Prologue

 

I felt like I was living in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The wind hollowed like a merciless dog, surrounding us entirely, our strong brink house, barley providing enough comfort against its anger. The rain mockingly beat against our research room, spattering against the lone window on the far side of the wall. I had only just pulled the drapes tight against the storm and any wondering eyes, before I turned my attention to my father. There, before me he laid strapped to a medical table as if he were in fact some mad man or monster. I stood over him, like he was my toy, my experiment whose life I was free to tinker with. In a sickening way I had to admit the majority of the above statement was true. The only difference, I could find between my father and Frankenstein was my father was coolly calm, really he was no mad man at all. One would wonder why on earth I had him bound to a table with his docile smile un-changing from his face.

 

My father’s restraints which were the most noticeable aspect only played a small part in this picture. They were there as more of a precaution then anything else, because neither of us knew what the future held. Wires were hooked up to every part of his body running up to a series of monitors. The monitors, like a metronome kept me aware that time was actually passing, this was real. That realization caused the room all at once to close in on me, it was smaller then it had ever been. Beads of sweat began to form at the base of my hairline. I suddenly felt claustrophobic like neither my father nor I should be in this room, let alone together. I kept working up spit then swallowing it. Nervous habit I guess. I tried to stop it, but I kept doing it, until my mouth was so dry I was forced to stop. I think I was trying to swallow my fear, until I knew I could no longer swallow it. It eventually balled up into a dry lump in the back of my throat, nearly choking me.

 

I saw a slight movement from the lower part of my eye, dashing to his side my eyes rested not on his eyes, but on the steadily rising and falling of his chest. I could tell he was carefully struggling to lift his head; if any of the wires came undone it could mean minutes of lost time, and for my father there was no extra time to spare, especially after years of waiting. Every wire was vital for success or should I say, vital for research and I had spent the majority of the night making sure they were properly placed. Before I was forced to look into his eyes I quickly pressed my lids tightly against my upper cheek, as if to stop fear that had moved from my throat seeping out like tears. I was so young at the time and I remember thinking, if anything went wrong I would never be able to forgive myself. He had so much faith in what we were about to do but I, I was unsure and it embarrassed me to know that he could see that. I had placed all my faith in my father since I was little he was my hero, my idol, and so it seemed rather weak of me that at a time of such great importance I doubted him. After a few seconds of monotonous ticking in my head it all came down to this, I had to forget my fears, I had to make sure my father was comfortable. So, pushing all else aside I mustered as much strength I could and I turned down to meet my fathers strained gaze. I knew he had something he wanted to say and he was waiting until I was ready. Well, ready or not here it came.

 

 

“Blake, you can do this. It’s what I want more then anything. Just think of the knowledge the world will gain. Think of the power man kind will have over his own mind. We as humans have always struggled for complete control over our thoughts and feelings and here I can offer it to them, to us. I have gone over the statistics for years, you know this, just as much as I do. Things will be fine. I need you to be strong for me. You’re the only one that I would trust with this job.”

 

I laughed in side, this was not about the needs of other people, I saw right through my father. This was for his own personal gain of knowledge, but regardless that was it, the last sentence hit home for me. I could also care less about humanities needs, but my father’s needs? That was a different story. I was the only one who ever stood by his side; I couldn’t let him down now. I remember the pain he suffered when my mother walked out on him, rambling about her needs. She had stuck by him for years I will give her that, but she gave up. I would never give up. I will admit that my father was never very good at realizing that other people had needs other then to achieve personal gain. In fact when she left, he was so close to this very breakthrough it took nearly a month before he even realized she was gone. After he came to his senses grief finally set in. He stopped all work for months on end, wasting away, until I was worried he wouldn’t even make it another year. So I stepped in. It was hard for me to do because even I felt abandoned by his months of solitude and grief. It wasn’t until I got down on my knees and begged him to start living again did he even listen to me. I made sure he knew that I was still here, because I wanted to be there. I still loved him, and he needed to love life he needed to love his work again. I had learned to live with the kind of man my father was and I, despite all of that I loved him dearly.

 

After our loss and recovery I became my father’s assistant, because he trusted no one else with his valued knowledge. So, between helping him with his work after school I just had to make sure he remembered to eat and bathe and we usually got through our day.

Struggling to contain my dry cracking voice I recited my line as if in a play, “Ok, vitals are normal.”

 

“Ha-ha atta boy I knew you’d come around. Alright give me the pill.”

 

I palmed the smooth blue tablet in my hand. Turning it over, reassuring myself I was just sending my father to a conscious sleep, not his death. He stuck his tongue out almost eagerly, as I leaned in to place the tablet on it. I followed with a cup for water and with one swolling motion it was gone. I had to follow though, no turning back now.

 

“Son, just record everything we discussed, so I have the data when I return. I’ll be back soon, so don’t you worry.” He sounded like he meant everything he said and so I convinced myself to believe him. I nodded in response. His hand made a reaching motion for mine. I stretched mine out and cupped it over the top of his long boney hands. My shaking hand caused his steady one to tremble with me. I couldn’t look him in the eye for a while, but when I finally did he was sound asleep breathing in a perfect steady rhythm. Ok, I knew I had to act early before the REM cycle, before he entered his dreams. I was the ATC officer guiding the blinded plane in the worst of storms. I had to make sure his conscious brain made it into his dreams, by ensuring all the neurological connections were made. The brain on it’s on would could not make these connections my father told me. The pill sparked the deep sleep, and all I had to do was force the brain to connect in ways, it never even dreamed possible. I walked over to the monitor hooked up to his brain it clicked and beeped with all the others. Ok, I knew what to do. I had been walked through this with my father time and time again. There was no room for failure. I tuned the red knob 120 degrees to the right. I flipped the large switch up. After several more precise procedures I backed away from the monitor. Everything was prefect all vitals were normal and his brain activity was up, way up. Perfect. By now he was well on his way consciously to the subconscious, as my father would say in terms that I could never really grasp at that time.

 

I stayed by his side, checking his vitals every hour on the hour. His mind was alive, probably the most activity ever recorded. I began to ponder what he was experiencing, were we successful in sending the mind into dreams? I wanted him to awake so badly so we could spend hours upon hours reviewing and discussing everything. I remembered I was supposed to take the journey so my father could monitor the data. He would know more about what all these signs and beeps meant then I did. A few days ago after securitizing research he changed his mind. I had asked him if his sudden change of mind was because he deemed this unsafe and begged him not to even attempt things until they were prefect. Calmingly he told me that everything was perfect simply that he was selfish and wanted to experience his work and not just record it. I believed him, that things were safe he would never lie to me like that. At least I think I believed him. With all these thoughts floating around in my head and as the seconds ticked by I unknowing fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

I awoke early the next morning. The whole room was eerily silent, almost dull. It took me a few seconds until I realized this silence was a bad thing. Now fully awake I grabbed my chart and began to check the monitors. They were all dead. No beeping or changing numbers… blank. I looked at him he wasn’t even breathing. I was in disbelief, he couldn’t die! Everything was perfect just hours ago. How could I fall asleep?! Then something caught my attention, something WAS making a noise. I followed the sound to the monitor hooked up to my father’s brain. Activity was off the chart. His brain was alive and kicking, yet he wasn’t even breathing. Some hope remained and I hit his notes, trying not to panic and find something in his jumble of words and symbols that would tell me what to do. I found nothing. We were unprepared for this. So was my father dead or was he alive? This question remained in my head filling every ounce of thought I had. I sat there in that room with him all weekend just watching as his brain caused a ruckus on that monitor and everything else was eerily quite. I would stare at his chest sometimes for hours on end, I felt like it had to move any second but it never did. The whole weekend passed in such a manor. My mind was only on my father’s state and what I should do. I was lost with out his guidance. I ached to know what he was experiencing and what I could do to help him.

 

Monday rolled around and as dusk fell my school secretary in a recorded voice called leaving a message to tell my father I wasn’t at school. Many of my peers complained they always called at dinner when parents were there to receive the message. I never skipped so I never ran into that problem. Her voice was distant coming from the family room, it didn’t even register at the time people would be wondering where I was. It wasn’t until Friday a real person called my house with concern about me missing one whole week of school. This wasn’t like me, my counselors and teachers were rather concerned. Apparently my neighbors were also concerned, as the cops showed up late Friday night. They knocked politely at first, then knocked again, distant from the other room. I was in another place where my thoughts consumed me. After several more knocks with no response, they barged in. I heard them rummaging through the rest of the house. I assume they would have given up but I had just got myself a glass of milk that was still fresh on the counter. They knew we were here somewhere. Eventually they found my father and I. I have no idea what they thought may have been going on as they looked from me to him from him to me. I looked like hell I’m sure and they knew something was up as my father was strapped to a table. They knew who we were and what my father’s area of work was, but they had no idea what was really going on. In my fathers later years he was considered more toward the crazy side then the genius side. A larger cop phoned to the paramedics, it was more serious then they thought. It was normal for us to lock ourselves in the house for the weekend, but never for a whole week. And now they assumed my father was dead because of his lack, well lack of a heart beat. Emotion hit me for the first time as the paramedic rushed to my father. He called to his coworkers saying they had no pulse and to get the electric shock. My father was unnaturally cold. But he was still flexible, they presumed he hadn’t been dead very long, maybe there was still a chance. I watched in awe as they began their resuscitating procedures. Obviously no one noticed that his brain was going crazy they just looked for a heart beat. They finally admitted their procedures failed after maybe 10 minutes of CPR.

“Call it.”

“Time of death Friday March 10 2040 8:57 pm.”

For the first time someone noticed me as I stood up and began to scream at the top of my lungs,” My fathers not dead you morons, your going to kill him!”

Someone sat me down and put their hands on my shoulders “Son, your father’s been gone for at least a few hours. There was nothing we could do.”

“No! You don’t understand look at his brain monitor, its still-“and of course I looked up and the cord was no longer attached to my father, it must have been disconnected while they were attempting to shock him back together. “Hook this back up to his brain you’ll see.” I grabbed the loose end and began to walk it back over. Once again I was forced to sit down. They were taking my reaction as if I was a child in denial. Realizing now what they must think of me, neither my father or I had left this room for days. It must look like my father died for the sake of science, and I to young to realize he was really gone had made myself believe that there was some chance of survival. I racked my brain I had to convince them other wise. What could I say? I was sworn to secrecy about our experiment, until it was a noted success. Well, it obviously wasn’t a success, so I had to think of something other then the truth to keep my fathers body here with me.

“Son, listen. I know this is hard for you, but we are professionals here and please, it will eventually be easier on you if you just listen to us. There is no way that the body can function on the brain alone. You see if the brain dies a man can live in a comatose state, but it doesn’t work the other way. Your father hasn’t been breathing for hours maybe even a day. His heart isn’t pumping blood. With out that oxygen the brain can’t function,”

“But the monitor-“

“This isn’t a medical monitor, I’m sorry but maybe there was a glitch. It’s just not humanly possible. Ok let’s get you guys out of here. Do you have anywhere else you can go? You can’t stay here alone.”

“No.” I said defiantly.

“You don’t have any relatives or family friends that we can contact?”

“No”

“Come on don’t be difficult there has to be someone, I don’t want to see a kid like you go foster care.”

“Well, I guess I have a mom.”

“You guess?” I personally thought the EMT was being rather rude for a kid that just lost his dad, but I tried no to let it get to me. If I wanted to avoid this conversation all I had to do was cry, but tears weren’t practical no one had died.

“Yea I guess somewhere. Haven’t seen or head from her in years. She probably has a replacement family somewhere in the south, she always liked warm weather. Always said it was too cold.”

“Ok well that’s something to work with. Don’t worry though we’ll do all the contacting for you. Now, let’s get you out of here.”

I didn’t want to go, but I was too tired to argue. A boy had no chance against medical professionals. They were trained to protect me from the pain, so protecting I let them do.

 

The next few days passed with out my knowing. My brain shut off to protect me from the pain and injustice. I didn’t even try to argue with them. I knew how this looked from the outside and I had no case against them. I’m not even really sure where I was staying. I was sitting I know that when my mother walked through the door. I decided I would call her Karol now. We were both dressed in black. I don’t even remember who dressed me. Did I? We stood there looking at each other like strangers, wondering if we should hug, cry, so we did nothing. We just stared. I wondered if she was even sad my father died. No. She had the- I told him so thought running though her head I could see it. What a b***h.

 

The car ride to the funeral my mother began to talk, strictly business. Apparently my father left everything to me. Karol was left with child support and when I turned 18 my fathers billion dollar fortune was mine. She sounded bitter that nothing was left to her and her other replacement family.  I didn’t even know how much money my father had, in all honestly. We had always lived a middle class life style. We had a nice house in nice neighborhood. My father Dr. Foyal was classified a genius, but I thought geniuses were never money making heroes, until decades after they died. Maybe my father was an over night hero. My father barley left the house, so I mean how much money can you make with out leaving the house? He never shared his work or did he? Then again I realized I knew nothing about my father before I came along. I was somewhat confused and remained that way until several hours later. My father’s eulogy left my memories or him with a whole new perspective.

 

I was asked to say a few words, but I really had nothing to say that the world didn’t know already; in fact the world apparently already knew a lot more then anything I had to say, as I would soon discover.

 

The second I walked into the ceremony I was thankful in my decision. I had no idea my father knew so many people. Literally every seat was taken, if not two to a seat. I did a quick scan only to be shocked further. Some of the greatest men and minds were in this room. Ones that made breaking news headlines more then once. Men that had changed the way our modern world works and thinks. I picked out Dr. Niebel, the world’s most respected man in the presence of my father. Dr. Niebel was the man that found the cure for cancer 10 or so years ago. The world’s most highly regarded colleges had a hard time getting the man to make an appearance, so why was he here for my father? As far as I could remember my father hadn’t made the news since he was promised to be one of the brightest minds his junior year in college. After that according to my father, he only made the news as a disappointment graduating with a PHD in psychology, but never making any real break through.

 

Karol had to drag me to our seats in the front row. I’m pretty sure my mouth was open, as all these great men turned to look at me. I snapped my mouth shut, out of respect but what I got in return was a solemn understanding. Their faces made me relax, they knew who I was and they sympathized with me. I wondered if any of them knew what really happened. No, my father never spoke of it.

 

 

So the man left to speak in my place, was a man I had only seen in old pictures. He and my father, young college students side my side, in the typical white science garb, smiling with shiny placks of achievement. He and my father had been best friends though high school, and 8 years of college and then some. Yet, oddly I had never met him. Fear slowly began to take hold. The empty pit in my heart struggled to tear a bigger hole into my chest. Had I really known my father? Here, his best companion stood before me and we made eye contact the first time over my father’s dead body. He quickly turned away and began his slow somber speech.

 

“We are all here today to honor the great memory of the late Dr. Foyal. When I was asked to speak here today, I didn’t know if I could. I have not spoken to my dear friend Scott in many years.  But I felt it my duty and honor to accept, so that we all may take a look back at what this wonderful man has really done for all of us in this room. I regret distancing myself from such a kind and gentle man, I’m sure we all do. But let us not live in the past and redeem ourselves by never forgetting a friend and father,” he looked directly at me “that was dear to us all. Scott loved his work. I remember many of his teachers and collogues would get on his case for not being shall I say driven enough. He tended to take his sweet time on anything he tackled. He did what he did for the love of it, and not for the fame and glory like many of us. There was no rush to accomplish great things, he knew he would eventually make that break through, so he kept plugging away. Those of us that knew him well enough, knew that one day he would surpass us all with his brilliant mind, and far fetched ideas. When he came up with an idea, there was no stopping him. Not only did he apply this to science, but he lived his whole life with that outlook. During his early days Dr Foyal alone has won more awards and recognition, in his psychology work then many of us in a life time. He has replaced Freud in future history book as a man of great knowledge on the working of our minds. I often feared that he knew more about what was going on in my mind then I did at times. He was a dear friend to us all and I speak for the majority of us here, please let us remember him for all the good he brought to our lives and our society. Let us remember it is never to late to ask for forgiveness or to forgive for that matter. He deserves all of our forgiveness. He died trying to prove the world wrong, no matter how many times it told him to stop. Don’t ever feel he turned his back on you, or regret turning your back on him and keep in mind the passion for discovery that we all still hold dear to us and use that as a guideline in understanding Scott’s life.

And lastly Karol, you have no idea how close you have brought me to tears today, thank you for being here, I know that Scott would be so honored.”

 

And on that note Dr. Kinley walked over to Karol and embraced her. With that she began to cry, which pushed Dr, Kinley over the edge, pushing away he walked back over to his seat, causing a flood or tears to erupt in his path. I stood there unsure of what to do, my mother shaking uncontrobly. It was hard enough for any normal boy to comfort his mother, let alone a grief stricken, shocked, and curious boy that hadn’t seen his mother in over 7 years. But she made up my mind for me and grabbed me in the motherly embrace I hadn’t felt in so long. It was such an overwhelming feeling that I didn’t even push away until she was done with me. Maybe living with Karol wasn’t going to be so horrible. She really did love my father and I. She wouldn’t be standing here and she defiantly wouldn’t have been around for so many years if she didn’t love us. I guess I understood at some point, she wanted to be a mother and a wife and she finally let her self move on to a real family.

 

The reception felt more like a gather of great minds so to speak. They all mingled discussing the latest breakthroughs and catching up on old times. Every now and then they would stop all conversations as I passed. Their heads would turn to me and they would give some sort of condolence or shake my hand. “You were lucky to have a father like him kid.” “Were so sorry for your loss.” That all rather bored me. I wanted to ease drop on a conversation that had to do with my father. I wanted answers. I was hungrily curious as to why my father dropped out of the social ring? Why did everyone need to forgive my father? What had he done? What was he really trying to do that night? I thought I had answers, but I realized that they were only surface answers. Finally under no better circumstances I found that man I was looking for, alone. He saw me coming his way and almost smiled as if he was expecting this. Good, so he was somewhat prepared to give me answers.  

 

“Hi, I’m Blake, Scott’s son.” I immediately flushed, how stupid of me.

Chucking he responded “We’ll hopefully you are, with out that nose I would have to ask Karol if there were any other men right before the wedding.”

A little shocked that this old cook had some laughs in him, I couldn’t help but laugh my self.

“Well that’s always a relief, I guess.”

“Your father didn’t always give you the facts straight up did he?”

“Well I uh,” he took the words right out of my mouth.

“I was wondering if my eulogy today would have any effect on you, or if you already knew everything. And seeing as it did, you have some things you want answered don’t you?”

He was making this way easier then I had anticipated. I secretly thanked him for that, because I myself was unsure of exactly where to start. “Well yes.”

“Since you were there I assume you know what you father was attempting to do that night. Do you at least know that much?”

“Yes, I had been helping with him tests and research for a few years after school.”

“ha-ah I see I wasn’t that hard to replace then. Well you see son, your father was a great man you know that by now, but ever since I’ve known him he had one passion. Dreams. All his other achievements in psychology really meant nothing to him. They were just mile stones on reaching his final goal. When he and I were just starting college together at one of the best colleges for science and psychology he came to me with a question. He said,

“Kinley, have you ever thought or focused on one thing for hours, before getting in bed and up until the moment you eye closes that’s all that’s on your mind?”

And I say “ No, I’m usually devoting my last few hours to a project or homework.”

“Well that counts!”

“It does?”

“Yes! Do me a favor, and when you go home tonight to finish our timeline projects, just tell me what you dream about. Write it down first thing when you wake up and then bring it to school.”

So I did what he said. It was a basic Psych history 101, but I am very detail oriented and I spent hours on my timeline and sure enough when I feel asleep the only thing on my mind was the history of psych. When I woke up I immediately jotted down my dreams, and I remember thinking you old man was on to something. I shared my dream with him, and after that I didn’t see much of him for a few days, so I knew he was up to something. About a week later he proposed a theory. A theory that one could control their dreams, by focusing their thoughts on something specific for a long enough time. It sounded like something plausible, so in all our free time we did tests and experiments. Years passed with out much breakthrough on the front. We never got passed controlling the subject of your dream. Half way through Graduate school I gave up on him. I mean, he was coming up with some pretty crazy ideas. He drew up more theories stating that once you could control your dream, you could enter your dream consciously through your subconscious.

 

I gave him a funny look that sentence never made sense to me even when my father used it. Under standing my expression he elaborated. You see your father believed that you could send your mind into your dreams. But you wouldn’t really be dreaming, so you see you would be consciously in your subconscious. I really meant what I said today, I feel bad, we all do for the lost connection we had with your father. But in all reality Blake, your father had made no break through in his theory since freshmen year in under grad school. We thought that when he met Karol a family would ground him, and it did for a while, but the more and more we doubted the harder and harder he tired to prove us wrong. He eventually shut himself off, claiming he was making progress, but was never willing to share or prove any of it. So a bad rep soon followed him. He became knows as the crazy psychologist of our time. We all started to worry more about our careers then friendship and support and soon no one would be caught dead associating with you father. And no offence kid, but look where his crazy antics got him today.

 

“You know Dr. Kinley, he’s not as crazy as you think he was.” I wondered where my confidence was coming from. I felt the need to defend my father, and if I could tell anyone about what happened I felt I could trust Kinley with out angering my father.

“You have to say that kid he’s your father, sorry if I offended you.”

“No, really. I understand and have already accepted that I’m just a boy with no real schooling in the way of the mind, but I did work with my father for many years. And I hope you can believe me when I say in about the last 5-6 years of his life, he made a lot of break throughes.”

“Yea I’m sure he did.” I did not appreciate his sarcasm. I would have to take this head on.

“My father wasn’t dead.” That caught his full attention really fast.

“Excuse me, and again not to be rude, then why are we at a funeral?”

I was done with his dry sense of humor. “You see my father had been preparing to try this experiment on me. He said it would send me into my own dreams. He had perfected his theory and discovered the right combination of brain connections to do so. At the last second he claimed that he was to selfish to let me have all the glory, and so he took my spot as the guinea pig. This worried me at first, because I knew this was a sign that everything was not perfect. He would never be willing to hurt me. I was wary for a few days, but eventually I truly knew in my heart this is what he wanted, this is what he lived for. So, we went through with his test.” I had his full attention now, his breath was baited. It felt good to be proving my father to his old friend, to be the one with the valued information. Now that I had both pieces of my fathers lift things were starting to click. “That night almost a week and a half ago, I sent my father into his dreams.” I still saw some doubt mixed with the hope on Kinley’s face, so I continued. “You see I was right, something did go wrong, but he didn’t die. Things were fine all night. Vitals were strong and his brain activity was off the chart. I regret falling asleep now, because when I woke up his body stopped functioning, everything but his brain.” Kinley was dead silent. I continued telling him about how my father’s brain was alive, and how his body although not working never really showed signs of death. I explained how the EMT wouldn’t even let me explain things and how I was forced in a way to kill my father. His eyes were wide now, apparently speechless. Finally he found words amongst the tears that were beginning to build in his eyes.

“I never should have doubted him. At least he reached his nirvana, he reached his dreams. May his soul rest in peace.” This phrase upset me. I wanted Dr. Kinley to prove to the world my father wasn’t dead. I expected him to rescue my father from his dreams.

Again, as if reading my mind “Kid, you know no one is going to believe us right? We know what happened and I think that’s all he would care about.”

 

We continued with small talk about my father and that night, until Karol walked over to claim me. I reluctantly got up Kinley gave me his phone number and address and extended his welcome to me to visit or call when ever I felt necessary. Then with a light fond tap of my nose he parted. My mother of course in that short time being found someone to chat with, so I stood beside her rocking back on my heels and out of the corner or my eye I caught the sight of a young dark haired boy with dull Grey eyes not much older then me. His hair swept over one of his eyes, what an odd fashion, that look went out of style 20 years ago. Emo they called it I think. I don’t know why he caught my attention, but I felt I should have noticed him before, with such an outdated look. Perhaps he was a trouble kid of a great mind. He looked up and his one free eye caught mine, I hadn’t realized how close he was standing, he hadn’t heard anything had he? No, he wasn’t there earlier. He gave me a crooked smile then sauntered off. Humph he was odd indeed. Finally my mother was done talking and with a few more last good byes we left my father behind.

 

I demanded my father be cremated, directly following the funeral. Karol nearly had a heart attack, she was a good Christian now. And good Christians didn’t believe in science or cremating or anything else for that matter. I was relieved when I found out that my say over ruled my Karol’s say. I was terrified that if my father ever found a way home he would wake up 6 feet under. I shuddered to think of that happening. But I couldn’t knock off the uneasy feeling that my father was still trapped in him dreams and would be there forever. Usually when people die, family members cope by assuring themselves the sole was laid to rest. Was my father doomed to an endless wonder his own thoughts, or did a mind eventually die like a body. This uneasy feeling never left my side.

 

 After a few years attempting to live a normal life with Karol and her replacement family, the anxiety and heat began to eat me. I knew I had to continue my father’s work, I had to find a way to get into my own dreams or find a way to let my father rest. After high school I traveled back to my father’s old house. I was not ready to return until now or sell it so I had it preserved for storage, almost as if were a museum. A taxi dropped me off at the end of the drive. Taking deep breath I marched toward the door. Then shock set in Police surrounded my home. The boards on the windows had been torn down and the glass broken. Apparently the cops had not been expecting me, as they jumped when they saw me.

“Mr., Foyal?” I recognized the one of them as the cop that lived down the road from me when I was little. He looked much older and had gained a good amount of weight, but I knew it was him.

“Yes….” I hesitantly replied.

“We weren’t expecting to see you here. We were going to call.”

“What-what happened?” I half demanded half stuttered.

“Well you see there was a break in, were so sorry no ones gone near the house since you left, outta' respect for your family. Looks like this happened overnight. We not done doing a full search, but I hate to say this. It looks like they were after your fathers work almost all of its gone. We going to do our best to recover it, I assure you our whole force will be working on this.”

Now ignoring him, I simply pushed passed him. Why would- Who would- do such a thing? Entering the house my heart broke. All of my father’s life gone… The house was bare. Shakily I tuned the corner into his room; the room where he left me. Empty. Despair washed over me. How would I ever be able to help my father if I had no idea where to start? But then I remembered the vault. The place my father kept the his most important work, his dream work. While the thief was able to get away with bits and pieces of the project information the meat was in the vault.

 

I held my breath as I ran to the bedroom where the vault slept under the bed like a kitten day in and day out. I was almost too scared to look. Releasing my breath I lifted the dusty bed skirt. There she laid still sealed, her secrets were all mine. I quickly turned the dial as if I used these numbers on a daily basis. Finally the numbers clicked and I pulled out the files carefully as if they were the most precious things on earth and to me they were. I sat hunched on my legs and flipped through the pages and pages of notes. None of it made any sense to me. It was like trying to read Chinese. I decided I had one option. I would stay here in the east coast and find Dr. Kinley. I never contacted him over the years in an attempt to move on. I realized now I would never move on. Maybe I would even become a psychologist. Yea sure, I was interested in psychology I grew up with it, but this was for the sake of my father. I would dedicate my life to him. I got up and walked out of the house. Again, the police bombarded me. I simply told them this house no longer meant anything to me, I had what I wanted I didn’t care what they did with it. They were all surprised by my lack of interest in the house. Frank the one that lived down the road put his hand on my shoulder before I walked off. “Blake, good news old Mrs. Whittaker got a glimpse of who did this to you. She said he was a tall skinny kid, black hair. I’ll find him for you.”

“Thanks Frank, please let me know if you ever do find him, I would like to get my father’s work back.” With a crooked smile I held up the stack I retrieved, “They got away with some of the good stuff but they didn’t claim the gold, so I’m not too worried.”

With that I never returned to my father’s old house and I never did hear who broke in. I think my lack of care put a stop to the search. I pulled out an old crinkled paper and read the address one more time.