whose son shits himself during terrible nightmares? Does he? Is he going to offer to help clean up next time it happens?” John screamed. His soft skin was mottled crimson and purple and his eyes flashed cold, metallic gold. His hands were clenched into tight fists, a crushed yogurt bar hanging from one hand, its contents sprayed all over the cabinets and floor. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably.
In the dim hallway, Darren stood rooted in place listening to the boy’s outburst. He thought about this new information and found he didn’t care about any trouble John might have. He really liked the kid and hated seeing him suffer alone. He didn’t however know quite how to handle such an irrational and angry outburst: well probably not really irrational he conceded to himself. He couldn’t imagine being fifteen and having such an embarrassing secret. It would have killed him.
“Come on, honey,” Mari comforted in the kitchen. “You know I never told him anything like that.” She slowly approached her son, wanting badly to brush the shining tears off his long eyelashes. “I wanted him to be prepared for the possibility of your screams. You know how unnerving they are.” She tentatively gathered him into her arms, feeling all his tension drain away into a torrent of tears. “Just relax, John. It’s going to be okay.” She rocked him gently while motioning Darren into the kitchen and over to the table. John slowly calmed to hitching breaths. All of a sudden tension, lots of it, rose in John’s back.
“Not again” he choked out, tearing himself out of his mother’s arms and shooting out of the room. His pounding feet and slam of his bedroom door were the only sounds in the house for minutes. Slowly, the soft sound of the morning news on the kitchen television became audible.
On the small screen was a reporter standing in front of a rural two-story cape cod. ‘Brutal kidnapping rocks Walnut Creek,’ ran across the leader board. “. . .and in a frightening incident, Senator Sam Dewer’s 10 year old son Alan, was violently abducted from his second story bedroom at approximately midnight last night. The police are speculating that the abduction was premeditated. Anyone with information should contact Detective Sergeant Hale at the Walnut Creek Police Department.” The camera panned to the haggard parents. Below the telephone number of the police emergency tip line flashed. After a moment, the photo of a cute, tow-headed blue-eyed boy sporting a Spiderman tee shirt and a devilish grin filled the screen. “This is a recent photo of Alan Dewer. At the time of his abduction, he was clad in a pair of Daredevil underwear and a Hulk tee shirt. Please be on the lookout for this boy. The camera shot to a long shot of the boy’s ruined bedroom.
Marilyn shuddered all the way to her soul. The boy’s room, at least the contents, could have been John’s room of three years before. She felt Darren’s supportive arms close around her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked gently.
“That could have been John,” she whispered, shuddering again. “His night terrors started because I had a late meeting one night, my very first partnership meeting. Knowing that I was going to come home late that night, and to show John that I trusted him, I left him home alone. About midnight the burglar alarm went off, scaring away a would-be intruder. He has had these periodic nightmares ever since.” She felt Darren’s cheek against hers, strong and safe.
“It’s not your fault, Mari,” he murmured. “We’ll find a way to help him. I swear it. You don’t have to do this alone any longer.” He gently stroked her hair and smiled contently. He knew he had best call his brother soon. Abduction cases took their toll on the sensitive bear. “I have to get to work,” he said looking at the clock over the table. “If I don’t, my charming demons will tear my room apart floor to ceiling.” He stepped back and grabbed his briefcase. “I’ll come by around six to see how you two are doing. John and I still have to make peace.” He kissed Mari than hurried to the front door. Mari followed him basking in the comfort of having another person to confide in when things got tough. She watched him stride briskly down the street to the junior high school. His thick 6’1” frame was so different from Jamal’s lean 5’10” one. Darren with his strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes couldn’t have been more different than her Nigerian lover. She wondered if that was part of what had attracted her in those first weeks. She waited until he had disappeared behind the neighbors rose hedges then shut the door and went upstairs to get ready for her day. She figured that John was already ready for school.
“Sorry, Mom,” John called from his bathroom. The door opened hesitantly and he looked out slowly. His hang dog expression easily disarmed any exasperated adult, her included. “I know you really like him. He’s really nice.” He shuffled into the hall Tee-shirt hanging out over his baggy jeans, and uncomfortably hugged her.
“I know, honey,” she replied .
