Dreaming With The Lights Out

I present to you the prologue and first two chapters of the story I am writing. This post is a bit longer than my usual, but I wanted to include the introduction of two main characters. Let me know what you think.

Prologue: Now, on the road.

It is the night of the first storm of the season in town, and the rain is coming down in sheets, a cool breeze accompanies the occasional flashes and booms that punctuate nature’s fury.

In the rear-view mirror, Danica can see her reflection clearly. From the corner of one bruised eye, painful tears are meandering their way down her face, and for the briefest of moments she wonders if they will form a canyon or crater as they move with glacial slowness while carving their path. Just then, the tear drops from her face and lands without noise, without pomp, without ceremony on the collar of her uniform. These are not the tears of sorrow.

Danica is now a much more careful driver than she had been just 8 short, eons long months ago, and while she fights tears and thoughts with every ounce of her considerable will, she also concentrates on a safe driving experience. Danica refuses to take that chance, even as she is completely uprooting her life.

Looking in the mirror again she sees the familiar terror fade. The anger is not there as it had been just an hour ago. It is replaced by a serene calm that she does not actually feel yet. This reminds her of HIM. Even now, as she drives towards him at a respectable 5 kilometers under the speed limit, it is raining after all, she wonders if his face will ever match what she knows he is feeling inside.

Is she really going through with this?

The tears are not of sorrow and loss like one might expect. Danica can never mourn the dissolution of her relationship with Patrick; in fact one might say in a way she was celebrating it.

The tears are those of a person who just doesn’t know what else to do but cry. When you’re tired…no exhausted, and you can’t take anymore, what do you do? When your anger is spent and your adrenaline gone, what do you do? When you are scared of the unknown but you can’t run away from it, what do you do? When you are determined to break free of the chains that shackle you to an existence you cannot stand, what do you do? When you are fleeing the scene of the crime, what do you do?

Danica cries.

Danica cries lonely tears, silent tears, defiant tears.

Danica never wanted this, but who among us gets to choose our fate freely?

Danica had survived what most would determine after close examination, a microscopic fiber check, and a thorough inspection of every piece of evidence, a difficult life. She has come this far, lived this long, dealt with this much. The journey will last a little longer before she reaches a safe plateau, but she can see it from where she sits behind the wheel of her used Honda, despite the heavy rain and poor visibility.

These are the thoughts of Danica Phillips as she drives to work for the last time.

Dreaming with the lights out, pt 1: Then, a house.

So very few of us ever wake up knowing today is the last day. Today is the day when it’s all gonna come to a screeching halt. Scott Reynolds was no different than the rest of us. In fact, that is a truism about Scott in so many ways. Scott was the same as everyone. Scott was everyone.

Scott was generally what one would call average. He was neither an athlete, nor a sloth. He was neither brilliant nor dull. Scott was for all intents and purposes just a guy making his way in the world. Scott worked at a telecommunications company as an IT professional in order to pay for his small townhouse in a quiet residential neighbourhood. He went to work, he came home. He watched television, surfed the internet, and ate a balanced diet. For fun, Scott had a few friends, but really no one close. They would meet on Wednesdays and bowl. He wasn’t that in to it, but it was an excuse to get out of the house. When he was feeling particularly wild, Scott might have two beers in a sitting. Like everyone, he had indulged a few times in his life; however, that kind of loss of control and headache wass not something he desired.

Scott had grown up an orphan, so he really had no family, nor had he learned the necessity for close bonds, or the skills to make them for that matter. He wasn’t bitter about this, after all, life happens; yet, it did make for a slightly lonelier existence than would be the comfortable norm. This was maybe the only remarkable thing about the man. He had grown up 10 degrees off the norm.

We don’t really need to go in to all of this, because this is the part where something very bad happens, and all of this just lets you know what kind of guy he was, not what kind of dead guy he is.

His last day started of pretty much the same as most. Alarm, shower, instant Breakfast, car, traffic. That’s when it all came unglued for Scott. In a car, anonymously motoring about among the masses. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have slammed on the brakes to avoid a car running a red light. On a normal day he wouldn’t have been in front of a semi carrying a full load. On a normal day he would be humming along to the radio, snickering at the dj, making mental notes about the weather.

The accident was loud, a giant cacophony of screeching tires, grinding metal, and breaking bones but Scott really didn’t care. After all, it’s not the noise of the impact, it’s the force right? In this case, the impact was great enough to
cause his neck to snap, and one of the bone fragments to sever an artery, flooding his brain with a viscous red liquid he had previously relied on to keep him alive.

Much of the next 15 minutes would be hard for Scott to remember; but, if you asked him, he would have told you it was exactly like the movies. Snapshots in time. This impression was most likely due to the aforementioned life giving fluids now flooding the cognitive centers of his brain, but really, who cares about the science of why he saw the world the way he did in his final moments.

A voice asking him if he’s all right.

The look on the face of a young EMT that said holy shit, how do I fix this poor bastard.

Next came that feeling of being lifted up and out.

The pain crashing in on him in waves of excruciating awareness. Suddenly he remembered he had a body, and suddenly that body hated him.

The sound of a different, but equally dumbfounded EMT shouting “Hurry the fuck up Tim, we gotta get him there, he ain’t dyin’ in my bus,” as the siren sang a
song of impending doom.

Harsh white light that normally would have sent stabbing pains through his skull and out the other side softened, while the pace of conversation between doctors and nurses quickened to staccato pace.

The Sounds of machine, his only connection to the living.

The unmistakable sound of high pitched tone, acting like a homing beacon for the recently departed.

The doctor’s voice fading with the light, : call it. Time of death eight thirt…..”

But this is not a story of death. This is a story of after death.

Dreaming with the lights out pt 2: The same day, an apartment, eight months before a dark and stormy night.

Standing in the bathroom, Danica Phillips stared bleary eyed at her reflection in the mirror. It is hard to say whether she disapproved of her reflection or her reflection disapproved of her. Either way the eyes are sad, disappointed and one of them was ringed with a fresh bruise.

Trying to brace herself on the counter, she raised to her full height and twisted at the waste. The eye bruise was nothing new, but the bruise along her rib cage was something alien. He had been mad before, but not like this. In the past it was just a slap to remind her of her place. Well more to remind her of his place as the man. He was the one in charge, not her, and his word was law.

Examining the bruise she thought about this and realised it was her fault really. They had been out to dinner earlier in the night and she had done something wrong. Now she was unsure of exactly what she had done, but she knows it was bad.

Patrick had been flirting with the waitress. Harmless really. He loves Danica, he tells her all the time. He had just wanted to charge his batteries, that was all. He wanted to flirt, and Danica should not have been rude to the woman. That’s all.

That’s not the whole story, but at that point, Danica was too upset to admit the rest. She was too ashamed to admit her own jealousy. Too frightened to admit Patrick’s anger over being questioned. Too embarrassed to admit how it made her feel at times good, and bad, to know he cared this much.

Maybe she was justifying his behaviour. Giving it altruistic motivations to quell the fear she was feeling.

Danica is not a stupid woman. Far from it in fact. Like many people, Danica is just afraid of being alone; furthermore, she secretly doesn’t think she is worth the love he does show, so the hate he shows is just her penance for the good.

Danica was glad she woke up so early, and too proud to admit it was the pain that jolted her from her troubled sleep, where she dreamt the dreams of the frightened and possessed.

She has grown proficient at make-up. So proficient she can cover up almost anything. She begins with a good healthy foundation.

As she cleaned herself up she revealed deep blue eyes in an almost almond shaped setting. She has a vaguely exotic appeal in her face despite her usual pale complexion. She won’t have time that morning to wash her shoulder length Raven hair. She didn’t really have time for much other than make-up.

A quick shower was all she got. Enough to wash away the surface dirt, but not enough to scrub her really clean. Not enough to wash all of what happened off her.

Heaving a deep sigh she examined herself in the mirror. She will forgo the contacts that morning, in fear of her glasses rubbing away her handiwork, and hope  the luggage of the damned under her eyes will hide the truth enough to fake her way through the day.

She was close to the end of her cover-up when her heart jumped out of her well formed chest when she heard the sound of a harsh knock at the bathroom door.

Cursing the fact that Patrick had the annoying habit of waking up 5 minutes before the alarm went off and never giving her any warning of his impending arrival, she cautiously intoned “Just a couple more minutes.”

Outside the door Mark shook his head, both in exacerbation and in an attempt to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. “Whatever babe.”

Danica knew he would be heading to the kitchen to get some coffee, and that meant she had 4 to 7 minutes to pull herself together.

She pulled on her light green scrubs and tied her hair back in a severe bun, she made the final inspection. The glasses would work better she decided, so she swapped out the contacts quickly and then left the bathroom.

In the kitchen, Patrick was dressed only in boxers, sitting on a stool, glancing at his iPad. The modern form of reading the paper. His personalized news feed app had carefully combed the internet for everything the wife beater on the go needs for his morning ablutions.

I think it would make us all feel better if he had been reading tips on how not to leave bruises, or domination daily, or how to make her feel worthless and dependant quarterly, but instead he was checking the morning market, grabbing a laugh from an online cartoon, and checking the latest from cnn. I think we would feel better if at least he was checking Fox news, but no such luck.

In a sense, Patrick appears average. He has a decent job working at a small law firm as an associate, is a decent guy, in the fact he tips well, gives money to homeless people and says all the right things at all the right times to all the right people. Plus, he has decent hygiene; bathing regularly and looking after himself.

His body and looks are not average. He is the perfect specimen of body fat to muscle ratio, and he has those little protruding bones at the waist that women like so much.

Patrick is handsome and just slightly rugged, without being overly manly or overly prissy. The modern man for the modern times. In a sense, he looks much like he walked out of a Sears catalogue, wherein he was portrayed in a suit, camping gear, and playing soccer.

This is why Danica was so attracted to him. He was what every man aspired to be, and yet no man can be this. He embodied women’s desires so mutely he almost defied existence, yet he was so banally average in every other respect that he defied interest.

Looking up from his iPad he smiled, revealing an average set of off white teeth. “Well hello there.” His tone switched to a playful baritone and pattern, “I wish I knew what it is you women do in bathrooms that takes so long.”

Danica faked a smile and died just a little inside.

Patrick got up, walked over to her, kissed her offered cheek, gave her a playful smack on her rounded buttocks. “Be ready in ten babe, I gotta get to the office.”

True to his word, he was ready on time. They went to the apartment complex’s parking garage and got in his car, a silver SUV.

Patrick was more particular about time that morning than he usually is. He was constantly checking his watch as if he is afraid of being late for work.

The ride began in silence, but shortly became a discord of noise as Patrik’s voice regaled Danica of his coming day, of how difficult his coworkers are, and how he had no idea what he is going to have for lunch. Normalcy? Average? Regular?

After checking his watch for the umpteenth time, Patrick reached over and turned on the radio just in time to hear a loud annoying bass heavy song cease, and the dj commence.

“Got an email dedication this fine morning, from Patrick to Danica…oh you gotta be kidding, it is way to early to be this sappy…my producer is waving frantically at me to carry on, so with all apologies to those who just had breakfast, Danica, my love, my sweet, nothing in this world will ever come between us. You are my everything and I would do anything for you, always. How sweet and what not.”

Danica didn’t hear the rest. She didn’t even really hear her favourite song come on. Her heart was pounding and her eyes were welling up..In the back of her mind, where the mean lady who tells her to be careful all the time lives, she heard, don’t cry, it will ruin your make-up job, and we don’t want that Danny, definitely not that.

She ignored the voice, but not the advice, stealing her courage and willpower, she suppressed the tears and looks at Patrick.

“I’m sorry babe. I don’t know what got in to me. You’re the best, and it will never happen again.”

His eyes looked so sincere. His steel grey eyes conved truth, a truth he always believed, each and ebery time this had happened, and so does she.

She leaned over to kiss him and snuggled in to his shoulder. Taking his eyes off the road, he appraises her. He has great taste he thinks to himself. She takes care of her body, and it shows. She mostly eats right, mostly remembers to exercise, and mostly fills out those scrubs properly. A bit chunky around the hips, but that’s ok. It translates to a bit extra up top as well.

Danica sat back in her seat and looked up in to the rearview mirror. She caught a glimps of herself, and realised her mistake. She had worn the glasses, and the glasses had worn off some of her earlier make up artistry. She knew then that some of the other nurses at work were starting to wonder about her. They were trained to notice the signs, just like her. Danica flipped down the visor and opened the vanity mirror to begin her touch up work.

Patrick noticed her do this and mistook it for his carms working on her. Of course she wanted to make herself look better for him.

He reached out to cup one of her breasts and completely ignored the road. He completely ignored the fact that he was blowing through a red light. He was so transfixed by the beauty of his girl…well not beauty, she is kinda slightly overweight isn’t she? And her lips could be fuller, and her eyes are all poofy, and she is wearing too much make-up today, but she is still attractive. He was so transfixed that he didn’t notice the accident he had caused, despite the sound of crushing metal.

Danica saw something out of the corner of her eye, her bruised eye, as she b;ended, this made her look back and see the scene, but not the state of the traffic lights.

“Oh my god Patrick, we have to stop.”

Patrick’s average mind computed the options for a moment. It takes a moment longer for him to come to a conclusion because, after all, his mind is only average.

“Gonna be late babe, forget about it, it doesn’t concern us. I am sure someone will stop to help.”

With that, they carried on, her with concern and the natural curiosity of an ER nurse, and him with his self absorbed diatribe about his coming day.

Behind them, Scott Reynolds was dying, and being reborn.