I Moderate (i_moderate) wrote in we_archive, @ 2006-04-13 23:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | jake chambers |
i_throwplates Of Waking Terrors and Billy-Bumblers [Narrative]
Note: Backdated to before the Wayne dinner
That night was torture. Just after Barbara had sent him to bed, Jake had fallen into an uneasy sleep, claimed on merit of pure exhaustion. She'd made him a sandwich and left it in the room for him to eat. His nerves weren't frayed enough that he didn't wake up when she came in, but he stayed silent until she left, hoping that sleep would claim him again.
It didn't. Once he was awake, his body having taken some form of rest, the echoes began in his mind, fresh and alert as ever.
You died.
I didn't, though. I'm right here, safe in bed.
That doesn't matter, and you know it.
Jake thought he might scream. 'I don't know which voice is true, but I know I can't go on like this. Just quit it, both of you. Stop arguing and leave me alone. It doesn't MATTER if I died or if I didn't, I'm here now!'
But they wouldn't stop. Couldn't, apparently. And Jake was given a grim and terrifying premonition of his life: the days and weeks would stretch on like a grim and blighted terrain in his memory - a nightmare wasteland where there was no peace, no rest, no respite from pain. Watching, helpless, as his mind buckled under the steadily increasing pressure of the phantom voices and memories.
He knew how it would be. Because he'd been here before.
That was the hardest. No. Knowing that somewhere in this City, Roland was suffering the same effects, was the hardest. At least he knew how this could end. To his father, his dinh, it would be unending.
'Roland,' he thought, letting the words float away from his mind. Hopefully they would reach the gunslinger. 'It'll be okay. I promise, it'll be okay.'
He hoped Roland would believe it. Jake was having a hard time convincing himself.
I died.
No. I didn't.
Did too.
Did not.
Did.
Didn't.
Jake rolled onto his stomach, buried his face in his pillow, and screamed.
Something was scratching at his door. Repeatedly. Almost frantically. Jake didn't bother to wonder how long that had been going on. He had no idea. He considered ignoring it, unsure if it was actually at the door, or just in his head. But then a voice sounded. A voice that was almost a bark.
"Ake! Ake!"
Jake threw himself off the bed and at the door. "Oy?" He pulled the door open, and several pounds of billy-bumbler struck him in the chest.
"Ake! Ake! Ake!" Oy was wiggling frantically, trying to smell Jake, lick Jake, have Jake pet him and hold him, and bit his tongue once in his excitement. The bumbler barely realized it.
Jake scooped Oy into his arms, trying to contain the frantic welcome. He wouldn't let the pain in his mind hinder his joy at seeing the bumbler again. Oy licked his chin, and then stilled himself. He barked again, softer this time. "Ake!"
'Ake' nodded, and hugged the bumbler, fingers slipping into the thick fur around Oy's neck. The sounds in his head were muffled. Fainter. He could feel weariness settling back over him. Oy was warm against his chest, and, with his eyes closed, Jake felt his way back to the bed.
I'm dead.
No, I'm not.
'Shut up,' Jake thought at them, weary. His fingers tightened into Oy's fur, and the billy-bumbler curled into a tight ball, nestled against Jake's chest and neck. With that warmth, breathing in the scent of Oy, Jake finally fell asleep.