Crumbling Walls (Jack and Emily #1) (32 page)

▪▪▪

Things came to a head, however, one Friday evening a few weeks later.

Around six that night, just after Jack and Emily had finished doing the dinner dishes, Tim came into the kitchen and asked to borrow Jack’s set of car keys. A simple request from one brother to another and the response should have been an easy one. Instead, Jack, after another sleepless night, another rapidly escalating eye-pounding headache and feeling that it was about damn time for Tim to keep track of his keys, had had enough. Turning from the stove, he dug up his keys from his pocket, then whipped them at Tim. The metal ring missing the intended target of Tim’s chest, instead going higher, catching him in the chin, “Make some fucking copies and don’t ask me again.”

Instant anger had Tim automatically move towards Jack, but he only got two steps in before Jack registered what he'd done and, stepping backwards, knocked Emily, who was behind him, first against the corner of the counter, then down to the linoleum.

Jack could only look at her, then, without a word, he bolted from the house, the back door banging behind him. Both Tim and Emily stared at one another for a moment before Tim, holding his throbbing lip in one hand, extended the other towards her, slowly pulling her up, “You okay?”

Tears jumped to her eyes, “Yeah, I just wish the edges were rounded.”

He’d never done it before, but without thinking about it, he pulled her into a hug, “He needs to talk to Mom and Dad.”

It was strange contact to her, but she gladly accepted it, hugging him back, “I know. I’ll talk to him when he gets back or I’ll tell Will and Elizabeth myself.”

Stepping back out of the hug, he took her face in his hands and aiming it towards him, he leaned in a bit, “Good … now, do you think my lip’s gonna swell up? Tell me the truth, I can take it.”

Emily forgot he wasn’t a six year old Sam and, with a teary smile, kissed her fingertips, then touched the spot where he did indeed have a red indent and the makings of a small bruise, “It’ll heal before you get married.”

For a single, split second, he looked like he just might do something else, but then he straightened up, his hands falling to his sides, “Works for me.”

Reaching around, she rubbed her back where the corner had dug in, “Are you gonna be mad at him?”

He wanted to, he really did, but looking at Emily with her paled skin and still watery eyes, biting her lip absentmindedly, he gave her a half-smile and mashed down his annoyance, “Naw, I was the idiot who lost my keys in the first place. I probably deserved to be smacked with them.”

“Not really,” locking eyes for a few moments, Emily broke the look, “but thanks.”

Picking up the forgotten keys, “I'll see you later, okay?”

With a nod, “Do you think he'll be gone long?”

“No idea.” As he shrugged, “He'll be back when he's ready.”

With that, Tim left her standing in the kitchen, alone for just long enough to swipe the last bit of wetness from her cheeks before Elizabeth came in, several boys in tow, “You sure you and Jack don't want to go to the library with us?”

“Um, yeah, I've got plenty to read and Jack rode his bike over to Dex's house, something about video game coma. He asked me to tell you.”

“Oh … well, all right then. We'll be back in about an hour.”

The rest of the evening passed quietly, Emily leaving Jack a voice mail filling him in on his supposed evening at Dex's. She wasn't sure he'd get the message, but it was about all she could do, so she left it at that. Lying in bed later that night, she first heard Tim come in, then, just before midnight, she heard the faint spinning of gears that signaled Jack was home as well.

▪▪▪

After the kitchen incident and knocking Emily down, Jack, flying away from the house on his bike, pedaled blindly for a few minutes, until it occurred to him he needed a destination. Luckily, the first destination seemed to be Dex's house, which he'd unconsciously been headed towards in the first place. Hoping his friend would be home, Jack parked his bike against the garage and knocked on the side door. It took a few minutes, but Dex pulled it open, rubbing his apparently just dyed chartreuse mohawk vigorously with a towel, “Dude.”

Bypassing the customary 'dude' back, “Can I hide out here for awhile? My house is getting crowded.”

He ushered him in, still scrubbing his hair dry, “Getting? I'm surprised you people don't bust out the seams of that place on a daily basis.” Any other day, this would have made him laugh and Dex, knowing this, stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor, turning to him, “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

Dex had the ability not to question when necessary and, as witnessed through his friendship with Emily, could bite his tongue when called for, but this, in his mind, was not one of those times. Tossing the wet towel over one of the kitchen chairs, “What did you do to warrant needing a place to hide? I don't harbor fugitives unless I feel justified, so spill it.” Jack wondered if he had the energy to work up annoyance at the order, but Dex saw it coming and cocked an eyebrow as he leaned against the kitchen counter, “And don't get all pissy. It's a legitimate question and given you've interrupted my evening off in an empty house, I think I deserve what I demand,” and, just for kicks, he added, “please and thank you.”

In a sudden rush of jumbled thoughts starting at his own house this morning and ending with the thoughts he'd been trying to ignore for the past six weeks, he felt his throat begin closing. It was a frightening sensation, even though this was not the first time he'd felt it in recent days.

Dex watched his friend go from normal to scary as all hell in under three seconds and he nearly freaked out himself, but being the strong, fairly composed individual that he was (yet holding on by a mere thread of sanity as he would later admit), he could only squeak out, “What the hell?” before digging his cell phone from his pocket, ready and willing to call 911. Jack, however, could still think clear enough to know what the phone meant. Croaking out a 'no' as he pointed at the phone, he watched through his now tunneling vision as Dex tossed it forgotten on the kitchen counter.

After that, things progressed quickly. His lungs began screaming for air and the panic set in, strong enough to make his last attack look like child's play. One hand was clawing at his throat, looking for any way to get air into his body, the other flailing around for something to grab onto.

Vaguely, he felt hands on his upper arms and saw a fast-fading Dex swim close into his vision.

He couldn't concentrate on anything else, however, but the fact that air was not moving to his lungs, supplying his brain or keeping him from passing out on the floor. Trying to think relaxing thoughts or any thought at all at this point seemed ludicrous and, about to give into the darkness graying his vision, he heard a voice screaming in his ear. It must have been screaming because the blood pounding in his ears was deafening at this point and screaming had to be the only way Dex could be heard.

And then a small bubble of fresh air slipped down his throat. He had no idea how it got in through the vice squeezing his windpipe, but he welcomed it, using its minute amount of sustenance to force his brain to begin playing his Mario Brothers video game in his mind. Using every ounce of willpower to forget the visions that had set him off in the first place, he played through the first level of the game, focusing only on what move came next.

Dex was sure his friend was dying on his kitchen floor. As he got a firm hold on Jack's panicked movements, he asked over and over what was wrong, what he could do, what was happening, “Calm down! Jack! Jack,” sure that if Jack did indeed ever get back to normal, he'd at least be deaf in his left ear from the screaming he was doing at him.

For some reason, this thought relaxed him just enough to make him stop yelling, bringing his tone back to just below ear-drum puncturing, “Son of a bitch, if you die in my kitchen, I'm gonna be so pissed I'll find a way to come haunt you in the afterlife. I eat grilled cheese sandwiches in here, for God's sake!” He had absolutely no idea where the grilled cheese part came from, but he didn't care, realizing that just after he said it, Jack began to get some color back in his cheeks.

Jack, as he continued to play the video game in his head, suddenly heard mention of grilled cheese sandwiches. Instantly, he also realized he was moving air again. A very tiny amount, mind you, but honest to God air was rushing into his lungs. He stopped his chest scraping, bringing his floating limbs back under control, feeling for the first time the steel grip of Dex, who was an inch from him, if that, looking whiter than even the crayons in Sam's coloring box. Reaching up, he put his hands on his friend's upper arms, steadying his jelly-like legs, “Grilled cheese?”

Dex gave him a bone crushing hug, then shoved him backwards, “Don't do that shit again, do you fucking hear me?” Stumbling backward, Jack ran into the wall, gladly leaning on it, something firm and steady in his wavering world. Dex glared at him for another few seconds, then his eyes got glassy, the tears pooling but never falling, “Please don't do that again.”

Taking in a few more deep breaths and nearly singing praise after each one, he gasped out, “It's not like I … do it on purpose.”

After Dex pulled out a kitchen chair and dropped into it, “What the hell happened? And if you tell me you don't know, then you're an asshole, plain and simple.”

Jack moved slowly to one of the other kitchen chairs, settling in before dropping his head to the table, enjoying the cold feeling of the wood against his cheek and the faint, sweet smell of 15 years of spilled syrup, “I looked them up and I think I'm having panic attacks … but I've never had one this bad before.” Knowing there was no turning back now, he took a few more deep breaths to try to slow his still racing heart, “I'm more fucked up than you can imagine.”

First, Dex blew his nose on a napkin, then handed another to Jack, “You're getting snot all over the table, dude.” Once Jack had cleaned up a little, head remaining down however, “And you are not more fucked up than I can imagine. You have no idea the capacity for my imagination, so it's best to just not go there at all.” Crossing his arms on the tabletop, he rested his chin, now nearly eye level with Jack, “But something's wrong, man, really wrong and if you don't tell somebody, I'm gonna have to and I hate ratting on people. I mean, seriously hate it.”

“You'd rat me out?”

“Damn rightly hell yeah. Especially since both you and Emily seem bent on giving me a heart attack or a stroke or something, scaring the shit out of me every chance you get.” Narrowing his eyes at his friend, who paid attention carefully, “I function better as the crazy sidekick, but in rare and necessary cases, I will play my part as the psycho-shrink of our messed up little gang so,” tilting his head to one side, “unless you think you'll do that again,” waving absently behind him into the kitchen, “talk.”

And he did, half his brain keeping him breathing and the other half dumping mental baggage on his best friend.

▪▪▪

Tracking Jack's progress from front door to kitchen sink to bathroom and, finally, quietly up the stairs, she was about to get up when she saw his shadow fill her doorway. Not saying a word, he came next to the bed, then, lifting the covers some, slid in beside her. “I apologized to Tim a minute ago and now it's your turn.” Wrapping his arm around her waist, he whispered, “I’m sorry."

“It's okay. Where did you go?”

“I ended up at Dex's so you weren't really lying after all. He told me to stop being a dumbass and get some help because otherwise you were gonna wake up and realize I was, and I quote, 'not worthy of all the Emily awesomeness and Dexter sidekickness'.” Running one of his stocking feet up against her bare one, “And no, it's not okay. I should have stayed and apologized to both of you. Instead I leave you on the floor and run away like some stupid kid.” His face scrunched up tight, “Why don't you hate me yet?”

“I don't think I could ever hate you.” As she ran her fingers over his cheeks and nose, his face lost some of its pinched look and he opened his eyes again, “I don't think I'd even know how to begin to hate you.” With a deep breath, “But I do need you to talk to someone. Please?”

As he nodded, her lips met his, her hand sliding under his shirt and up his chest. His hand did the same and, soon, her tank top was on the floor and Jack was nudging the door shut with his toe. Kissing turned to groping, which turned quickly to frantic clothing removal. It was right before they were completely naked, however, that Jack suddenly stopped, “You hear something?”

Emily froze and whispered, “No.”

Listening hard, both heard Sam call out for his mother. With a mumbled, “Shit,” Jack was off her quick as lightning and redressed in seconds. Pulling the door open, he sprinted down the hall and back into his room just as his parent’s bedroom door opened.

Emily immediately laid down and pulled the covers up tight, waiting until the hallway was clear to try to reassemble her clothes under the covers. Once she was dressed, she went down the hallway and looked in. Will was just tucking Sam back in and Jack, sitting on his bed, looked incredibly guilty.

Will, once he’d kissed Sam goodnight, motioned for Jack to follow him. Passing Emily, he made the same gesture and they both trailed after him back to Emily’s room.

Once there, Will turned to them both, “Sam said he had a nightmare and when he woke up you weren’t there. He thought whatever he’d dreamt about had gotten you.” Giving his son a critical look, “It’s almost one. Why are you still dressed? Where were you?”

With the barest of glances at Emily, “I needed to talk, so I came in here to see if Em was awake.”

Studying them both intently, Will took a deep breath, “What was so important that you needed to talk to her this late?”

“Can we do this in the morning, Dad? Please?”

“Jack.”

The anger suddenly bubbled up from nowhere, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? Can’t I just hang out with my girlfriend once in awhile? It’s not like we’re ever alone in this place.”

Will, who wasn't as shocked by his son's outburst as he should have been, stood speechless for a moment before, “Tomorrow. You talk to me tomorrow, but you apologize right now.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m this close to grabbing you by the ear and carting you downstairs for a nice long talk that won’t go anywhere near as smooth and quiet as this one.”

Emily put her hand on Jack’s arm and her touch calmed him immediately. Shutting his eyes, “I’m sorry. I just … I really do need to talk to you … just not now. Please?”

Having a sudden and vivid flashback to the conversation in the bathroom a few months earlier, “Okay. Just get to bed now and I’ll find you in the morning.”

Will stood waiting for Jack to leave the room ahead of him, but instead of walking towards the door, he turned towards Emily, putting his hands on the sides of her head and kissing her lightly, “I love you. Things’ll be better tomorrow.”

Nodding as she moved her hands to his face, she traced his eyebrows slowly, “I love you, too.”

With that, Jack turned and brushed past his dad, heading quietly down the hall, back into his room.