Alex (8 page)

"Ah, shit.
 
Sorry about that."
 
Derek repositioned the curtains, blocked the sun.
 
"I didn't mean to wake you up."

"S'okay," Ian croaked, and cleared his throat.
 
"What time is it?"
 
He pushed himself to a sitting position.
 
Apparently he had passed out on a bean bag.
 
Last night he had lounged in it, briefly, watching Derek's game.
 

"Little after eleven."

"Holy shit," Ian stated.
 
He groaned to his feet.
 
"Fucking hell.
 
I am getting too old to sleep on beanbags."

Derek chuckled.
 
"You didn't look very comfortable, but you were sleeping like the dead.
 
I was gonna bring you to the guest bed, but I figured I wouldn't fuck with it.
 
You were out cold."

"Fuck," Ian answered.
 
He stretched his stiff arms, tried to roll the hard knot out of his neck.
 
It ignored him.

They got breakfast at the Osseo Cafe.
 
Derek paid, despite Ian's insistence to the contrary.
 
Then Ian tagged along while Derek ran some errands: Target, Cub, the post office.
 
They shot the shit, made fun of people, and generally behaved like they were still in high school.
 
Ian couldn't remember the last time he had relaxed so much.
 

"So what's the plan?" Derek asked as they drove home.
 
The sky was bruising already.
 
Daylight Saving would be over soon, and the days would start ending at like five o'clock.

It was nice not to be driving; to just be the guy in shotgun, fiddling with the iPod.
 
Ian clicked his tongue.
 
"I don't want to go home yet.
 
If that's cool."

"That should be fine.
 
Jake's out of town this weekend anyway."

"Sweet."
 
Ian cracked a smile, still looking at the iPod menu.
 
"Just make sure you keep your fag paws in your bedroom."

Derek cackled.
 
"Whatevah, niggah.
 
Like I'd want to tap that anyway."

31

"You know what's weird?" Ian said.
 
They were in the living room, watching a rerun of Star Trek: TNG, eating delivered pizza.
 
Derek arched a brow.

"I see kidnapped kids everywhere now.
 
Billboards, milk cartons.
 
Those ads for Jarrid Kalen's daughter that are always on.
 
Everywhere.

"It's just like when Alina got pregnant.
 
Both of us started noticing all the pregnant women.
 
It seemed like there were a million of them, all of a sudden.
 
Or when Alex was born, and we both started seeing kids every place."
 
Ian smiled.
 
"Ours was the best, of course."

"Yeah he was," Derek agreed.
 

"Those blue eyes," Ian said.
 
"Those blue eyes just kill me."
 
He'd said it a hundred times before.
 
He indulged anyway.

"They were... captivating, is the only word," Derek said, and smiled.
 
"He was gonna slay the ladies, that's for sure."

Without transition, Ian said, "I've been sleeping like shit."

Derek picked up on the comment, turned the TV down a bit.
 
"No surprise there, I suppose."

"Well, yeah.
 
But I mean, even when I do get to sleep, I have these dreams.
 
They're just... so
real.
 
I feel like I'm not sleeping at all."

He waited.
 
Derek said, "What kind of dreams?"

"They're about Alex."

Derek's face softened.
 
"You remembering him?"

"Well... yes.
 
I mean, he's always doing something he did when he was alive.
 
Playing with his cars, or..."
 
His stomach clenched.
 
"Or playing Hide and Seek."

"That sounds nice, but from your face... they're not?"

"I'm not just
remembering
him.
 
In the dreams, I'm walking around the house.
 
You know?
 
The empty house.
 
It's just me, just... just like it is now.
 
And he's
there.
 
I know he's dead, but I'll just come across him all of a sudden, just sitting on the couch."

Derek let out a low breath.
 
"Wow."

"Yeah.
 
And these dreams are so vivid, a few times I've..."
 
Ian stole a glance at his friend, his stomach still twisting.
 
"Gotten confused.
 
I'll wake up and it seems like it really happened.

"You remember when I called you last week."

"Yeah."

"That was the first time it happened."

"Wow," Derek repeated.
 
He sounded like he didn't know what else to say.
 
I can't even imagine,
Ian heard Justin saying.
 
It was probably true.

He suddenly felt like an asshole, cheapening his son's memory by telling ghost stories.
 
The fact that he was talking to an old high school friend only made it worse.
 
Grow up,
he told himself.
 

But now that he'd started talking, he couldn't stop.

"It's always like he's trying to guilt me," Ian said.
 
He couldn't look at Derek; he looked at the wall instead, saw Picard holding forth on some grave matter of Starfleet protocol from the corner of his eye.
 
"We had this talk before he... before he got kidnapped.
 
And I told him to scream for help, and to bite and fight back.
 
And he throws that back in my face.
 
He says, 'I'll just call for you and...'"
 

Ian's throat closed off.
 
While he fought for control, Derek waited.

Finally, Ian whispered, "Can you imagine how many times he must have called for me?"

"Ian."
 
Derek leaned forward, tensed his elbows against his knees.
 
"No.
 
You did everything you could."

"Did I?
 
I could've been in Shakopee."

"You had no way of knowing that's where he was.
 
You were counting on the police for -"

"Yeah, and
he
was counting on
me.
 
I should've been there, and he wants me to know."

Derek clapped his mouth shut.
 
Ian could feel his eyes but still wouldn't meet them.
 

"What else have you dreamt about him?"

Ian wasn't ready to answer.
 
Giving voice to the thoughts left him certain they were right.
 
Alex had every reason to torment his father: the man who had promised to keep him safe, to come home every night, to die to protect him.
 
Big words that had meant nothing.
 

There was no answer for Alex's accusations.
 

"Come on," Derek pressed.
 
"What else?
 
Are they all about that?
 
I thought you said you dreamt about him playing."

Ian flicked a glance at him, then away.
 
"Yeah.
 
Playing with his cars.
 
I've had that one twice.
 
He wants me to play with him."

Derek gestured, as if to say,
Well, there you go.

"What?"

"Is it a good dream?"

"Well..."
 
Ian remembered the furious need in his chest, the crippling pain when Alex disappeared.
 
"No.
 
Because it's like he's back, even though I know he's dead.
 
And when I try to touch him, he disappears.
 
Every time."

Again, Derek exhaled.
 
"Wow.
 
It sounds... horrible."

"Yeah."
 
Ian nodded.
 
"It is."
 
He had hoped talking about it would help get it off his chest, put it in perspective.
 
Instead, it was just making him feel more trapped.

"But still," Derek said.
 
"It sounds
better
, at least.
 

"Look, I wasn't his dad.
 
But I knew Alex.
 
He was an incredible kid.
 
Gentle, and a ton of empathy for a five-year-old.
 
I can believe you're beating yourself up.
 
I would too.
 
But have you considered that your brain is just using the idea of Alex to do it?
 

"I only say that because I don't think you should let that fuck up your memories of him.
 
I just don't see Alex coming back to you in your dreams and... accusing you like that.
 
I can see you doing it to yourself, but don't pin that on him."

"He'd have every right."

"Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't.
 
But I don't think Alex would do that."

Alex had also said,
"Daddy, you're home!"
and
"I need a hug."
 
Part of Ian yearned to accept what Derek was saying.
 

But if he did, it meant the visions weren't real.
 
It meant that he was seeing things.
 
Was that better or worse?

"I know they're just dreams.
 
I know that.
 
And I'm not religious or anything, I haven't been for years, but..."
 
Ian looked at the floor.
 
"Do you think there's any chance...
 
I mean, they're so
real
.
 
What if he's trying to talk to me somehow?"
 
He looked up, to catch Derek's reaction.

Carefully neutral, weighing.
 
Finally, he answered, "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'"

Ian felt a sad smile on his lips.
 
"And what does that mean?"

Derek shrugged.
 
"It means, who fucking knows?"

Ian scoffed.
 
"Great."

"Well, seriously.
 
There's nothing I'll be able to say to convince you one way or another.
 
You're the one having the dreams.
 
But if it really is Alex, I think you should focus on the good things.
 
I think it's far more likely that he'd come back to say goodbye.
 
You know?
 
I just don't see him coming back to make you feel bad.

"Look, if there's a heaven, Alex is in it.
 
You know that."

Ian hadn't believed in heaven for years, but the question was hypothetical.
 
He imagined a place of eternal peace, reserved for those who had suffered, and found himself nodding.

"And that kid would not hold a grudge, from heaven, against his daddy.
 
He just... he wouldn't.
 

"He was too good for that."

32

Sunday night.
 
Home again.
 
He hesitated at the door, autumn leaves whispering in the breeze behind him.
 

He felt like he had as a kid, after coming home from spending a weekend at a friend's house.
 
When the limitless possibilities of the weekend had all been realized or wasted, leaving a taste of disappointment in his mouth.

He opened the door and went into the empty house.
 
The familiar glare of the streetlight splayed past him into the dark entry.
 
He listened and heard nothing.

Like an old movie reel grinding to life, his brain supplied an image of Alex getting raped in the dark.
 
He turned on the light to dispel it.

On the dining room table, his forgotten cell phone blinked at him.
 
Low power,
it said, and
Voicemail.

"Hi Ian, it's your mom.
 
Just wondering about Thanksgiving this year.
 
I know it's a month out, but I just want to start making plans.
 
I hope you can make it.
 
Alina is welcome, too.
 
Should I call her?"