Post by Admin on Jun 12, 2015 23:25:57 GMT
So here is the next chapter in the saga of disasters and dreams and etc. There is indeed a lot of questions unanswered so far for the reader, but hopefully they'll all be addressed in due time. And here's a quick perspective change if that's all right. PLUS, I've gone back over some of the characters' names and rolls in the story again so
…
It was at that moment that Elena began to understand the concept of a child’s innocence. An ability little Tanner had to ignore the darkness that confronted them on all sides. And she found that she needed a little of his courage for herself.
In fact, Little Tanner was walking fast to keep up with her own anxious, fearful steps. She was on alert for anything that suggested danger and had told him to keep quiet which might have been a hard thing to ask a young boy. But Tanner was obedient. He followed her with such naive faith, as if he actually thought she could lead them to safety.
‘He’s only a boy. He’s only a boy. Why was a little Canadian boy brought here? Why are any of us here?’
As the two walked through the dim, black and red tinted hallways painted with their own shadows, Elena looked over her shoulder and whispered to the boy, “Tanner, do you know any…nursery rhymes? Any songs that your mom sings to you at bedtime?”
At those words, Tanner’s steps slowed and Elena sensed that she’d gone too far again. ‘I have to stop bringing up his parents. I just need to distract him.’
Speaking quickly and quietly, Elena turned slightly to Tanner while keeping a walking pace, “Do you know the Crooked Man rhyme?”
Tanner kept silent, as if his mouth were wired shut and shook his head. “I’ll teach it to you as we walk. Just keep walking, please… honey.”
The words seemed strange coming from her mouth. Honey. She was anything but a babysitter. She had never watched over children and wasn’t much of a kid lover, so to speak. And here she was now, trying to ‘entertain’ a 6 year old boy while they strolled through a hellish catacomb full of nightmarish creatures and delusions.
She made sure to keep her voice just barely above a whisper; focused on the shadowy halls around them and the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel ahead. But she sang just the same, hoping this small degree of distraction would be enough to keep the boy from thinking about his mommy or daddy. Maybe it could help her not go crazy from confusion and fear in the meantime.
“There was a crooked man. And he walked a crooked mile.”
“He found a crooked sixpence. Upon a crooked stile.”
“He bought a crooked cat who caught a crooked mouse.”
“And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
Eventually Tanner caught on, and soon the hushed whispers of the crooked man filled the air around them. Walking and softly singing in nowhere. She checked down a side hallway and motioned for him to follow. And with a quick thought, Elena reached out and held the little boy’s hand, bringing him into a come along faster walk.
'God, are these halls going to go on forever? Where is that dim glow up ahead coming from? What. Is. This. Place?'
And why did…mom bring me here? Mom...
As Elena tried to quickly wave off any thoughts of her mother, Tanner suddenly stopped the song and asked innocently, “Where are we?” He had asked a bit too loud.
“Shh, we’re… in the crooked man’s house,” Elena made up quickly.
“Oh, so is that the crooked man back there?” Tanner asked. Elena froze and turned to face Tanner who was pointing behind them. She slowly looked back into the near complete black and then she heard the echoing, stumbling footsteps.
A raspy, empty voice came from within the darkness, “Are you real? Are you real?”
…
The first thing I realized was that I was laying on my back in someplace completely new. Eyes closed as if I had been sleeping. Chilly. The surface I was on felt like rough wood. A bench?
I fought my instinct to instantly bolt up and take in my new surroundings. Dream. Delusion. Whatever.
Instead, I listened hard. With hope raked up against hope, I waited and wished that I was indeed in a god forsaken hospital. That I would open my eyes and realize with utter delight that I had two broken legs, courtesy of the crash. Or that I would open my eyes and see my few remaining friends standing over my paralyzed body. That I would open my eyes and see a dull white clinic ceiling. That I would simply be able to look around with certainty and say, “That was a crazy, crazy, crazy unreal hoax of a made up, fake dream. That was not real. Phony. Bogus. But now I’m nice and sane.”
But as I listened hard, I heard nothing. Nothing at all. It was a strange, weightless feeling to just be, not hearing or seeing anything at all. At least there was no crazy people here. But then again, where was the sound of anything at all? No electrical hum of machinery in a hospital or the ticking of a clock.
A fleeting thought occurred to me because of this, Am I deaf?
So I finally decided to take the risk and reveal my consciousness; I opened my eyes. This world was most different from anything I’d seen before.
High stone walls rose around me, groping toward a blank, grey sky. Like an unfinished grand cathedral, without a roof. Not a hospital room.
The ‘soundlessness’ persisted as I took a look around in this strange environment. I was laid out on a pew among dozens of other rows all facing the front of the church. No alter or cross. No candles or lights anywhere, probably because the dim sky shed enough light over the large chamber. The only decorations were stained windows on the surrounding walls depicting disjointed and multicolored pictures of biblical stories.
But the one thing that caught my eye as I slowly sat up was the man sitting two rows in front of me, head bowed and head hung in what I could guess was prayer. He remained silent as I swung my feet to the stone mosaic floor and rose from my seat.
Not exactly knowing what to do or say, I simply walked to the center aisle and approached the man from the side. As I neared his still form, I could clearly see the clean police uniform he wore. The word on the shoulder read London Police …something, something…
Wait a sec, London Police? What the?
I now stood mere feet from the man. It felt unnatural to make sound in such a quiet place, but I spoke anyway, “Um, excuse me?”
I saw his head slowly rise from his hands and turn to me. His young, freshly shaven face peered up at me with a curious expression and two blank eyes. After a moment, his hands unlocked from each other and he sat up a bit straighter.
“You’re awake,” he spoke in a fairly strong British accent.
“Yes,” I replied, the single word seeming foreign and frail in the great expanse. I wanted the man to go on.
“…I’m Thomas,” he introduced himself.
“Ryder…” I said, then not knowing what to say really, I gazed back at the walls, “Sure is a beautiful church. Strange. But beautiful.”
Thomas turned to look around at the unfinished cathedral he sat in, as if for the first time, and answered methodically, “Yes…I suppose it is.”
But before I could ask anything more, Thomas said, “Say, have you seen a small girl around here. Short, brown hair. Wearing a white dress. I saw her run through here a while ago. She left without saying anything. Then you appeared on that pew shortly after that.”
“Sorry…I haven’t been here before. I just woke up,” I answered honestly. What does this guy know? And even more confusing, how is he from London?
“Huh…well, I suppose everyone has somewhere to be. I suppose you have to be off as well,” he said absently.
“Right…I am looking for someone. Or maybe a way to get home,” I said, rather vaguely. I had the feeling that now was the best time to go, even though I still had many questions. “Have you come across anyone else here besides me and that girl? Anyone at all?”
He glanced at me strangely before looking away again. “No, no I haven’t. I came here alone, and I think I’ll stay just a bit longer…by myself.”
“Oh, okay then. Just be careful out there,” I concluded, stepping away from him. I didn’t know what I was telling him to be careful from exactly and neither did he, probably.
I turned to go and headed back down the center aisle to the doors that led out. Thinking back on the words Thomas and I had exchanged, I began to wonder. Were we both trying to keep something from each other? Or were we just trying to convince each other that everything happening around us was normal? Just making small chat in each of our impossible situations? Or had Thomas really accepted that this was reality? Perhaps he didn’t realize yet that he was busy praying inside his own dream. Or (more likely) Thomas wasn’t even a real person. A delusion, like Serenity and probably (hopefully) everything else.
I’ll continue to act as if these people are real. Like Thomas or the crazy guy that chased me. Otherwise, I feel like I’ll go crazy from refusing to believe everything I see. And everything does seem real. Very strange, but very real.
Just as I was thinking it strange that I hadn’t heard or seen Serenity yet in this cathedral, Thomas called back to me, “Ryder?”
I turned from where I stood a few feet away from the main doors and saw that Thomas was still staring at the front of the church, at nothing.
“Yes, Thomas?”
He was still turned away from me as he spoke, “What did you mean when you said you’re looking for someone? Did you lose someone around here?”
“I guess you could say that. She’s my late wife. And there’s something that tells me I have to find out…whether she truly is here or not…”
“Here is a large place. Especially for someone who’s dead,” he murmured, and I could barely hear it, even though our words were the only sounds in this silent cathedral. His response surprised me, “I hope you find her.”
“Me too,” I said and ended with something that I felt was right to say. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for too.”
No answer.
I moved back to the doors and pushed them open to reveal a surprisingly normal looking neighborhood outside. Peaceful and still, this suburb almost seemed normal if not for the completely blank sky, out of place cathedral, and the muted air. But as I descended the steps to the well-kept path leading to the roadside, I could make out Thomas’s voice once again. As the large, thick doors reclosed behind me, Thomas was talking to himself softly, “What am I bloody looking for? What will I find?”
The great doors shut rather quietly with a small thunk into place. I was once again alone, whether that was better or worse.
Why is Thomas here? In the Layers?
Walking away from the large cathedral, I realized what I had just thought to myself. That word that "Serenity" had called these dreams. I almost smiled. I was accepting it. I was really beginning to accept my insanity. Layers.
What were Serenity’s exact words again? I’m in someplace deeper than any dream. That sounds about right, I guess. To be honest, I’m surprised she hadn’t bothered to come back and play with my head yet… Have I really become so used to thoughts of Serenity burrowing themselves into my dreams that I come to expected them? And could this Serenity really be...
I quickened my step into the empty and seemingly friendly street. I would put distance between me and the cathedral and Thomas. Beyond that objective, I had no clear purpose in this place. I looked at the cookie cutter homes that lined the suburb streets, then turned back to the towering, roofless cathedral mere yards away from the road. This all seemed like it existed.
"If I’m really in someplace deeper than any dream, then what does that make these places and those people?!" I demanded nothing. No answer.
…
It was at that moment that Elena began to understand the concept of a child’s innocence. An ability little Tanner had to ignore the darkness that confronted them on all sides. And she found that she needed a little of his courage for herself.
In fact, Little Tanner was walking fast to keep up with her own anxious, fearful steps. She was on alert for anything that suggested danger and had told him to keep quiet which might have been a hard thing to ask a young boy. But Tanner was obedient. He followed her with such naive faith, as if he actually thought she could lead them to safety.
‘He’s only a boy. He’s only a boy. Why was a little Canadian boy brought here? Why are any of us here?’
As the two walked through the dim, black and red tinted hallways painted with their own shadows, Elena looked over her shoulder and whispered to the boy, “Tanner, do you know any…nursery rhymes? Any songs that your mom sings to you at bedtime?”
At those words, Tanner’s steps slowed and Elena sensed that she’d gone too far again. ‘I have to stop bringing up his parents. I just need to distract him.’
Speaking quickly and quietly, Elena turned slightly to Tanner while keeping a walking pace, “Do you know the Crooked Man rhyme?”
Tanner kept silent, as if his mouth were wired shut and shook his head. “I’ll teach it to you as we walk. Just keep walking, please… honey.”
The words seemed strange coming from her mouth. Honey. She was anything but a babysitter. She had never watched over children and wasn’t much of a kid lover, so to speak. And here she was now, trying to ‘entertain’ a 6 year old boy while they strolled through a hellish catacomb full of nightmarish creatures and delusions.
She made sure to keep her voice just barely above a whisper; focused on the shadowy halls around them and the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel ahead. But she sang just the same, hoping this small degree of distraction would be enough to keep the boy from thinking about his mommy or daddy. Maybe it could help her not go crazy from confusion and fear in the meantime.
“There was a crooked man. And he walked a crooked mile.”
“He found a crooked sixpence. Upon a crooked stile.”
“He bought a crooked cat who caught a crooked mouse.”
“And they all lived together in a little crooked house.”
Eventually Tanner caught on, and soon the hushed whispers of the crooked man filled the air around them. Walking and softly singing in nowhere. She checked down a side hallway and motioned for him to follow. And with a quick thought, Elena reached out and held the little boy’s hand, bringing him into a come along faster walk.
'God, are these halls going to go on forever? Where is that dim glow up ahead coming from? What. Is. This. Place?'
And why did…mom bring me here? Mom...
As Elena tried to quickly wave off any thoughts of her mother, Tanner suddenly stopped the song and asked innocently, “Where are we?” He had asked a bit too loud.
“Shh, we’re… in the crooked man’s house,” Elena made up quickly.
“Oh, so is that the crooked man back there?” Tanner asked. Elena froze and turned to face Tanner who was pointing behind them. She slowly looked back into the near complete black and then she heard the echoing, stumbling footsteps.
A raspy, empty voice came from within the darkness, “Are you real? Are you real?”
…
The first thing I realized was that I was laying on my back in someplace completely new. Eyes closed as if I had been sleeping. Chilly. The surface I was on felt like rough wood. A bench?
I fought my instinct to instantly bolt up and take in my new surroundings. Dream. Delusion. Whatever.
Instead, I listened hard. With hope raked up against hope, I waited and wished that I was indeed in a god forsaken hospital. That I would open my eyes and realize with utter delight that I had two broken legs, courtesy of the crash. Or that I would open my eyes and see my few remaining friends standing over my paralyzed body. That I would open my eyes and see a dull white clinic ceiling. That I would simply be able to look around with certainty and say, “That was a crazy, crazy, crazy unreal hoax of a made up, fake dream. That was not real. Phony. Bogus. But now I’m nice and sane.”
But as I listened hard, I heard nothing. Nothing at all. It was a strange, weightless feeling to just be, not hearing or seeing anything at all. At least there was no crazy people here. But then again, where was the sound of anything at all? No electrical hum of machinery in a hospital or the ticking of a clock.
A fleeting thought occurred to me because of this, Am I deaf?
So I finally decided to take the risk and reveal my consciousness; I opened my eyes. This world was most different from anything I’d seen before.
High stone walls rose around me, groping toward a blank, grey sky. Like an unfinished grand cathedral, without a roof. Not a hospital room.
The ‘soundlessness’ persisted as I took a look around in this strange environment. I was laid out on a pew among dozens of other rows all facing the front of the church. No alter or cross. No candles or lights anywhere, probably because the dim sky shed enough light over the large chamber. The only decorations were stained windows on the surrounding walls depicting disjointed and multicolored pictures of biblical stories.
But the one thing that caught my eye as I slowly sat up was the man sitting two rows in front of me, head bowed and head hung in what I could guess was prayer. He remained silent as I swung my feet to the stone mosaic floor and rose from my seat.
Not exactly knowing what to do or say, I simply walked to the center aisle and approached the man from the side. As I neared his still form, I could clearly see the clean police uniform he wore. The word on the shoulder read London Police …something, something…
Wait a sec, London Police? What the?
I now stood mere feet from the man. It felt unnatural to make sound in such a quiet place, but I spoke anyway, “Um, excuse me?”
I saw his head slowly rise from his hands and turn to me. His young, freshly shaven face peered up at me with a curious expression and two blank eyes. After a moment, his hands unlocked from each other and he sat up a bit straighter.
“You’re awake,” he spoke in a fairly strong British accent.
“Yes,” I replied, the single word seeming foreign and frail in the great expanse. I wanted the man to go on.
“…I’m Thomas,” he introduced himself.
“Ryder…” I said, then not knowing what to say really, I gazed back at the walls, “Sure is a beautiful church. Strange. But beautiful.”
Thomas turned to look around at the unfinished cathedral he sat in, as if for the first time, and answered methodically, “Yes…I suppose it is.”
But before I could ask anything more, Thomas said, “Say, have you seen a small girl around here. Short, brown hair. Wearing a white dress. I saw her run through here a while ago. She left without saying anything. Then you appeared on that pew shortly after that.”
“Sorry…I haven’t been here before. I just woke up,” I answered honestly. What does this guy know? And even more confusing, how is he from London?
“Huh…well, I suppose everyone has somewhere to be. I suppose you have to be off as well,” he said absently.
“Right…I am looking for someone. Or maybe a way to get home,” I said, rather vaguely. I had the feeling that now was the best time to go, even though I still had many questions. “Have you come across anyone else here besides me and that girl? Anyone at all?”
He glanced at me strangely before looking away again. “No, no I haven’t. I came here alone, and I think I’ll stay just a bit longer…by myself.”
“Oh, okay then. Just be careful out there,” I concluded, stepping away from him. I didn’t know what I was telling him to be careful from exactly and neither did he, probably.
I turned to go and headed back down the center aisle to the doors that led out. Thinking back on the words Thomas and I had exchanged, I began to wonder. Were we both trying to keep something from each other? Or were we just trying to convince each other that everything happening around us was normal? Just making small chat in each of our impossible situations? Or had Thomas really accepted that this was reality? Perhaps he didn’t realize yet that he was busy praying inside his own dream. Or (more likely) Thomas wasn’t even a real person. A delusion, like Serenity and probably (hopefully) everything else.
I’ll continue to act as if these people are real. Like Thomas or the crazy guy that chased me. Otherwise, I feel like I’ll go crazy from refusing to believe everything I see. And everything does seem real. Very strange, but very real.
Just as I was thinking it strange that I hadn’t heard or seen Serenity yet in this cathedral, Thomas called back to me, “Ryder?”
I turned from where I stood a few feet away from the main doors and saw that Thomas was still staring at the front of the church, at nothing.
“Yes, Thomas?”
He was still turned away from me as he spoke, “What did you mean when you said you’re looking for someone? Did you lose someone around here?”
“I guess you could say that. She’s my late wife. And there’s something that tells me I have to find out…whether she truly is here or not…”
“Here is a large place. Especially for someone who’s dead,” he murmured, and I could barely hear it, even though our words were the only sounds in this silent cathedral. His response surprised me, “I hope you find her.”
“Me too,” I said and ended with something that I felt was right to say. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for too.”
No answer.
I moved back to the doors and pushed them open to reveal a surprisingly normal looking neighborhood outside. Peaceful and still, this suburb almost seemed normal if not for the completely blank sky, out of place cathedral, and the muted air. But as I descended the steps to the well-kept path leading to the roadside, I could make out Thomas’s voice once again. As the large, thick doors reclosed behind me, Thomas was talking to himself softly, “What am I bloody looking for? What will I find?”
The great doors shut rather quietly with a small thunk into place. I was once again alone, whether that was better or worse.
Why is Thomas here? In the Layers?
Walking away from the large cathedral, I realized what I had just thought to myself. That word that "Serenity" had called these dreams. I almost smiled. I was accepting it. I was really beginning to accept my insanity. Layers.
What were Serenity’s exact words again? I’m in someplace deeper than any dream. That sounds about right, I guess. To be honest, I’m surprised she hadn’t bothered to come back and play with my head yet… Have I really become so used to thoughts of Serenity burrowing themselves into my dreams that I come to expected them? And could this Serenity really be...
I quickened my step into the empty and seemingly friendly street. I would put distance between me and the cathedral and Thomas. Beyond that objective, I had no clear purpose in this place. I looked at the cookie cutter homes that lined the suburb streets, then turned back to the towering, roofless cathedral mere yards away from the road. This all seemed like it existed.
"If I’m really in someplace deeper than any dream, then what does that make these places and those people?!" I demanded nothing. No answer.