Brand New Day

Chapter 8
Chapter Eight

Felecia enters soon after as he’s settling the young man onto the bed and tucking him in.

“He looks really sweet like that,” she murmurs as Daniel is carding his fingers through the teen‘s hair. He jumps. “A little angel.”

“What? Huh?” He shakes his head. “Oh, yes. Very…innocent, I guess, now that I think about it.”

“Poor thing. Ryder’s been getting those headaches pretty frequently lately, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah.. yeah, I-I’m a little worried, actually,” he admits, smiling faintly. “I’m thinking I should take him to see Dr. Sanders again. He might be able to shed a little light on the matter.”

“There’s not much point,” she tells him simply and he frowns, glancing over at her quizzically.

“Why?”

“Well…” Felecia shrugs. “Come morning, I doubt it’ll matter much one way or another.”

“Felecia, what are you talking about?”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Daniel,” she explains. “I think you’re finally ready to hear it.”

He is beyond confused, shoving a hand through his hair and feeling light-headed all of a sudden. “Hear what?”

“That those migraines Ryder’s been having aren’t an accident,” Felecia claims. “Oh, and a few weeks ago? Those headaches were never down to stress. As a matter of fact, they‘re actually related quite closely with…well, feelings, to be blunt. And they only seem worse now because those feelings have been grown so strong.”

“I’m sorry…” He swallows hard, skin close to colourless, feeling like he’s in danger of throwing up any second. “I don’t follow.”

“In short, it’s because of you, Daniel. You caused this, if admittedly inadvertently. You see, I’ve been monitoring the situation for a while now, and this was the only way to know for certain that this was what you really wanted.”

“And what do I want?” he queries distractedly, as he grasps the edge of the wall to brace himself against the wispy wooziness which threatens to knock him off his game.

“A son,” the woman remarks. “Your own son. Ryder, to be specific. Those headaches are only possible because you’ve finally admitted to yourself that you wish he was your son, rather than your brother’s.”

“You-you realise how crazy you sound right now, don’t you?” Daniel laughs, though he’s not the least bit amused, words warped by a harsh, stuttering cough that soon ripples from his chest.

“Unfortunately for you, the status of my sanity is of little consequence. At this point, this conversation is little more nothing than an FYI; You won‘t remember any of it in a number of hours. Everything‘s already been set in motion, I‘m afraid.”

Fending off brusque chills, Daniel gives a controlled shiver, wiping his mouth and grumbling in exasperation, bewildered and struggling to focus, “What? What’s going to happen other than me admitting you to a mental institution since you‘ve clearly had some sort of breakdown?” He tries to snort derisively, but is stricken by another coughing fit instead. Crumpling over, his shoulders shake with the force, a few tears squeezing out from between compressed lids.

“You’re going to wake up in your bed and Ryder will wake up in his, and it’ll be like normal. It won’t feel like anything’s changed when, in truth, he’ll be only two years old rather than seventeen. And he’ll call you Daddy and you’ll see only your son, never for one moment noticing that his scars are gone because it‘ll be like they were never there in the first place.”

Like-like… what weren’t there?

He is painfully aware of his quickening breaths and weak, rolling stomach, the riotous nausea spiralling out of control and making him gag unobtrusively. “That’s it,” he grunts between clenched teeth as he pauses and tries to regulate his erratic breathing. Mouth dry and sweating heavily, he is practically panting, and Daniel blinks against the dizzying swirl that tilts the room sideways. “I want you out of my house. Now.”

“But don’t you remember, Daniel?” she suddenly puts forward, voice silky and so soft you could get lost in it. “Don’t you remember the way Ry always clambers onto your lap with that adorable, pensive, little frown and lightly pokes your bellybutton to activate your ’Voice-Box’ when you’re upset about something? Because he can always tell when something’s wrong and there’s nothing he hates more than a sad Daddy who won’t talk to him.”

What the hell is happening here? His breaths are fast, deep. It’s so damn hot.

He feels so out of touch with reality as he tugs on the collar of his shirt, the heat wildly increasing.

“Or how about that other odd little quirk of his? Ryder’s not a great believer in socks, is he, Daniel? Or shoes, for that matter, though he doesn’t detest them quite so much. Remember when you bought those stickers to give him when he wears them without a tantrum? You hang onto them because Ry assumed that without the power of the stickers, you had no authority to tell him to keep his socks and shoes on in public, and started slipping them off as soon as we left home. He thought he was being sneaky. Remember that?"

He’s swaying, gasping. His head really, really hurts. “Stop it,” Daniel bites, before promptly coughing into his fisted hand. “Please, just stop.”

“Your son has such a big heart, Daniel. He’s so thoughtful, isn’t he? To your everlasting dismay, he’s constantly insisting on ’sharing’ those blasted stickers with you and if you turn his offering down or peel the little buggers off prematurely, then it’s guaranteed waterworks, isn’t that right? Sweet as it is, you’re never quite sure how to explain why you’ve shown up at the office with an obnoxiously cheery bumble bee declaring ’great job’ or ’well done’ plastered over your chest or, worse, face.” She laughs. “It’s always nice when your cunning attempts of positive reinforcement backfire on you, huh? He’s such a little rascal."

“None of that-it didn’t happen-” He screws his eyes shut. What didn’t happen? What? “Stop. Just -just stop.”

"And that’s not even the worst of it, is it?" she chuckles. "There’s also the time you were dinning with a colleague and reached for a pen so that he could sign some papers, but accidentally pulled out a bright green pipe-cleaner instead. Can’t forget about that, can we? You thought you’d never live it down. He wasn’t exactly impressed, but when it boils down to it, you didn’t care. Not when Ryder will spend hours simply trying to twist one into the shape of a bird and, deep down, you adore the fact that more often than not you’re gifted with another snake called Arnie."

“Why are you doing this?” Daniel questions desperately. He doesn’t have a son. He doesn’t. Ryder is his-his…Surely he’s not his son.

Why is it so hard to think? He can’t think past the throbbing agony launching in his head and the muted, blurry haze.

“Because Ryder tried to kill himself and you‘ve never forgiven yourself for it. You wished you had the power to take away his pain and let him be innocent again. You never wanted this for him, his parents never wanted this for him, and more than anything in the world, you wished he could have a second chance to be happy again.”

He is suddenly hit with the image of a small, battered toy car with the tiny scratches and pale, scuffed blue. Remembers the way his little boy steered the car along his floor for the first time, practising the sound effects Daniel had just taught him with clumsy lips and spewing droplets of spit. Brum brum.

A quick hug and tons of praise. Good boy. You’re so clever. You’re such a good learner.

The sudden memory of the same child hopping on one foot and crossly yanking on his shoe, knuckling his moist eyes when it fails to dislodge and burbling, “Off! No wan’ ’oos, Daddy! Wan’ off."

Endless flashbacks. Snippets of life.

He’s sees pictures - smiling, happy pictures. Fluffy hair and bright brown orbs, a tiny little thing cradled in his arms.

“Tomorrow morning, you’ll wake up and everything will be normal. You‘ll have the opportunity to start all over again, Daniel. This… this is your second chance. It‘ll be everything you ever dreamed of.”

Then nothing. Nothing but darkness.

He doesn’t feel himself fall.