Page 55

Before a protest can leave his mouth, the door swings wide open.

In slow motion, I turn to face the owner of this house, my psyche not even close to being prepared for this moment.

The moment I’ve thought about for ten years.

The moment I begged and prayed for, a moment that was brutally denied time and time again.

The moment I’ve put off because the detrimental fear of being rejected will kill me.

After all those years of unanswered pleas to merciless deities, I have had to take my fate into my own hands. I answered all my own prayers and now here I am, creating my own divine intervention.

My eyes clash with a reflection of my own, round golden irises glittering with disbelief and shock.

There’s a good minute of suspended time where we both stand still, unmoving, afraid that with just a quick blink of an eye, we’ll find that this is all a mirage, a trick of the brain playing on our grief.

But I break first, “Mom.”

The reality in front of her is too much to comprehend, her body giving out beneath her. I dive to my knees, catching her in my arms before she can hit the ground, the door slamming against the inside wall with a loud bang.

“Jan? Jan are you okay?” Footsteps pound above us as a deep voice calls out for my mother.

At the top of the stairs stands a tall man. Thinner than he used to be with hair grayer than I remember and though his face has more wrinkles, and his eyes hold deeper circles, he’s still the only man I will call my father .

With a sharp, painful gasp, he falls to his ass on the top step as his hand grips onto the railing. He doesn’t allow more than a couple seconds to collect himself before rushing to us. I can tell he’s worried about his wife, but the urge to hold onto me seems to win.

Dropping to his knees beside us, he wraps me in his arms and rocks us while intermittently trying to rouse my mother. Nothing will break your heart more than witnessing your own father cry for you. Deep, unapologetic sobs.

I feel my mother stir in my arms, her eyes fluttering open.

“Oliver.” She chokes out as she pulls herself up.

And just like that, Oliver Matthews is alive and well, safely back in the arms of his own parents.

Her soft, weathered fingers encase my face, turning it this way and that, taking me in. I’ve changed. They missed out on crucial years, the transition from boy to man. The same as I’ve missed the way they’ve aged over time; each wrinkle, each gray hair.

The way their bodies ache on the hardwood floors doesn’t go unnoticed, but I know they won’t be the first ones to pull away, so I do it for them. I help my mother to her feet as my father pushes to his.

Clearing his throat, he nods behind me, reminding me that Hypnos is still here.

“Mr. and Mrs. Mathews.” He greets, a wobble in his voice.

“This is my friend James.”

My parents shake his hand as I finally shut the front door, closing me inside this new life.

“Please, let’s sit.” My mother urges, pulling me by the hand over to the living room couch.

Though the outside of the house seems the same, the inside has changed.

Now painted in a light beige instead of the blue it used to be.

The coffee table sits without flowers, the blinds shut and dusty, pictures of a young Oliver littering every surface.

The space feels like the life has been sucked right out of it, vacuumed and tossed away as if it's as meaningless as the dirt it holds.

This isn’t at all what I imagined my parents' life to be after I left. I assumed they would have mourned me then moved on, but I can physically feel the pain that lingers in every inch of the walls that house them.

My mother lowers herself next to me on the couch, her hands clasped onto mine.

Despite her frailty, there’s strength in her grip, reassuring me that she’s never letting go again.

My father takes the flower-patterned chair next to us and Hypnos stands, leaning against the frame of the living room entrance.

There’s a patience to them and for that I’m grateful because I’m not sure where to even start or how much to tell them, so instead I begin with an apology.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come home sooner.” My gaze catches on a random carpet fiber, the thought of looking at them feels too heavy.

“Son.” My father’s voice is soft. “What happened?”

I swallow. Fear, shame, and horror battle it out inside of me. I gnaw the skin on my lower lip, trapping the word vomit that’s desperate to escape.

“Was it us? Did we do something?” My mother asks hesitantly like she doesn’t really want to know the answer.

“No!” I deny, shaking my head vehemently. “God no. Please don’t ever think that!”

“How could we not? You disappeared for ten years and next thing we know you’re famous, touring the world. What are we supposed to think?” She cries.

“We buried you.” My father whispers incredulously.

My mouth pops open and shut a few times before I finally settle on the truth. I start from the beginning, that day in the woods with Ash. I’m careful with what I divulge, the details at this point seem too much for their fragile hearts and quite honestly, I’m not ready to relive those days either.

It doesn’t seem real, me sitting here with my parents again. I can sense the conflicting emotions overtaking them. They can’t figure out if they’re grateful or horrified, relieved or angry and that’s okay.

“I just didn’t know how to face you guys after everything that’s happened. I was afraid that if I came home, they would just find me again.” I explain. “And I couldn’t risk going back.”

My mother wails next to me and I pull her close, her tears soaking my shoulder.

“We would never let that happen. You’re home now, Oliver. You’re safe.” My father reassures me.

The urge to tell him “but it did happen” sits at the edge of my tongue, never taking flight.

I can’t be angry at them for what happened, it’s not their fault.

Hell, it’s not even my fault, but I’m angry, nonetheless.

I want nothing more than to believe their words, to believe I’m safe because that would be a dream.

It would also be naive. Even if the cult never comes after me again, it doesn’t mean the police won’t.

Reading my mind, my father clears his throat.

“I hate to do this because we’ve just got you back, but we’ve been told that if you do come home, we’re supposed to let the police know.”

Pursing my lips, I nod my head.

“They think Ashton is involved somehow.” My mother whispers, eyes questioning.

“She’s not. Never has been.”

“Well, she’s involved now, isn’t she? There’s a picture of you two in the paper.” There’s an accusation to her tone that doesn’t sit well with me.

“Look,” I chuckle, wondering how to explain something unexplainable. “She showed up one day on a job assignment and she had no idea it was me.”

“Kha- Oliver just told her today.” Hypnos jumps in.

He says my name like a foreign word, uncomfortable and without practice.

“She didn’t know?” My mother asks skeptically.

Guilt blooms deep in my chest, lacing its cold talons around my heart in a crushing grip. The entire calamity that is my life has affected so many people, hurting each and every one of them. Though, the circumstances were out of my control, it’s because of me that the ones I love are hurting.

“No one knew.” I admit.

“It was roughly four in the afternoon. You were in the Crest Creek Forest Preserve with your friend Ashton Crawford – doing what again?” Officer O’Neill asks for the third time, probably seeing if my story will change.

“Sitting by the river, just hanging out. We were talking.” I answer with a sigh.

“Talking or fighting?”

“Talking, which ended in a disagreement. I wouldn’t say we were fighting.”

“Fine. What was the disagreement about?”

My eyes flick over to my parents who are watching me intently, soaking in every word that leaves my mouth. The idea of having to share these minuscule details with them makes my skin crawl.

“I don’t think that’s relevant.”

“Look here, son, you went missing for ten years. Your poor parents buried you because they never thought they would see you again. I don’t care if I ask you what color your underwear was that day, you’re going to answer every question I have.

Is that clear?” His harsh tone snaps in my ear despite how quietly he speaks.

Grey. My underwear was grey, and I won’t ever forget that.

I nod, biting my tongue until the taste of metal fills my mouth. I run it over my teeth before finally responding.

“I told her I had feelings for her, and it freaked her out. She ran, literally took off, leaving me there at the river.”

He jots something down in his little notepad.

“What did you do after she left?” He doesn’t look up as he fires the next question, crossing something out now.

“I needed time to sulk, so I just sat back down and stayed there for a while.”

“For how long?”

I shrug, “I don’t know. I didn’t have a phone or a watch.”

“Ashton came by the house a little before six looking for Oliver. I remember because I was just putting dinner in the oven.” My mother chimes in.

My heart skips a beat as if Ash’s name alone holds the power to my life source. I knew she looked for me, she even told me so, told me the whole neighborhood went searching, but hearing it now when everything is so real again, tears me apart.

“So, sometime between four and six, on the evening of August 15, 2013, in the Crest Creek Forest Preserve, you were alone and allegedly kidnapped.” The officer recounts.

I nod, playing that day in my head over and over again. It never seems to leave me, no matter how hard I try to forget.

Over hours of questioning, Officer O’Neill drags out of me every detail of the kidnapping to where they took me, who I was with, and how I escaped.

I painted each square footage of the church, of the surroundings, the forest of horrors.

Elaborated on how many wrinkles and grey whiskers that weathered Father’s face.

The stench and grease that coated Bordeaux, how he looked like a human pig.

I avoid my parents’ tear-filled gaze as they break apart from hearing how I’ve lived, how I grew up.

Finally, at some point close to midnight, the Officer grows tired, agreeing to pick back up again tomorrow.

After he leaves, I send another text to Ash that will most likely go unanswered and Hypnos fills Than and Koke in. It goes without saying, but we cancel the remainder of our tour.

Guilt once again sinks its teeth in me, growing roots deep inside my soul as I continue to disappoint the people that matter most to me.

I’ve unintentionally put our band at risk, let our fans down, and lied to my best friends.

It’s funny how at first, I was blameless and after time, I became the only one at fault for the misery that surrounds me.

Now I wish more than ever that Oliver stayed dead.