Diamond City Trilogy

Chapter 6: Diamond City

Fresco retreated to his room as soon as he got home, avoiding his mother's usual inquiries about how his day went. Drained and terrified, he curled up on his bed and shook for a long time.

He refused to come down for dinner. He ignored the tapping on his door and Fran's soft voice. It was harder to block out Ray. He recognized the heavy shuffle of his father's feet on the carpet.

"Your mother worked hard on supper," the deep voice said through the locked door.

Fresco choked on a bitter laugh. Like he even considered food or casual conversation or even looking them in the face at a time like this.

"Fine," Ray said. "Be as selfish as your brother." His feet rustled away. Fresco's heart clenched, but he knew his father's tactics.

There was something wrong with him even Ray's guilt couldn't touch.

Fresco crashed, emotionally and physically drained. He needed to deal with it on his own, not trusting his parents, who kept his brother's death from him. His mind spun and spun, searching for answers, shying away from the fact he was a freak, isolated and out of his depth. Surely he hadn't seen his dead brother on the street? And if he didn't, just how crazy was he in the end?

Despite his fear and worry and the weight of his thoughts, Fresco managed to fall into a deep sleep.

***

He drifted into peace, an old, familiar melody rising to fill him up. He vaguely registered surprise before it faded to unconcern. He hadn't dreamed, to his knowledge, in almost two years. In his waking mind, he understood it was unusual to be aware in his dreams he was, in fact, dreaming. His friends often told their funny and impossible ones, or at least the bits and pieces they remembered, jokingly trying to interpret them for each other, with X-rated undertones. But none of them controlled their dreams, as far as he knew.

Fresco never tried to tell his. The only person who believed in his dreams, understood where he went when he slept, was dead.

Until Daniel left, Fresco always dreamed the same thing, or, at least, about the same place. It was a dream he shared with Daniel, oddly enough. He was six when he woke to his brother sitting next to him on his bed, smiling down at him.

You too, Daniel whispered.

From that night on, the brothers often talked about their dream, both wondering what it meant and why they were having it. Daniel made Fresco promise to keep it a secret, to never tell Mom and Dad. Fresco didn't know why it was so important, but he agreed readily. Not only was it marvelous to have such a wonderful secret, adoring Fresco always did what Daniel wanted.

Still without answers years later but grateful to have the dream come again, finally, and for the first time since he lost his brother, Fresco found himself standing on the shining floor of the entryway to the Diamond City. He understood instantly as the song wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing his soul. The frightened and angry part of him quieted when he dreamed. He felt very calm in that particular place, and tonight was no exception as he walked forward across the massive, glittering tiles through the entry. A wide, glowing staircase led down into the impossibly green valley cupping the City. The air was full of the freshness of new grass and lilacs, saturated with energy. The sky arched overhead, blue, painfully so if a color can cause discomfort, bluer than any sky in the waking world. The sun beamed in full glory over the pristine vale and the wonder nestled there. Everything in the City shimmered and sparkled, faceted edges catching the light in blinding flashes, every building from the lowliest to the highest reaching spire glittering like a freshly polished gem. Even the ribboned streets twining their way in lazy, flowing lines were paved in shining splendor.

Fresco's sleeping mind, free of ego, made a connection as he stood there looking down over the beauty of the City, the music swelling his heart with each passing second, drinking in the vision he forgot and never knew he missed. He saw clearly what happened to him earlier and his presence in the City were tied together. Knowing the answers he sought were down the shining staircase, Fresco set out in his dream to find them.

Silently, he walked the streets as he had done most of his life, his memories returning in flashes, as though the two years of dark dreamlessness without the glowing City never happened. The warmth of it enveloped him and, as it had ever been, he felt like he finally came home.

Fresco paused now and then to examine a brightly glittering building or to bend and run fingertips over a particularly brilliant paving stone, the smooth surface cool to the touch. But his path was consistent and his certainty as deep as his calm. Farther and farther into the City he went, occasionally hearing echoing laughter or the sound of voices talking carried on a gentle breeze. But, as always, when he dreamed of the City, he was alone. He and Daniel often tried to find each other there, but were never able. A part of Fresco wondered if his dead brother still roamed the streets.

Fresco paused as he neared the center of the City, looking up at the massive building in the broad square marking its very heart. It was a fairy tale castle with breathtaking spires and intricate, almost delicate, detail. The huge gate stood open to him, a brightly shining light welcoming him within, calling him home. Fresco drew a deep dream breath, his sleeping body echoing him in his dark room, and moved forward.

Fresco, Daniel's voice whispered. Fresco, wait.

He paused, looking around, calm mind curious but not concerned. Daniel was dead. Was he right? Did his dead brother now haunt the streets of the Diamond City? Daniel was nowhere to be seen or felt and his whisper fell silent. Fresco waited one more heartbeat before moving on.

Fresco! Daniel's voice was louder. It seemed to come from all around him, bouncing from building to building like an echo. Fresco stopped on the threshold of the castle, the white light calling to him, singing louder inside him. But Daniel's voice was not to be denied. Don't go to them. He begged. Please, Fresco, we were wrong. It's all a lie. It always was. Please, don't let them take you too!

Fresco hesitated. He needed to listen to Daniel. His brother protected him.

Why are you afraid? But Daniel's voice was gone and the song of the light swelled and engulfed him, whispered to him. Daniel left him. His brother didn't care about him at all. He abandoned him. All Fresco had now was the City. The song soothed him and eased the pain in him the truth created. He settled back into calm. Fresco turned back toward the gate, his curiosity and hurt about Daniel fading away.

His heart full of the Diamond City, Fresco stepped into the light and was lost.

***

He woke, head pounding, blood singing with the light of the City. Confusion didn't last in the heat of its presence. This had never happened before. His visits to the City always ended in calm awakening to early morning, not this flare of agony. It burned him up from the inside out. The fire he felt earlier was nothing to the raging torrent blazing through his every cell. Fresco cried out as the white light flooded his vision, blinding him. He thrashed on the bed, a seizure taking over. He was only vaguely aware he was screaming.

Hands touched him, held him briefly. Fresco knew peripherally his parents were there, but they backed away. Something within him built, growing brighter and stronger. Surely the fire was at its limit and could burn no hotter, yet it did. The swell of some unspeakable force overwhelmed him and filled him up to the breaking point.

Heart pounding, Fresco felt himself lifting from the bed. The gathering storm pushed against the confines of his body, forcing him into the air. Unable to control or release it, he continued to scream in agony.

It seared his entire being from the inside out.

Desperate to end it, instinct taking over, Fresco pushed the fire with all his strength. It was tearing him to pieces. He was sure he was broken into bits, ready to be scattered by the flames. Gasping through the pain, Fresco heaved in the confines of his body. He didn't care if it killed him as long as the blazing hurt went away.

The power fled from him as though from a shattered dam. A huge pulse of white light shook the house to its foundations, destroying streetlights and setting off car alarms for three blocks before dissipating.

Fresco knew none of it. He was thrown back as the power exploded out of him, tossed by the concussive impact of its exit back onto his bed, limp and entirely empty.

Barely conscious and unable to move, stunned to be still alive, Fresco watched as his parents hugged each other. His mother cried, but his father stared at him with a resigned look on his face. Fresco tried to reach out to them, but his body disobeyed.

Ray detached himself from Fran and picked up Fresco's phone. She grabbed at him, sobbing openly now, but he pushed her away. Fresco watched him dial and wait.

There was a click. A voice answered on the other end.

"You were right," Ray said in a flat, hard voice. "Friday's events changed everything. It's happened. Come get him."

Ray hung up and set down the phone as Fran collapsed on Fresco's bed, drawing him to her as though he was a child and holding him, rocking gently, smoothing his short, blond hair and his sweat-soaked brow.

"You knew this time would likely come," Ray snapped at her, disgust creeping into his voice. "They'll be here soon, and you don't want them to see you like this."

Fran, however, continued to rock and sob. Fresco gathered what strength remained to reach for her, but the effort proved too much for his overtaxed body and mind. In a rush, the last of his strength left him. He passed out into oblivion to the sound of his mother crying.

***