Night Terror

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It was only an inch of snow, and with the projected temperature it would melt off his driveway during the day, but Sean still went out and shoveled it. Most people on his street used a snow blower, but while Sean owned one he only kept it for emergencies. As far as he was concerned, the more physical labor he squeezed into his life, the better shape he’d end up years later. It was working so far—he certainly wasn’t young any more, but he was more in shape than most other professors and teachers his age.

He tried to talk himself out of going back to Crypt Coffee, but that pie…Sean had actually dreamed about it, it was that good. And Dane hadn’t called or texted, so he was curious what the man would do if he showed up again. Anything was better than staying in, uneasy in his own home. He kept getting the feeling a lot had happened here, and being unable to remember it was starting to creep him out. Like living with a ghost.

The plows didn’t come out for just an inch of snow and as expected, the other drivers were awful, but Sean made it to Crypt Coffee, pulled in, and took the stairs. He recognized one of the baristas as a former student, a young trans woman named Winter whose straight black hair and manner fit in well at a place like this. She prepared his Plague of Beans, two shovels, and to his surprise, brought up Dane.

“He’s not in yet, professor.”

“Who?”

Winter blinked at him, stared for a moment, and returned to preparing his coffee.

“Dane. Something happen with you two?”

Sean hadn’t thought the interaction yesterday would have been overly remarkable, but the baristas apparently gossiped. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Not much of anything. He served me a slice of that zebra pie. You have any of it left?”

“I’m not supposed to sell day-olds before noon. Hold on.” Winter shoved his coffee over and ducked down behind the counter. She seemed to be shuffling everything under there around, and when she reappeared, it was with a wooden tea box. She passed it over.

“What’s this? Pie?” In a tea box? Sean wasn’t sure he’d put anything past Dane after the flirting.

“No,” said Winter, but the next customer in line was getting impatient, so Sean grabbed his box and coffee and took it to a table in a corner. He wedged himself into the back of the booth and opened the lid. No pie, but there was a USB drive and some paper. He picked up the short note on top and read it.

This is going to seem unbelievable at first, but give it a few hours to sink in. Call Dane with questions. Sean.

He read the note four times, then put it back in the box and drank his coffee in gulps. That was his handwriting. Those were his words. Sean had no memory of writing them. He didn’t know what they meant either—and they seemed to imply he and Dane had some sort of relationship—but maybe whatever was on the USB would explain it. He didn’t know what it meant that Dane hadn’t mentioned anything, and now Sean was very confused.

But he couldn’t ask Dane if he wasn’t in, and Sean hadn’t brought his laptop, so he finished his coffee and brought the skull shaped mug up to the bus-your-own tub. Winter was too busy for him to thank her, and Sean ended up returning home dissatisfied. He plopped on the couch with his laptop and opened the files on the drive, all word documents.

They were a journal of sorts, or notes. Some were dated, some seemed to be random thoughts. He didn’t usually take notes like this—some of them appeared to be hurried summaries. Sean went through them all, everything sounding unreal to him. They referred to paranormal bullshit like ghosts and witches’ spells. There were magic wells and even a ghost possessing a tree to try to kill him. A woman had been murdered. The man who ran BigFroot Smoothies was supposedly a Bigfoot. A woman named Javalynne sold weapons out of her repair garage.

It was all so implausible Sean sat back on his couch and held his head. Maybe he’d tried something a student was selling, but then drugs weren’t really his thing, and that wouldn’t explain why everyone was treating him normally, or how he felt fine now. He was beginning to get really worried about his mind, though. He’d have to make that appointment first thing Monday.

He kept reading, annoyed with himself for having brushed over the fact he and Dane supposedly slept together. More than once. He could have described it for himself—then there’d be something about this nonsense he’d enjoy reading now. He stopped at the point he and Dane got captured and got up to get himself a drink. It wasn’t noon, but he thought he could use one.

There was a brand of whiskey in the cupboard he didn’t usually buy, and he decided to have that. He measured and brought the glass back to the couch, ready to get through with this. He read about madness from magic exposure, cutting his bonds with some sort of sharp crystal, Dane shooting and killing a man. Sean made a face at his description, but nothing came back to him. If these things had really happened, why could he remember none of them? Some of this was from less than two weeks ago.

Sean picked up his phone again, looked at the texts from the strange Dane he was beginning to believe was the same Dane. He didn’t understand. Why would Dane go along with his memory loss if these things had actually happened? The normal reaction would be confusion, not acceptance without question.

Frowning, Sean finished off his drink. Dane had to know something, something that wasn’t in these files. Sean had read mention of an Order and mind wiping, but even the Sean who’d wrote this seemed to think mental erasure was a bit of a joke. Sean considered calling Dane for a moment before pulling the box over and looking for anything else he might have left himself from his missing months. All that was left was a wadded piece of paper; Sean picked it up and uncrumpled it to find a milky crystal inside. It had a point on it. Sean turned it over and over in his hands, thinking. This had to be what he’d cut his ropes with. It was so small…

It was so warm. Unnaturally, but not unpleasantly warm. In fact, when Sean got over the strangeness of it, it felt pretty good in his hand. Comforting, grounding. He hoped holding it would bring back some of his memories of whatever crap this was he’d written, but nothing. He opened the first of the documents and began over again. He wanted to give himself a little time before asking Dane about it.

The words, like someone else’s story before, began to feel closer now. Sean toyed with the crystal in his hand, more intent on things the second time around. They felt realer than before, more genuine. He got hooked, despite already knowing the ending, and by the time he was at the point where he and Dane were captured again he tore through the words.

He clenched the crystal so hard it dug into his palm. Everything came back in one sudden, heavy rush. Sean remembered everything.

His first glimpse of a ghost, Dane kissing him, the tree…it was like he was reliving every damned thing again, like he was experiencing all of it afresh, sped up. The memories and sensations tore through his mind, his body, and he felt the ache of getting injured, the rush and high of s*x, everything…everything. It was so much to process that Sean couldn’t do anything but sit there and let it happen. When it was finally over he leaned back into the couch, groaning.

Dane. He had to call Dane. He believed everything now, and he was reeling. He half-stood, reached for his phone, but a new wave of memories struck now, these worse. Sean saw only these, didn’t know if he was back on the couch or not as he was sucked in.

He was answering the door to a man in a suit, weird pin in his lapel. He was being questioned, being forced to sit. He was wary, but the man only wanted him to sign some agreement to stay quiet and stay out of Order affairs. It was reasonable. Sean was taking the offered pen, was stabbed, injected, fell back.

More questioning. About Dane, about the witches, about something called the Family. Sean was compelled to answer. Whatever had been in the pen tore through his veins, made him ache, made him weak. And then the man in the suit was leaning over him, thanking him for his cooperation, readying another needle.

Experiencing the memory was agony. Sean screamed, collapsed, heaved. He was back in the present, in his living room in a home that no longer felt safe. Every part of him felt miserable and he wasn’t sure where he was. On the floor, maybe. He hurt too much to tell, and everything was blurry. His face was wet with tears and his back felt twisted. He moved, felt the couch behind him, and groaned. His fist was clenched so tightly around something—the crystal, he remembered—it felt like he’d put it through his palm.

Sean released his fingers slowly, gently. The crystal stuck for an instant, then fell out, blood following it. Sean blinked at it for a moment, processing everything. He needed help. There was only one person who could give it.

He had to contact Dane. Sean reached up toward the coffee table, which seemed so far away, groped around until he felt his phone, and pulled it to the carpet with him. He didn’t trust his voice. He didn’t trust much of anything at the moment—an occasional snippet of memory would come swirling up at him and tear viciously through his body, and he’d have to squeeze his eyes against it, ride it out. After what felt like forever he managed to get a few words out, and then another memory struck and Sean was dragged under again.