"Noah," Sarah began after a long sigh, "I wish you would tell me what's bothering you."
Noah had just come upstairs after pulling into the driveway. He and Sarah were sleeping in his old room for the night. Sarah had situated herself on the queen-size bed to rest.
"It's okay, babe," Noah replied. "Everything is fine."
"Everything is not fine, Noah. You're lying to me. I can always tell when you're lying to me."
"How many times do I have to tell you that nothing is wrong?"
Sarah's voice raised. "Look me in the eye and tell me nothing is wrong."
"Oh, come on," Noah complained, "this is ridiculous!"
"Dammit, Noah, you haven't been well for weeks now. I know something is up."
Noah's brow furrowed. He hesitated for a moment and then turned away.
"See?" Sarah said. "You can't even look me in the eye."
He sat down on the bed next to her, placed his hand on hers, and sighed. Staring deeply into her eyes, he said, "Sarah, honey, nothing is wrong."
"Bullshit! Why the hell were you in the park?"
Noah stood and walked over to the window. "It's a park, Sarah. People go to parks all the time without causing a major uproar. What's the big deal?"
"This is not just any park, Noah Barnes, and you damn well know it. The only reason you'd ever go to that park is to…" she stopped, tears filling her eyes. The silence could be heard for miles it was so incredibly deafening. "Have you talked to Dr. Casey about this?"
Dr. Evelyn Casey, a long-time family friend, was Noah's therapist. He'd been seeing her since his diagnosis with depression. Noah cringed when he heard her name spoken out loud – Sarah often used Dr. Casey as her trump card.
"I see Dr. Casey every week, Sarah, you know that."
"Yes, but have you told her what's on your mind?"
"I pay her ninety fucking dollars an hour to tell her what's on my mind," Noah snapped.
"Well, what does she say about this?"
"'Life's a bitch, Noah. Deal with it, Noah. Talk about your feelings, Noah. Don't hate the world, Noah. Your father's death isn't your fault, Noah. This baby isn't a mistake, Noah. Oh, by the way, pay the nurse on your way out.'"
Sarah's mouth fell open. "What…what did you just say?"
Noah turned. "Huh?"
"What did you just say?"
"'Pay the nurse on your way…'"
"That's not what I meant," Sarah said. "What did you say about the baby?"
"I didn't…"
"You don't want this baby, do you?"
"Sarah, honey," Noah stammered.
"You son-of-a-bitch," she replied.
"It's not that I don't want the baby, Sarah," he began. "It's…"
"It's what, Noah? Come on, you can tell me. Not that my feelings in the matter seem to concern you that much, but it is my body I'm carrying our baby in. So, please, your majesty, enlighten me."
"Damn, you're such a smart ass, Sarah."
"Come on, Noah. Say it!"
"Say what?"
"Say to me what you say to Dr. Casey, Noah," Sarah shot back. "Say what's really on your mind."
"Oh, fuck Dr. Casey."
"If you'd fucked Dr. Casey, we wouldn't be having this problem, now would we?"
"You've lost your mind."
"Say it, dammit!"
"Fine," Noah screamed at the top of his lungs. "I don't want the fucking baby! I never wanted the baby. Are you happy now?"
Tears streamed down Sarah's face. She hung her head and tried to hold back the flood of emotions that were screaming to get out. Anger, rage, hurt – it spun like a top inside her mind. Her eyes fell upon a remote control sitting on the nightstand by the bed. She picked it up and flung it at Noah, narrowly missing him by inches. "Get out of here," she said.
Noah stormed over to here, sitting down beside her and grabbing her by the shoulders. "What the hell is wrong with you, huh?" He shook her. "What the hell is the matter with you, you crazy bitch?"
Sarah jerked Noah's arms away. She was in shock. Noah had never touched her in anger before – ever. Her mind wheeled, thoughts coming at breakneck speed. They passed by like a pack of racecars at the Daytona 500. What had gone wrong? What had just happened here? What should she do?
Without even thinking, her anger getting the best of her, she raised her hand and slapped Noah square on the face. It happened in an instant, yet it felt like her hand was moving through chilled Jell-o. No sooner had her hand met his face that he raised his fist in the air. She threw her arms up in defense, not knowing how else to react.
She waited for a blow that never came. Instead, Noah lowered his fist and stood up from the bed, a vacant demeanor expressed upon his face. "Oh, my god," he said. "Oh, my god."
"Noah?" Sarah said.
"Oh, my god. Oh, my god," Noah said again and again. "Oh! My! God!" He raised his fist and thrust it into the wall, busting a hole the size of his fist through the sheetrock. "Fuck!" he screamed. "Holy mother of…fuck!"
He pulled his hand from the hole in the wall. It was a gory mess of drywall dust and blood. He stood there for a moment and simply stared at it, the pain obviously not yet registering. Controlled by some unknown force, Noah once again thrust his fist into the wall, leaving another huge hole.
"Stop it, Noah!" Sarah managed to stand up from the bed. "Noah, honey," she said, "you're bleeding. Let me look at it."
"Bleeding," he said.
She reached out to grab his hand but he jerked it away. "Let me see, Noah."
He began to back away. "I was going to hit you, Sarah. I…I…uh…hit you…"
"Noah, please."
"No, Sarah," he said, "get away. I don’t want to hurt you. I swear to God, I don't want to hurt you. It's just that I…uh…I…oh, god."
Noah fell to his knees as the blood dripped from his hand and onto the carpet. With tears streaming down his face, he could only repeat over and over, "oh, my god…oh, my god…"
Noah and Sarah's argument had gone unnoticed by those downstairs; they were dealing with their own set of conflicts. Tracy and Isaac, who had gone for a walk after arriving home, had just walked in the door. She had become enraged after seeing Charlie's car parked in the driveway. It made matters worse to find he and her mother sitting together on the couch.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Tracy yelled.
Marcie frowned. Of all the things that had changed about Tracy, her attitude wasn't one of them. She still had a temper as flaming as the fires of hell, and Marcie hated to be on the receiving end of it. "Tracy, please," she managed in a restrained tone.
"No," Tracy shot back, "I want to know what he's doing here."
"I asked him here, Tracy," Marcie said. "This is my house, after all. Charlie is my friend."
"Geez, Mom, Dad's not even dead a year and you've already replaced him."
Charlie stood up from the couch and walked towards Tracy. "That's ridiculous. Your father was my friend. I'm not trying to replace him."
Tracy laughed. "Yeah, right," she said. "Some friend you are -- fucking his wife after he dies."
"Tracy, that's enough!" Marcie exclaimed. "You will not speak that way in this house. You apologize to Charlie and you do it right now!"
Tracy gave her mother a stone-cold look, then looked over to Charlie. "Sorry, Mom…I'm not apologizing to your boy-toy. And don't you expect me to be happy about you two dating either. It's bad enough I didn't get a chance to be at my own father's funeral, but now you're doing this to me. Well, I'm not gonna play, Mom."
She shoved Charlie aside and stormed out of the living room and up the stairs, leaving everyone speechless. Ike, who had watched the whole scene play out in horror, broke the deafening silence. "I'll go talk to her."
"I'm so sorry, Charlie," Marcie said. "I don't know what her problem is."
He moved back over to the couch and sat down next to her. "It's okay," he said, "I didn't expect this to be easy."
"She's angry, Mom," Jennifer said suddenly. "She wanted to come to Dad's funeral."
Tears filled Marcie's eyes. "I know, Jen, but the doctors said…"
"Mom, I know," Jennifer reassured her Mother. "It was out of your hands, but what's done is done. She has a right to be angry. I just don’t think she knows who to be angry at. It'll be okay."
"I hope so," Marcie said.
"Maybe I shouldn't come around so much," Charlie said. "I guess this is partially my fault. The kid has a point. In her eyes, I am trying to replace her father. Hell, can you blame her?"
"No, I suppose not, " Marcie said. "I just wish there was some way I could get through to her."
"It's going to take some time, Mom," Jennifer said. "She'll be okay…she's tough." The doorbell sounded just as Jennifer completed her sentence. "I'll get that," she said, standing up from the couch.
"So," Zac began, "are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
Taylor had retreated to the back porch of the Barnes home shortly after arriving back from the restaurant. Zac, being bored out of his mind, had gone outside to try to find something else to do. Now they were seated in the porch swing.
Zac had known for awhile now that something was wrong with his older brother. You didn't live in the same room with someone for thirteen years and not notice when something was bothering them – it was impossible.
"What do you mean?" Tay answered back.
"Come on, Tay, something's bothering you. You're grumpy, you walk around like a zombie, and you don't care about anything anymore. Something's been going on and I don't know what it is."
Taylor groaned, then giggled. "Oh, geez Zac, that was a bad joke."
Zac grinned. "Yeah, I know, but it got you to smile. Now, will you please tell me what's wrong?"
Tay sighed heavily and looked deeply into the eyes of his younger brother – the caramel brown pools offered an oasis in the desert he'd been travelling in. There was so much caring – so much compassion – in those eyes that Taylor knew he had to say something.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Zac beat him to it.
"It's the dreams, isn't it?"
Taylor was shocked. How did Zac know about the dreams? "What? How did you…?"
"Oh, come on, Tay, we sleep in the same room. It's kind of hard not to notice you've been having trouble sleeping. What are they about?"
"Do we really have to talk about this?"
"Yes," Zac said. After waiting several minutes for an answer, he spoke up again. "It's about the kidnapping, isn't it?"
Again, Taylor was awestruck. "Zac, how do you know all this?"
Zac put a hand on his big brother's shoulder. "I know all about it, Tay," he answered matter-of-factly. "You're suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder."
"Post-traumatic who?"
"Post-traumatic stress disorder," Zac corrected. When Taylor continued to stare at him like he had two heads, he added, "I saw it on Oprah."
"Oh, god," Taylor replied, his head dropping forward into his raised hands. "You watch one hour of a talk-show and suddenly you're an expert on post-traumatic whatchamacallit."
"Post-traumatic stress disorder," Zac said again. "Seriously, Tay, there was this psychiatrist guy on the show who talked all about it. He said that if someone goes through a really bad experience they can be traumatized. It's very common – he went through something just like you. Well, he was kidnapped by aliens, but it's the same kind of thing."
"That's it," Taylor said, standing up from the swing, "I'm leaving."
"Oh, come on, Tay, please don't go. You need to talk about this."
Taylor sighed and looked down at his brother. "Look, Zacman, I know you're only trying to help, but I think I just need to be alone for a little while, okay?"
"But Tay, really, I think I can…"
"Go, Zac!" Tay yelled.
Zac, with a look of defeat on his face, stood up from the swing and moved toward the backdoor of the house. As he put his hand on the knob, he turned. "I love you, Tay. I just want you to get better, that's all." Having said his final words, he opened the door and stepped into the house.
Taylor collapsed onto the swing and sighed again. "Oh, geez," he said, burying his face into his hands again.
"He was only trying to help, you know," a voice came suddenly.
Taylor jumped, his head popping up from his hands. Looking for the speaker of the startling words, his eye finally settled upon a lovely woman standing at the edge of the patio. She had long brown hair and stood almost as tall as he did. She was very attractive, wearing a faded pair of blue jeans and a University of Manchester sweatshirt. She had a certain glow about her.
She smiled. "I'm sorry, did I startle you?" Taylor nodded. "I'm Gloriaa," she said, moving onto the patio and offering her hand. "Do you mind if I sit down?"
"No, I guess not," Taylor said, scooting over and accepting her hand. "I'm…"
"Taylor Hanson," she interrupted. "I know who you are."
Taylor recoiled. "You're not gonna scream, pull at my hair, or try to grope me, are you?"
Gloria laughed. "Oh, no. I'm harmless."
Taylor relaxed a little bit as he looked into her eyes – there was something there that he found intriguing. There was safety there. Somehow he knew he was okay with this complete stranger.
"So, what's going on, Mr. Taylor Hanson?"
"Oh, you don't want to hear my problems."
"Sure, I do. That's what I do, help people with their problems."
Taylor looked up at her. "What are you, a doctor?"
"No, sweetie, I'm not a doctor. I'm just someone with a good listening ear."
Taylor knew he could trust her – something inside told him that. He didn't why or how, but he just felt it deep within his soul. This was someone who would understand.
"Well," he began after a deep breath, "I suppose you heard about the kidnapping about six months ago."
Gloria nodded.
"Ever since then…well…I've been having nightmares."
"What kind of nightmares?"
"Scary ones – about the kidnapping. It's like I'm still there and that guy is beating me to death with that cursed baseball bat." He paused. "And then there's Jesse."
"Jesse?"
"Jesse was the son of the kidnapper. His dad was a nutcase – certifiable. Well, anyway, Jesse ended up down there in the basement with me. His father roughed him pretty good too."
"What happened to him?"
Taylor swallowed. His throat felt as if it was lined with dry cotton. Tears filled his eyes and after a few moments he managed to speak. "He died," he said. "His dad killed him."
"I see," Gloria said, putting her hand on Taylor's shoulder. "Do you feel responsible?"
Taylor could only nod.
"Why? It's not your fault he died. You said yourself his own father killed him. Why do you feel responsible?"
"I was down in the basement. He tried to save me and he died for it."
"You were down in the basement because his father put you there. This isn't your fault, Taylor."
Taylor sniffed and wiped away at the tears that were running down his face. "I know that, but I don't believe it. I can't help but feel responsible."
"Well, Taylor, you're not," Gloria said. "You have to release yourself from this burden or the nightmares will keep coming."
"I can't."
"Yes, Taylor, you can. I know you can."
He laughed. "How the hell do you know so much?"
Suddenly a beautifully bright light illuminated her lovely form; she radiated peace and tranquility. Taylor stared in complete shock.
"I'm an angel, Taylor," she said. "God sent me to let you know you're going to be okay."
"Oh, no," he replied, "not this again."
"Don't be afraid, Taylor," Gloria said, "you've seen angels before. Do you remember?"
He nodded.
"Well, then," she continued, "you know there's nothing to be afraid of."
"Why are you here now," Taylor said. "Where were you when I was down in that basement? Where were the angels then?"
"Oh, Taylor," she said. "You don't understand."
"You're damn right I don't understand," he shouted back. "Why couldn't have God sent me an angel when I really needed one?"
Her gentle smile glowed brightly. "Taylor, angels don't all have halos and wings, you know. Not all angels are heavenly beings. God sends you exactly what you need when you need it. You had angel there with you."
"Jesse?"
"Yes, Taylor," she replied. "Your angel was Jesse. He wasn't an actual angel like me, Monica, or Andrew, but someone God sent along right when you needed him."
"But he died," Taylor said.
"Yes, but he died so that you might live, Taylor. God has so much planned for you. You have no idea how important you are – the plan God has for you."
"Plan?"
Gloria nodded.
Taylor thought for a moment. What could he be here for? What would God want him to do? Then, like a bolt of lightning from the heavens. "Noah," he said allowed.
"Yes, you're here for Noah. The dream you had was no ordinary one – it was a vision from God. That dream saved Noah's life, Taylor, but the danger's not over. Noah's not out of the woods yet. He needs your help and your understanding."
"I've tried to help him," Taylor said, "but he won't listen to me."
"I know. It's not going to be easy. He won't be receptive and he'll resist you at every turn, but you can't give up. And remember that whatever he says or does is only out of anger – it's not personal."
"What do I do?"
"Follow your heart, Taylor. Ask God for guidance. He'll give you the strength that you need."
Taylor looked down to the ground for a moment. "I don't know if I…"
He looked up and Gloria was gone.
"Oh, man," he said, "I am losing it."
"Stupid jerk," Zac said, kicking an empty box in the garage of the Barnes home. "I was only trying to help him."
Zac was hurt and angry. He knew Taylor didn't mean to yell at him, but it still hurt. Why did he have to be so darn moody all the time? What was his problem?
"Jerk," Zac said again.
He was about to step out of the open garage door when he heard voices – a girl's and a boy's. They sounded as if they were arguing. He crouched down beside Noah's car and listened.
Jennifer Barnes had been shocked to open the door and find her boyfriend waiting for her. He'd been the last person she'd expected to see. She quickly stepped outside and shut the door, not wanting her family to hear the coming argument.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I wanted to talk to you," Rob said.
"There's nothing to talk about, you scumbag," she replied. "I told you we were over with."
"Oh, baby, don't be like that. I know you're upset, but we can work through this."
Jennifer laughed. "Work through what, Rob? You promised you'd never hit me again…several times. And each time you go back on your word. I can't live like this anymore. I love you, but I can't let you keep on hurting me." Tears were rolling down her cheeks. Rob reached up to wipe them away and she swatted his hand. "Don't touch me, you fucking monster."
Rob grabbed her arm and gripped it hard.
"Let go," she said, "you're hurting me."
He pushed her back against the wall. "I'm not letting go until you listen to me, you bitch."
Jennifer raised her left foot and kicked Rob in the shin.
"Damn you!" he said. "You crazy bitch!" She opened her mouth to scream but Rob raised his hand to her throat. "Don't even think about it. I'll fucking kill you."
Jennifer struggled again and was rewarded with a slap from Rob's free hand.
"Now," Rob said, "you're gonna shut and listen to what I have to say or else."
Chapter Seven
Chapter Five
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