The Dream Catcher's Daughter (30 page)

“Jayce, you
perv
!”
said Tara. “Stop looking at her boobs!”

He cracked a grin, glancing over at
Darlene. “Want a look? It’s pretty good.”

Darlene was speechless, especially when
Tara jogged over to join Jason. Not wanting to be the odd one out, she followed
and stood just behind them, looking to where Jason pointed: Shemillah’s
stomach. It was flat and smooth. No mouth, no anything. Jason looked down at
the sword of life in his left hand, which pulsated with the original nightmare.

“Shemillah’s all normal now,” he said.
“Just as Lukoje had planned.”

Things didn’t end happily ever after. They
never do. A funeral was planned. It would be joint, held in the memory of
Arthur and Tanya McKinney, and the Dream Catcher. After Shemillah was defeated,
Len woke up to paralyzed legs. Darlene helped carry her over to the Dream
Catcher. Len didn’t cry. But she would, when the funeral came around.

Shemillah awoke but didn’t speak much. She
often wore a shocked, doe-eyed expression. Everything to her was new and
wonderful, but terrifying. The last thing she remembered was sneaking into her
father’s room at night and stealing the nightmare from his sleep.

Jason worked hard in the following month:
He cleaned out the shed, filled his room with all his old, childish things, and
built a wheelchair ramp in both the front of his house and the back. Then he
went to Len’s house and did the same. He offered to figure something out for
the basement, but Len rejected the idea. She did ask he build a door, to block
off the basement. Then to draw a chalk circle in Len’s room. Len could still
play the flute; she would still help the children with bad dreams and
nightmares.

Darlene and Len started dating. Jason
provided Len, upon request, with a notecard of cheesy pick-up lines. They were
Darlene’s favorites. And with the collapse of the corrupted paladins, the
Guardian had to appoint new ones. Darlene was one of the first, and with this
duty came a nice, big paycheck. Len had never tasted a richer meal. Not even on
the train to Visonia.

The day before the funeral, Jason prepared
a picnic. It was a celebration: his birthday. Except he told everyone to bring
nothing but food and themselves. Jason was in his backyard, spreading out his
father’s favorite table cloth on a picnic table he’d found in the shed. The
tree in in the corner by the fence was heavy with apples. Jason checked his
cell phone for the time.

With a sigh, Jason shook his head. Of
course he understood why everyone might be moving slow. There was a lot to take
in. A lot to do. In such a short time, everything had changed. Jason opened his
phone and shot Darlene another text, then snapped his phone closed. The door
squeaked open behind him. Two arms encircled his shoulders and trailed down his
chest, hands rubbing the top of his belly.

“Hey,” said Tara.

“Hiya.”

Jason leaned back into Tara, and she into
him. Their breathing fell in rhythm with each other. The corners of Jason’s
mouth pulled up. And he snickered.

“What’s funny?”

“It feels like something worse should be
happening.”

“Things aren’t always terrible.” Her tone
was flat, pinched.

“I know. But...I feel like I got off
scot-free, you know?”

“Your dad’s dead. Your mom’s gone. Len’s
in a wheelchair.”

“I’m immobilized, not deaf.”

They both turned to the gate, where Len
and Darlene stood, smiling and waving. Darlene opened the gate and let Len
wheel herself in. Darlene and Len shared a kiss before Darlene walked over to
Tara and asked her to follow her into the kitchen. Tara looked up at Jason and
smiled. He smiled back. After they had gone, Jason sat down on the steps. Len
wheeled up next to him.

A breeze brushed past the backyard, the
leaves in the tree and the grass swaying gently. The sun was low and amber in
the sky, coloring everything a shade similar to apple juice. Jason shook his
head.

“What?” said
Len.

“You seem pretty calm. You’re okay with
not having legs?”

“I’ve been through worse. Besides,
there’re advantages to being in a wheelchair. Darlene’s always eager to help me
out.”

They laughed. Birds chirped far away. A
rabbit skittered down the alley outside the fence. Jason opened his mouth to
say something, but the words didn’t come. Tears stung at his eyes.

“
Y’know
, this is
nice,” said Len. “Just sitting here, not saying anything.
‘Cause
I know what you’re thinking, Jason.” She turned her head and grinned. “It’s
okay if you don’t go to the funeral. You have your thing you need to do.”

“Thanks. And...
are
you sure about...?”

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” said Len.
“I have no problem taking care of Shemillah.”

“Thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t be
here.”

“Same to you. And I wouldn’t have it any
other way, Jason.”

The door opened and Darlene and Tara burst
through the door, laughing. “This sicko licked my nose!” said Tara. “Control
your girlfriend, Len!”

Len shrugged. “Sadly, she wears the pants
in our relationship.”

Everyone laughed. Then Tara kneeled down
behind Jason and kissed the back of his head, where the chip in his seal had
been. Now there was nothing but the electricity of Tara’s sweet kiss.

Jason stood, kneeled, and hooked his hands
together behind his back. He looked back at Tara and smiled. “
Wanna
give this another go?”

Tara smiled, and it was the most beautiful
thing he’d ever seen. “I do.”

Len and Darlene cheered as Jason hoisted
her up, and while “Happily Ever After,” didn’t exist, they all lived happily in
the moment.

The author must thank many
people—including all his friends and family who read his first novel and
demanded more each day after (especially his #1 fan, Aunt Christine).

Jamie Dee—for spotting and
recognizing the raw potential for writing back in high school. The author also
blames her for his Vonnegut addiction.

Jill Storm—for teaching the author
to dig deeper than surface-level and for handing him an awesome pool of
knowledge to draw from.

E.A.
Zokaites
—for
being a friend and writing partner. She has given the author many insights into
art and the art he himself creates.

Mom and Dad—for putting up with the
author’s mischief and often debilitating procrastination. The author loves them
very much.

Payton—the author’s love and
ultimate reason for writing. Thank you for being awesome.

Steven Fox is a young adult author.
This is his debut novel.

Fox currently resides in Iowa,
where he survives ice storms and battles the ever-growing urge to eat Hershey’s
candy bars.