Summoned from the depths of my fading consciousness by the distant echo of my name, I struggled against the pull of darkness that sought to claim me. The voice, familiar yet seemingly miles away, pierced through the fog of my exhaustion, urging me to respond. I mustered every ounce of strength to force my eyes open, yet they remained defiantly heavy, barely fluttering in acknowledgment of my effort.
Again, the voice called out, persistent and increasingly urgent, until it finally bridged the gap to my dulled senses. "Here," I managed to croak, my voice a mere whisper against the vast silence that enveloped me. My eyelids twitched, granting me the briefest glimpse of the world before my voice faltered, leaving my plea hanging in the air. Paul's voice, once a beacon of hope, receded once more into the distance, and with it went my resolve, my eyes closing under the weight of my weariness.
But then, unexpectedly, my world began to sway, a gentle rocking motion that stirred me from my resignation. Through the sliver of vision afforded by my stubborn eyelids, a blur of brown and orange danced before me. "Paul?" I attempted to call out, though my voice betrayed me, morphing the question into an unintelligible mumble.
Suddenly, an unmistakable scent cut through the haze of my confusion—garlic. It was a scent I associated with one person alone. "Luke," I whispered with a newfound clarity, recognition sparking within me.
The sensation of movement became more pronounced as Luke, with determined strides, carried me through the dust, my body slung over his shoulders in a manner that spoke both of urgency and care. The jarring motion of our progress, rather than unsettling me, served as a strange comfort. It was a tangible sign that I was not alone, that despite the direness of my situation, there were still those who would shoulder my burdens alongside their own.
As we neared the camp, Duke's sharp yips pierced the heavy silence that had settled around me, carried by Luke's determined strides. The sound triggered an almost involuntary surge of anger within me, a reminder of the bone of contention that had sparked the earlier confrontation. My frustration with Luke's decision to bring the dogs into our precarious situation lingered, a smouldering ember that refused to be extinguished. If only I could articulate my thoughts, express the turmoil churning inside me. But my physical state, weakened and barely coherent, rendered me mute, my voice as incapacitated as my body.
As Luke brought me into the tent, the sight of Henri scampering beneath my limited field of vision offered a brief distraction from my brooding thoughts. Luke's movements were gentle as he laid me down on the mattress, a stark contrast to the turbulence of emotions that raged within me. The care he exhibited, though comforting, did little to quell the storm inside.
Duke, ever the embodiment of unconditional affection, wasted no time in rushing to my side to offer his version of comfort—several enthusiastic kisses on my cheek. Despite the warmth of the gesture, a reminder of the innocent joy the dogs brought into our lives, my return to a semblance of lucidity brought with it a resurgence of my earlier frustrations. Almost reflexively, I moved to put a stop to Duke's affectionate assault, my actions not so much a rejection of his warmth but a manifestation of the complex web of emotions I was entangled in.
"Shit, you really scared me there, Jamie," Luke's voice was tinged with a relief that barely concealed his underlying worry.
"I'm fine," I retorted, more out of reflex than genuine reassurance. My response was brusque, an attempt to ward off his concern and perhaps to shield myself from the vulnerability of the moment. I pushed at Luke, both physically and metaphorically, creating a distance that I mistakenly thought would fortify my resolve.
"What the hell were you doing out there?" Luke pressed, his frustration evident. "We thought you had stormed off to the lagoon." His question, laden with confusion and concern, echoed the chaos of my own thoughts. I closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to sift through the fragments of my memory, to piece together the narrative of my actions before darkness had claimed me.
"And you've got no shirt on to protect your chest!" The accusation came suddenly.
I strained against the fog that clouded my memory, searching for any clue that might explain my actions, but found nothing but emptiness. A black void had settled over the events leading up to my collapse, erasing any trace of rationale or reason. The realisation that I could not account for my whereabouts or actions, nor explain the absence of my shirt, left me grappling with a sense of disorientation.
Finally, grasping at straws in an effort to offer some explanation, however feeble it might seem, I ventured, "I went to bathe in the river. I guess I got a bit too hot. I'm probably just a bit dehydrated." The words felt hollow even as they left my lips, a makeshift explanation that did little to illuminate the truth of the situation but served to fill the silence between us.
"I'll get you some water," Luke responded swiftly, his immediate acceptance of my explanation, whether out of concern or a willingness to overlook the holes in my story, I couldn’t tell. Without another word, he rushed from the tent, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the unsettling gaps in my memory.
Duke's boundless energy was a stark contrast to the lethargy that weighed heavily on me. Watching him scamper to one of the small dog beds that had been strategically placed along the back wall of the tent's central room, he returned triumphantly with a long, skinny, brown toy horse in tow. Despite the turmoil of emotions and unanswered questions swirling within me, a genuine smile found its way to my face at the sight.
I reached out, taking the toy horse's head in my hand, and gave it several playful squeaks. The sound, comically high-pitched, sparked a light chuckle from me, a rare moment of levity in what had felt like an endless sea of grim reality. Duke, fully immersed in the game, growled playfully, his teeth securely around the toy's soft, fluffy foot, his entire body vibrating with anticipation.
Henri, ever the observer, seemed to decide that now was the perfect moment for a display of his own peculiar brand of theatrics. He spun in several tight circles, a ritual of comfort and contentment, before collapsing into the corner of the mattress. His final snort of contentment seemed to punctuate the moment, a reminder of the simple joys that still existed.
Duke, releasing his grip on the toy, sat back with his tail wagging expectantly, his eyes locked on mine, waiting for the next phase of our game. "I can't throw Horsey in here, Duke. Your claws will rip holes in the floor," I explained, my tone gentle yet firm. It was a practical concern, the reality of our living situation imposing limits on our play.
Luke's return to the tent was marked by an immediate sense of purpose. "Here," he announced, thrusting the water bottle under my nose. "Drink all of it." My body, still reeling from the exertion and dehydration, welcomed the command. I took the bottle, my hands shaky but grateful, and I drank deeply, the water a soothing balm to my parched throat. From the corner of my eye, I observed Luke rummaging through Duke's toy box, his actions momentarily mysterious until he retrieved what appeared to be an envelope.
After quenching my thirst, I handed Luke the now-empty bottle, exchanging it for the envelope he offered. "What's this?" Curiosity laced my voice, my gaze drawn to the envelope's plain surface, devoid of any postal markings or addresses.
"It's a letter from Gladys," Luke disclosed, a hint of something unreadable flickering in his expression.
"A letter? Why did she write me a letter?" The confusion was evident in my voice, the concept of receiving a letter in our current circumstances seeming almost anachronistic, a relic from a life that felt increasingly distant.
"Well," Luke began, his tone suggesting a blend of bemusement and resignation, "That's what I first said. But she's got a point. She can't talk to you, so she decided a letter was the next best option." His explanation, simple yet profound, touched on the essence of human connection—our need to communicate, to reach out, regardless of the barriers that stand between us.
The mention of Gladys and her letter brought to mind the small message I had scrawled on an empty spring water bottle, a desperate attempt to bridge the chasm that had opened between my world and hers. "So, she believed my message then?" I probed further, the implications of her belief in my extraordinary claim dawning on me. "Does she believe where I am?"
"Yeah," Luke replied, his shoulder shrug embodying a casual acceptance of the unbelievable. "They're sitting on the couch at home now, waiting for me to return without the dog's beds and toys." His words painted a surreal picture, a snapshot of a reality that seemed both incredibly ordinary and utterly fantastical.
"They?" My curiosity piqued further, eyebrows arching in surprise at the mention of another waiting at home with Gladys.
"Beatrix," Luke clarified, his tone carrying a hint of reluctant compliance. "Gladys didn't exactly leave me with much choice."
I scoffed loudly, the news of Gladys's actions not entirely catching me off guard. It was just like her—Gladys had an uncanny ability to find herself in precarious situations without any external provocation. Yet, she seemed to derive a peculiar kind of enjoyment from these escapades, especially when she managed to involve Beatrix. The dynamics of their relationship, always teetering on the edge of mischief and mayhem, momentarily distracted me from my own situation. The message I had sent, a desperate attempt to communicate across worlds, now seemed to have woven itself into their latest adventure. Did Gladys show Beatrix my message? Was that the impetus behind this unexpected correspondence?
"Have you read it?" I inquired, curiosity piqued despite my attempts to maintain a veneer of indifference. I held up the sealed envelope to Luke, searching his face for any telltale sign of knowledge withheld.
"No," Luke responded simply, his answer leaving no room for doubt. "It's for you."
I slid the envelope underneath the pillow behind me, a temporary reprieve from the questions that lingered. "I'll read it later," I declared, my voice carrying a hint of finality. The truth was, the prospect of uncovering the contents of Gladys's letter filled me with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. Why would she feel compelled to write to me now, of all times? And more importantly, what could she possibly have to say that couldn't simply be passed on word of mouth via Luke?
"Sure," Luke's response was brief, his tone suggesting a mix of concern and haste. "I think Paul's out looking for you." The mention of Paul's name brought a flicker of guilt, a reminder of the worry I must have caused.
"I know," I shot back quicker than I intended, my voice carrying an edge of defensiveness. I was fully aware of the potential panic my absence might have sparked, yet admitting it out loud made it all the more real.
"He should be back soon," Luke continued, his voice softening slightly. "I have to go. Don't go doing anything stupid again. Stay in bed for the rest of the day." His instructions were clear, underscored by a note of loving admonition before he exited the tent, leaving me in the quiet company of the dogs.
I sighed softly, the weight of the day's events settling over me like a thick blanket. Turning my attention to Duke, I attempted to lighten the mood, even if just for my own sake. "Well, Duke," I said, engaging in the simple, comforting act of play by waving Horsey under his eager nose. "And Henri," I added, leaning over to stroke his fur, finding solace in the tactile connection with the animals. "Looks like you're both stuck with me now."
Duke, seizing the opportunity for play, snatched Horsey from my grip with a youthful exuberance that was both endearing and momentarily uplifting. He made his way onto the mattress, claiming a spot at the opposite corner to Henri, and settled down with his prize. As he stared up at me, his eyes seemed to convey an understanding beyond his canine comprehension, a silent acknowledgment of the shared moment.
Groaning softly, I allowed myself to sink back into the mattress, the simple interaction with Duke and Henri offering a brief respite from the swirling thoughts and concerns that had plagued me. In their company, I found a semblance of peace, a reminder of the uncomplicated joys and the comfort found in the presence of loyal companions. It was a small comfort, but in the isolation of the tent, with the complexities of our situation pressing in from all sides, it was a comfort I clung to fiercely.
With a sense of resolve, or perhaps resignation, I reached beneath the pillow for the envelope that held Gladys's message. "May as well see what Gladys has to say," I murmured to myself, a trace of curiosity threading through the weariness in my voice. The act of retrieving the letter felt almost ceremonial, a bridge to a world and a life that felt increasingly distant with each passing hour.
My fingers, clumsy with anticipation, slipped under the envelope's seal, breaking it open with less finesse than I might have mustered under different circumstances. I extracted the single sheet of paper, unfolding it carelessly, a stark contrast to the significance of the act. The moment of unveiling Gladys's words was tinged with a mixture of apprehension and a deep-seated need for connection, for a sign that the bonds that tied us to our previous lives remained unbroken despite the physical and metaphysical distances that separated us.
As the words on the page came into focus, I braced myself for what Gladys had felt compelled to communicate through such a traditional, tangible medium.
Jamie,
I really hope you get this!
Luke tells me that you have gone through a Portal into a new world. He is calling it Clivilius. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him, but then he pulled out an odd-looking device and showed the Portal to me. Its colours are simply stunning! Unless I choose to believe that I have finally gone mad, which we knew was always a possibility, I have no choice but to believe what he tells me.
As you know, Cody and I have been seeing each other for over three months now. I think I really like him. And I am pretty sure he likes me too. I know you said you thought he was trustworthy, but things have been getting just a little strange.
He snuck into my room last night. It was after midnight! I have no idea how he got into my house. I was terrified! But he told me to trust Luke. To help him. To do whatever he asks me to do. I didn't even know he knew Luke. This is all getting too weird for me.
And that message of yours on the bottle. Is that really true? Was Brody really murdered? Why didn't you tell me?
I wish you were here. I really miss talking to you already. You're my best friend.
I drank too much last night. I liked it. It's the only thing that keeps my head from spinning out of control. Brody's face haunts me. Almost. Every. Night.
I haven't told anyone else yet, but work fired me last week. I didn't mean for it to happen. They made me give a urine sample for a random alcohol test and I failed.
Jamie, I don't know what to do. Please just come home.
I need you.
Gladys
As I poured over Gladys's letter for the umpteenth time, my emotions churned with confusion and disbelief. Cody, whom I vaguely remembered with a kind of fondness, seemed to have ventured down a path that left a sour taste in my mouth. The notion of him becoming someone unrecognisable, perhaps even unsettling, was disheartening. Yet, what baffled me more was the connection between Cody and Luke. How had their paths crossed in such a way that Cody felt compelled to seek Gladys's trust in Luke? The layers of secrecy and implied knowledge that Gladys had burdened me with, coupled with this new revelation, knotted my thoughts into an impenetrable tangle.
The letter hinted at a complexity of relationships and secrets that felt beyond my grasp. The idea that Luke might be entangled in something as sordid as an affair with Cody struck me as ludicrous. Yet, the seed of doubt, once planted, had a way of festering. "There is definitely a different explanation," I found myself saying aloud, an attempt to dispel the absurdity of my thoughts. The paper crinkled under my grip as I refolded it, a physical manifestation of my frustration and confusion.
The notion of replying to Gladys flitted through my mind, teetering on the edge of action and inaction. Should I draw her into this web of Clivilius's making, into a reality so far removed from the mundane intricacies of interpersonal dramas? The very thought seemed as outlandish as it was desperate.
"So many ridiculous thoughts!" I muttered, a scolding to my overwrought imagination. Slipping the envelope into the pillowcase, I sought to bury the letter and its implications, at least for the moment. "Must be the heat stroke," I concluded, half-jokingly attributing my tumultuous thoughts to the physical strain I had endured.
Yet, even as I tried to dismiss the letter's impact, the undercurrents of mystery and unanswered questions lingered, a subtle reminder that our entanglements with others were not so easily set aside or solved. The complexities of human relationships, magnified by our extraordinary circumstances, seemed to weave an ever more intricate tapestry of intrigue and uncertainty.
The sudden movement at the tent's entrance jolted my weary eyes open. "You look worse than I do," I managed to say, my voice raspy and strained from exhaustion and the remnants of pain.
Paul's reaction was immediate, his head snapping up in surprise, concern etched across his features. "Where the hell did you go? I've been searching for you," he blurted out, his voice a mix of relief and frustration.
"I know," I responded, a hint of guilt threading through my words. "I could hear you calling out, but every time I try to move, it starts to bleed again." The admission felt heavy, a tangible reminder of the fragility of my current state.
Paul's gaze fell to my bare chest, taking in the stark evidence of my ill-advised excursion. "The water didn't help then?" he inquired, his question laced with concern.
I shook my head slowly, the motion laboured. "I didn't make it to the river," I confessed, the words barely a whisper as I grappled with the influx of returning memories. "I went too far upstream and then I collapsed before I had the chance to get in the water." The admission was both a relief and a burden, acknowledging the limits of my endurance and the foolhardiness of my actions.
"Probably just as well," Paul mused, the hint of a grim smile touching his lips. "Or you could have collapsed in the water." His attempt at finding a silver lining did little to mask the gravity of the situation, the 'what ifs' that hung unspoken between us.
"I know," I agreed, the weight of the realisation settling heavily on my shoulders. "Thankfully Duke found me." The mention of Duke brought a small sense of comfort, a reminder of the unexpected ways in which we find salvation. In that moment, the presence of Duke and Henri in the tent felt like more than mere companionship; it was a testament to the unexpected guardianship they provided, a beacon of hope and resilience in the face of adversity.
"And how did you make it back here?" Paul's question was laced with genuine curiosity as he gave Duke a quick scratch behind the ear that seemed to bridge the gap between human concern and animal gratitude.
"Luke," I simply answered, the name carrying a weight of gratitude and a hint of surprise at the turn of events. "Duke fetched Luke, and he carried me back here." The admission felt like an acknowledgment of both Luke's unexpected role as my saviour and Duke's as the unanticipated hero of the hour.
"Luke was here?" Paul's asked with surprise.
"Yeah," I confirmed, a small gesture encompassing the tent's interior where Duke and Henri's beds lay alongside their box of toys.
"At least he gets some things right." Paul’s words, light and teasing, managed to draw out a more genuine smile from me, one that spread freely across my face, softening the hard lines of stress and weariness.
Yes, I mused silently, my gaze drifting to Duke and Henri. He does get some things right.
"I'm going to start putting up another one of these tents," Paul announced, his statement pulling me back from my thoughts. "Do you need anything first?"
"No," I replied, a gentle shake of my head conveying my current state of near-exhaustion. "I think I might try and get some sleep." The prospect of rest, however fleeting, seemed like the most precious commodity at the moment.
"Good idea." Paul's agreement was simple, yet it carried an undercurrent of understanding and concern.
With that, my eyes closed, the act itself a surrender to the fatigue that enveloped me. I waited for the telltale signs of Paul's departure, the soft shuffle of his steps leaving the tent, a signal that I could let go completely and succumb to the desperate need for rest.
Yet, in the fragile space between consciousness and slumber, where reality blurs into dreams, the expected sound never registered in my awareness. It was as if the world around me had stilled, suspended in a moment of quiet anticipation. In truth, the exhaustion claimed me entirely, dragging me down into the depths of sleep with such swiftness that Paul's movements, should they have occurred in those brief moments, were lost to me.
Duke's sudden burst of barking, loud and insistent, pulled me from the edges of sleep with a jolt. His sharp barks continued, a reaction to the rustling sounds of bags from outside that permeated the tent's fabric. "Shut up, Duke," I snapped, more out of the immediate discomfort his noise caused than any real anger towards him. My hands moved to rub the sleep from my eyes, an attempt to clear the grogginess that enveloped me.
As voices, muffled and indistinct, filtered through the tent walls, both Duke and Henri seemed to interpret them as a call to action, quickly scampering out with a haste that left me momentarily alone in the sudden quiet. I rubbed at my forehead—or was it my temples? No, the realisation dawned that my entire head was throbbing, as if a bomb had gone off inside it, leaving behind a pulsating pain that seemed to echo with each beat of my heart.
Shortly after their departure, Duke burst back into the tent, his tail wagging furiously, a blur of motion that resembled a feather duster in overdrive. In his mouth, he proudly carried a small packet of dog treats, the paper now glistening with saliva, making it evident he considered this a prize worth the intrusion.
As he approached, perhaps a little too confidently, I reached out and snatched the soggy packet from him. The action was reflexive, spurred by the absurdity of the situation and the slight amusement at Duke's evident pride in his find. Despite the pounding in my head and the irritation at being woken, the sight of Duke, so pleased with himself and his 'loot,' brought a reluctant smile to my face.
"Luke's brought us a heap of groceries," Paul announced as he made his way into the tent.
Relief washed over me like a much-needed rainfall in a parched desert. "Thank fuck," I managed to articulate, despite the discomfort that clung to me like a second skin. Hunger gnawed at my insides, a relentless reminder of the body's simple needs amidst the complexity of pain.
As I attempted to shift into a sitting position, every muscle and bone in my body seemed to protest. A soft moan escaped my lips, betraying the effort it took to simply move. The dilemma of my physical state presented itself as a cruel riddle: was it the incessant pounding in my head that was more unbearable, or the deep, throbbing ache that enveloped my chest? In that moment of physical agony, I felt trapped in my own body, a prisoner to my injuries. Yet, in the midst of this turmoil, I found a sliver of distraction by focusing on something, anything, other than myself. I reached for the bag of groceries, my fingers gingerly exploring its contents until they found the treats. I shared them with Duke and Henri, finding solace in their simple joy. It was a brief respite from the internal dialogue of despair that whispered relentlessly in the back of my mind.
"So, you're feeling better then?" Paul's inquiry pulled me back from the edge of my spiralling thoughts.
"I think so," came my reply, a lie wrapped in a thin veneer of hopefulness. I couldn't let him see the full extent of my struggle; it was a pride thing, perhaps, or maybe a feeble attempt at normalcy. "I think I actually fell asleep." A part of me wondered if admitting to sleep was akin to acknowledging a momentary defeat to my body's demands.
Paul's laughter, light and carefree, contrasted sharply with the weight I felt within. "Yeah. You did." His words, simple as they were, carried an undertone of relief that I wasn't keen to dissect in the moment.
I offered a smile, an expression that felt foreign and forced upon my face. It was a mask, one I hoped would conceal the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.
"Well, now that you're awake, I may as well bring these bags inside," Paul declared, practical as ever. "Better than leaving them outside in the heat."
The offer to help was out of my mouth before I could weigh the consequences, driven by a stubborn refusal to be rendered completely useless. "I'll help you," I said, the words laced with a determination that my body couldn't match. As I made a feeble attempt to rise, my body's rebellion was swift and unyielding. Gratitude mixed with frustration as Paul insisted I stay put, his firm "No" closing the door on any argument I might have mustered.
Resigning myself to my limitations, I eased back onto the mattress, a motion fraught with caution and an acute awareness of my body's fragility. The darkness at the edges of my consciousness threatened to engulf me once more, a reminder of the thin line I was walking between recovery and regression. "Maybe just for the rest of today," I conceded, my voice barely a whisper as I surrendered to the inevitable. In that moment, the tent felt like a sanctuary and a prison all at once, a place of healing bound by the chains of my own physical limitations.
