Chapter 132: Momentary Vulnerability
- DEX -
Lawson and I walk briskly into the hospital right at 7:30 and find our way back to father’s room. There is still some time to visit, so we sink into chairs next to his bed. The whole atmosphere is impersonal, clinical, melancholic.
The great Jansen Mobius who I built up so large in my mind all my life is in a hospital gown with an IV and fluids in preparation for the surgery. He looks so much older, so much more frail. And the lump that lodges in my throat as a result clashes with the urgency roiling inside to get back home.
My skin is tight with the volatile combination, and I hate it. I hate feeling like I’m meant to be in two places at once. My father needs me here right now.
"I want you both to know that I’m proud of you," the old man says with an emotional grin, patting my hand that rests on the raised metal arm of his bed.
Father looks relaxed, lacking that razor sharp edge that everyone is so used to seeing him with. I want to recoil at the suggestion that this man who I respect and love and who I looked up to all these years is proud of my brother.
My lip almost curls back in outrage to reveal the latest stunt that Lawson pulled. Let’s lay it out and dissect it right here on one of these hospital beds. If we flay Lawson’s false image, the facade that he wears for the world, and open him up, can we discover what makes him tick? Why he has the urge to prey on women? Is there a vital organ for compassion and empathy that can be transplanted with a healthy one?
I’m willing to grab a scalpel and give it a try, because the cancerous tissue Lawson is growing is just as deadly as that of our father’s. How far are we going to let it spread? Because despite attempts to root it out with therapy, its malignancy is still there. And it’s not something I will tolerate when it is licking at Raya’s heals.
"Dex, I know you will steer the company well," father says, interrupting my thoughts. Surprise feathers through me while Lawson has a different reaction judging by the sudden coughing fit he is unable to control.
"Why are you talking like this now, Pa?" I ask, the endearment I used for him as a child flowing forth. "The surgery today will be no problem. You still have so much time. They were saying at least a good six years..."
"I know, I know," he cuts me off. "It’s just that—well I woke up this morning, and I had the biggest wave of nostalgia crash over me."
His chin juts up as emotions appear to be crashing over him now. With the faintest tremble of his jaw, he goes on.
"I could almost swear that Luna was in the room. She was standing right there," he says, eyes sliding in gesture to the corner, "with those beautiful deep brown eyes and that smile that made everything else around her warm. She was arranging the bouquet of flowers. Don’t they look more beautiful today than they did yesterday? All she had to do was touch them."
He clears his throat, chuckling through a sheen of tears while the vision he has painted drips down the walls. It’s so vivid, my mouth goes dry. I try to swallow, but it’s no use with the ghost of my mother haunting the corner next to me.
"I guess I just really woke up missing her," he chuckles again, pressing fingers and a thumb of one hand against his eyes.
I rise up and kiss the top of his head, my hand curling around him tenderly like he’s a small child in need of reassurance.
"You’re a good man, Alexander," he rasps, patting me on the shoulder. "Everything is prepared for you and for the company. There is nothing to worry about. You will do well. Your mother and I are proud of you."
"Everything is going to be fine today, Pa," I tell him, biting back my own surge of emotions from this unexpected vulnerability of his. "I love you."
"I love you too, son," he says, accepting my embrace and holding until the moment feels right to break away. "I’m going to need to speak with Lawson alone for a few minutes."
I nod, letting my father’s arms slip through mine so that I can make way for my brother. When I step out of the room, my head feels light and my legs are weightless, carrying me further down the bright hallway while I squint in confusion.
My father isn’t dying today, so why is he making it seem like this is a final goodbye?
I punch some buttons on my phone and force down a difficult swallow when my ray of sunshine picks up on the other end. What time is it even there? Probably not late enough. Raya’s voice still has that rough, raspy sound that is common after sleep when she greets me.
I can imagine her lying next to me, tilting her head back to say good morning, blonde hair spilling over my face in silky tendrils. My fist clenches at my side when I imagine my arm tightening around her waist and dragging her further into my chest. I want her against me now.
"Is everything okay?" Raya asks. A small flicker of panic rises in her voice this time, and I quickly mean to soothe her.
"Yes, angel. I just wanted to hear your voice. Go back to sleep." Strength breaches the surface of my momentary vulnerability, a weakness that has now passed like a shadow. Instead of seeking Raya for solace, I am now offering it back.
"Are you sure?" She asks, suspicion burning and then fading into the pull of sleep seeking to claim her again.
"Yes. I love you."
Her returned sentiment is a smiled whisper under fluttering lashes that I can see in my mind.
Raya is so beautiful in the morning in that suspended state between dreams and reality. She is so beautiful all the time, but that lingering magic under the surface of consciousness is where her dreams of me were born before we even met. It’s the same place where memories and hauntings and nostalgia derive, so thick it coats my throat with emotion. It’s the place my mother apparently still lives, haunting my father.
He has never spoken of seeing my mother like he did now, though. I wonder if she has always come to him like she did this morning. Based on how intense his emotions were recalling it just now, I doubt it. And that makes me wonder why this morning is different.
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- RAYA -
Did Dex have a nightmare? Is that why he’s calling me?
The phone stares up at me blankly, nothing but a smooth black mirror that reflects my tired confusion.
I hope Dex didn’t have a nightmare, because mine was bad enough for both of us. I was back in his house with Lawson, but this time there was a second predator. My old neighbor—the one who hid behind a hole in the wall. He hid again when he was caught in the woods and laid out on that gurney, avoiding my eyes when he was restrained and had nowhere to run. But he did not hide in the nightmare.
I never saw Kenneth Rider’s smile in real life. The few times I bumped into him, the encounter was brief and passed quickly. But in the nightmare, his lips twitched upward with an evil that was on full display. It glinted off the silver of his knife, and when he caught me on the stairs and hauled me up to he second floor of Dex’s house, I was screaming so loudly that Rory woke me and then held me until I stopped shaking.
"Westin is moving out," she told me on a trembling breath once I had calmed in her arms. I’m not sure why she chose to tell me then. Maybe I had shaken her to the point that her own terror tumbled free. "It’s official. He’s moving to London."
"I’m sorry, Rory," I told her, and I hugged her back. She laid down next to me without another word, and I must have fallen back asleep at some point listening to the sound of our mingled breaths in the darkness.
My hand reaches out for the empty space and ruffled blankets on the bed. I always thought she and Westin were forever. It’s hard to imagine the pair of them being disentangled and left to do their own things.
Is there a cosmic portal of some kind that opened up this summer and is dramatically shifting everyone’s lives? Fates seem to be clashing and rearranging, lining up in different configurations like the past several years veered off course and must be corrected.
It brought Dex to me. Westin is going to London. What else is going to happen? Warning knots uneasily in my stomach. As much of an upheaval as all of this seems now, something tells me it’s only the beginning of what’s to come.
