The Dream

A man has a bad dream, and fears for his son.

                                     

                                                                                                                                                                                                                   The Dream

They walked into the living room, and their son sat on the sofa not looking his best.  His hair was untidy and the clothes he wore made him look scruffy.  He hadn’t worked since leaving school, and everyday he would make excuses that there was no jobs about.  

He glanced up at them, and said in an unenthusiastic sort of way, “Hi, mum.  Hi, dad.”

That was it.

His eyes seemed glazed.  He seemed like he was half asleep, even though it was 4 in the afternoon.

His dad whose name was Steve noticed the room was untidy, as some of his son’s DVDs lay on the floor just in front of the television.  “So, what have you been doing today?” he asked, concern in his voice.

Jason peered up, and replied sheepishly, “Not much, dad.”

Steve made his way to the TV and picked up the DVDs, then grunting under his breath walked out of the room and headed up the stairs.  Halfway up he saw the cat as it looked at him and then ran down the hall.  “Bloody thing,” he cursed.  He reached the top and went to his son’s bedroom.  Using his foot he pushed the door open, then proceeded in.  This is when he was shocked by how untidy the room was.  He put the DVDs down on the cabinet by the bed, and looking about he noticed unwashed clothes on the floor.  “For god sake, Jason.  When are you going to get your act together.”

He knew being a parent would be hard once they were old enough to make their own mistakes.  Then he heard his wife shouting from downstairs, “Steve, come quick.”  

He ran down the stairs, a little concerned if the truth be told, as Sheila was usually very laidback.  He entered the room and said, “What’s wrong, love?”

She seemed panicky, but stayed silent.

Steve walked to her, and asked, “What’s the problem, Sheila?”

“We need to talk outside,” was all she said, taking her husband by the hand and pulling him to the hallway which faced the front door.

“So, what is it, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Jason.”

He scratched his forehead, and glanced quickly back into the room, and said, “He’s a teenager.  They’re all moody at that age I’m afraid.”  He then laughed thinking back to what he was like when he was a teenager.

She hit him softly on the chest.  “I think he’s on drugs.”

“He’s not on drugs.  He’s our son.  He’s a lot more sensible than that.”

Sheila seemed agitated.  “Look at him, you can tell he’s on something.  It’s so obvious.”

Steve rubbed his forehead, and replied, “So what do you want me to do about it?  I can’t just waltz in there and ask him, he’d think I was out of order.”

She came closer and whispered in his ear, “Check the drawers in his room.  I have a feeling that you’ll find something.”

Steve gave her an awkward look, before saying, “I can’t do that.”

“Please do it, just for me,” she said.  “Trust me, one day he’ll thank you for it.”

“Okay,” he agreed, hating the idea already.

She kissed him on the cheek.  “Thank you.”

He peered into the room and could see Jason glued to the TV.  Perfect, he thought.  Taking his time and trying to be as quiet as he possibly could he crept up the stairs, every so often checking behind him.  He reached the top, knowing the easy part was over with.  As he proceeded to Jason’s bedroom he could hear his feet banging slightly on the landing.  The door was already open from earlier, and made his way in, still trying to be quiet as humanly possible.  “Sorry, mate,” he said under his breath, feeling the discomfort.

He had checked three drawers and with relief hadn’t found a thing to suspect his son of taking illegal drugs.  He opened the fourth drawer and peered inside, all of a sudden there was a loud bang behind him and he looked up in dismay.

In the doorway stood his son with an angry look on his face, he then shouted, “What the hell are you doing in my room?”

Steve felt like a child who had been caught at school doing something naughty, and the best he could, he answered, “I was looking for that computer game you told me about, the one which you said was the best game you’ve ever played.”

Jason stormed into the room, anger on his face.  He picked up a rucksack which sat on the bed, and walked out without saying a word.

Steve ran after him, and stopped him at the top of the stairs, and said, “Where are you going, Jason?”

“As far away from here as possible,” he replied, frustration in his voice.

“Please, son.  We can find that game together.”

“Screw you,” was all he said, and he stormed down the stairs.

The door banged, and Steve all of a sudden had a bad feeling.

………………………………................................................................................................

He peered out of the living room window at the street in front.  It was now dark and he waited patiently for his son to return.  The moon shone handsomely over the great city of London, and bad weather which was promised earlier had not yet arrived.  The time was 9 o clock, and since his son had stormed out of the house, Steve and his wife had waited for him to come home.  Steve turned to her as she bit her nails out of worrying, and said, “He’s a good kid.  He’ll be back soon, I know he will.”

Sheila gave him a nervous look, before replying, “It’s all my fault, isn’t it.  If I hadn’t of told you to check his room, everything would’ve been okay.”

She had a point, he thought.  But this wasn’t the time for the blame game.

“Don’t blame yourself.  Trust me, things will be all right,” he said.  He walked away from the window and sat beside her, then he kissed her cheek softly.  “You know what he’s like, if he doesn’t get his own way he flies into a strop.”

She laughed, before saying, “Yes, the mirror image of you, Steve.”

“Cheeky,” he replied, then he placed a hand on her thigh.

She looked up at him, and said, “Maybe we should make the most of him not being here.”

Steve liked the sound of that.

Suddenly the front door slammed, and both looked up startled.  In the doorway stood Jason.

Steve was the first to get up.  “Hi, Jason.  No bad feelings, I made a mistake.”

Jason still seemed rather upset, and said, “I think it’s time I moved out.  So, first thing tomorrow I’ll do just that.”

Steve tried to put a hand on his shoulder but his son flinched.  “Are you okay?”

His son answered, “It’s late and I want an early start in the morning so I can pack everything that I’ll need.”  He then made his way up the stairs, the rucksack still around his arm.

“Night, son,” was all that Steve said.  He glanced back at Sheila, and still she bit her nails.

………………………………................................................................................................

By 10 the next morning their son had left, not telling them where he was heading.  

Steve thought the best course of action was to be civil and stayed in the kitchen out of Jason’s way.  He did offer at one point to help, but all his son did was give him a dirty look.

He went into Jason’s bedroom and felt sadness run through him.  A hand touched his back, and he turned to his wife, and said, “I would like to know where he’s moved to, as it doesn’t seem right not knowing.”

“He’ll be all right.  He’s eighteen now, I still remember when he was a child screaming for his mummy,” she replied while wiping her eyes.

He kissed her tenderly on the lips, then said, “Let’s head out somewhere, it’s a Saturday and I don’t fancy hanging around the house all day feeling sorry for myself.”

“So, have you got a plan?” she answered.

He gave her a cheeky wink.  “Well, you’ll have to find out, won’t you.”

Both then ran down the stairs laughing.

………………………………................................................................................................

That night he had the most dreadful of dreams.  In the nightmare he found himself looking into a window, his face just inches from the glass.  It must have been night because the room was pitch black.  Suddenly two hands were seen as they smacked the glass with as much strength as they could.  Then despairing cries filled the air.

All he could do was watch as the scenario unfolded in front of him.

In the back of the room a faint light, then appeared a face.  The eyes wide through fear.  The other features were hard to make out. 

He felt so helpless.  He tried opening the window with his fingers, but with no luck.

All of a sudden there was thick smoke coming into the room.

Steve stared horrified at the person trapped, trying to get out.  Then through the smoke another face was observed, and it was Jason’s.  Then a voice shouted only three words, “Dad, help me….”

The window vanished and he found himself falling down a long dark tunnel.  He was petrified beyond belief.  Then he saw the number 14 floating a few metres from him as hot flames covered it.

He flew from the pillow, his heart racing.  Steve realised with utter relief that he was in his own bed.  His wife lay beside him, still asleep.

He peered at the clock which sat on the cabinet, it was 2.28am.

Steve decided to go downstairs for a little while and watch TV.  The nightmare still replaying in his mind.

………………………………................................................................................................

The next night he had a similar nightmare, but this time he stood on the drive looking up at the house while fire ravished it.  All around him were other people as they watched horrified.

Steve opened his eyes, sweat covered his brow.  He looked towards the clock and noticed with great alarm that the time was 2.28am.  The exact time when he’d woken up the night before.  He now knew what had to be done, as he firmly believed his son was in trouble.

………………………………................................................................................................

Around midday he headed to the betting shop, knowing some of his son’s friends went there.  As he made his way in, he peered about, and sitting near the window was a boy of nineteen who used to be in the year above Jason.  

The teenager’s name was Mark, and looking up he said, “Hi, Mr Harrison.  Feeling lucky today?”

Steve laughed, and replied, “Not really.  But I might have a flutter.  Well, you never know.”

“I’ve betted on a few horses, hopefully they’ll come up trumps,” Mark said, glancing at the huge TV screen in front with anticipation.

Steve needed to get down to business, then said, “Did you hear about my son moving out?”

Mark looked up with suspicion on his face, “Yeah, I heard something.  Why?”

Steve cleared his throat, and said, “Before he left he forgot to tell us where he was now living.  Do you know at all?”

Mark had an uncomfortable look on his face, then answered, “I heard you guys had a row, but because it’s you, Mr Harrison, I’ll tell you what I’ve heard.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

“If I remember right, he lives on a road called Owens Place.  Have you heard of it?”

Steve knew the road all right, as a kid he lived near it, and walked through it many times when heading to the park to play football.  “Do you know the number?”

Mark scratched the side of his head before answering, “Sorry, mate.  I don’t know the number.”

He knew the number was 14, as it had appeared to him in the dream.

Steve patted his shoulder, and said, “Thanks, mate.  I’ll see you later.”

He then headed out of the shop and proceeded towards his car which was parked just down the road.

………………………………................................................................................................

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’d taken a week off work?” she said, while she stared at him from the bottom of the stairs.

Steve didn’t have time for this, and answered, “I told you about the dream, and I honestly believe something bad is going to happen to our son.”

She shook her head out of disgust.  “Can you hear yourself.”

He picked up his coat and proceeded out of the house.  He then stopped and turned to her, and said, “It’s the same house, Sheila.  I checked it out yesterday.  It’s the same house which was in my nightmare.  I must go.”

She didn’t say a word.

………………………………................................................................................................

This was the third night of keeping watch on the house.  Steve sat in the car observing the place from the other side of the road.  He still had a feeling that something terrible was going to occur soon.  At times he would question his sanity.  The second floor window always had a light on when he arrived at 10, but dead on 11.30 it would go out.  He was so sure that it was his son living there, he would bet his life on it.

There wasn’t many street lights along this stretch of road, so his vehicle was well hidden.  He wanted to stay inconspicuous, as to not wanting to upset his son any further.

Steve peered at his watch and it was 11.15.  He tapped the steering wheel, and thought back to the last conversation he’d had with his wife.  Hopefully one day she’ll understand.  He felt so tired.  Then within a minute he had fallen asleep.

………………………………................................................................................................

He awoke with a start.  His head hurt a little.  He then realised he was in the car, and rubbing his forehead he glanced at his watch.

It was 2.15am.

“Sorry, Sheila,” was all he muttered, knowing she was at home worried sick.

Even though it was dark he could see two people making there way down the street.  Steve watched them with interest.  Then something very odd happened.  The two men stopped at the front door of the house.  One of the men shoved something through the letterbox.  Then both ran back down the road, vanishing into the darkness.

At first Steve didn’t see a thing, but as the seconds grew a strange light could be seen at the bottom of the door.  He needed to take a closer look, maybe it was nothing.  He got out of the motor doing his best not to make too much noise, and made his way across the quiet road.  Finally he stood on the short cobbled drive and the light still flickered through the glass of the door.  He took a few steps, and with pure horror realised what was going on.  The flames had already grew, and Steve didn’t have much time.  He needed to get indoors.  Using his shoulder he banged the door several times.  No luck.  He started to feel agitated, knowing Jason was upstairs sound asleep, unaware of the danger he faced.  

“Jason, wake up,” he yelled.

No response.

Steve gritted his teeth and with the full force of his body he ran into the door, when finally it flew open.  The flames were beginning to rise up the walls.  Steve without giving it much thought rushed up the stairs, then at the top headed towards the room where the light had been seen earlier.  The door was closed, and he kicked it open.  On the bed lay a body, but a blanket covered the person.  He threw the blanket onto the floor while shouting, “Wake up, Jason.  For god sake, wake up.”

An old man with staring eyes looked up at him, and yelled, “What’re you doing in my f*****g house?”

Steve for a second was absolutely shocked.  Where was his son?

When he had finally come to his senses, he said, “We need to get out of here, now.”

The man didn’t seem to pay much attention until he saw the flames reaching the top of the stairs.  “What’ve you done to my home?” he shouted trying to grab Steve around the throat.  “Why are you picking on me, because I’ve just come out of prison.  Them bloody children are lying, I didn’t touch them I tell you.”

Steve felt sick and punched him hard in the face and the man fell to the floor.  Then Steve realised it was too late to go back down the stairs as the fire had got a lot worse.  He ran to the window, and using his hands he started to hit at the glass.  Nothing happened.  He began to panic.  His hands now covered in blood.  He smacked the window more times than he could remember.  Peering back towards the doorway he saw thick dark smoke coming into the room.  The man was still on the floor, his eyes closed.  “Please, god,” he screamed, fearing for his life.

The smoke had reached him, and he began to cough violently.  Through the glass he saw with surprise a crowd had formed onto the street below.

“Please, help me,” he yelled.

Then in the middle of the group he saw someone familiar.  It was his son.

The moment Jason saw him standing in the window, he shouted, “Dad?  Help me.  My dad’s up there.  Please someone, help me.”

Steve knew there was nothing he could do.  He had made a grave mistake.  He looked down at his son, and under his breath he said, “I’m so sorry, Jason.”

The time was 2.28 am.

               The End

Reviews

[Marie]

Very good. Steve's dream was eal--but he was afraid for the wrong person.

[steve]

Thanks, Marie. Unlike the last story I gave myself plenty of time to think about this one. And I'm really happy it worked.