Will U Will U

Rhys was spooked awake by a loud noise. A noise he couldn't place, not because he couldn't recognize its source, means or nature, but because he had only heard the tail end of it. A harsh, shrill sound in not very far away. He got up from a rough-finish concrete floor in a room he didn't recognize. The room was the size of a humble scholar's study, except it was completely bare. Wood panelling wound around the wall until a small window— and on the opposite end— a door slightly ajar. Wolves' howls pierced the night outside for what Rhys thought was the second time, the first had woken him up. He looked through the end at the end of the tiny room, and saw the moon in all its glory. A face peeked from its interior edge, looking at nothing in particular. The wolves howled on, with more intensity. Lucy! She didn't look at him, the wolves on the barren earth below, the large towers on either side of her, the black sea, or the crab that was emerging out of it. Her profile had a beautiful, melancholic detachment in the moon's piss yellow.

Outside the room, a staircase ran into a dark corridor lined with different rooms. Rhys walked past a room with a priest in an exaltation and garb he hadn't seen before. He sat on an elevation and gave advice Rhys couldn't hear to 2 men who kneeled before him. It looked more like an initiation than simple counsel.

Another room had a hermit holding a large staff in one hand and lantern in another. He wore a habit the colour of midnight as he paced up and down, muttering to himself.

At the end of the corridor was a door that Rhys thought he had to open to get through. He passed through like a sceptre, he wasn't sure if he walked along the corridor or floated over its length like a ghost would. He could have easily joined the wolves outside howling at the moon, his mind felt very far away.

A tasteful Victorian-style hall with a long dining table stood in the middle of the sparse, airy space. Most of it was bare, the furthest edge had two people seated. A man indulged in wine from large cups in front of him, obstructing Rhys from his brazen drinking. A woman sat on the longer end of the table, not far from him. She wore a magnificent blue dress, was blindfolded, and balanced two swords on her shoulders. Rhys surveyed the situation, and sat himself opposite the woman, where a plate of food waited for him. The man took notice of him, and his wine suddenly didn't appeal to him anymore. He staggered out of his seat at the head of the table and turned his back on the sword woman and Rhys. He bore a large sword, an apport, and plunged it into his heart. Rhys was indifferent to what he did, and didn't bother to wonder why. Everything was too dreamlike for his participation or interference, a vivid lucid dream that didn't feel like it was his one bit.

The woman slowly stood up from her seat, the swords still balanced on her shoulders. She moved towards the man like she could she see that he mortally wounded himself, and thrust her own swords into his back, not far from his own impalement. She helped him like she genuinely cared for him. If one cares for you, they will stab you in the back with not one, but two swords. They help you reach your destination. She left her swords in, and sat herself in front of Rhys again. She reached behind her head to remove her blindfold..

Rhys' mind swam back from the mucky waters of whatever that dream meant. His head rested against the hard park bench, Lucy was nowhere to been. His only companion was a resting husky in the early morning's soft slanting sun which lay 15 paces in front of his bench. Rhys rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and attracted curious looks from early morning park visitors. He felt unusually tired despite the amount of sleep he had gotten. The sleeping dog hadn't moves since he'd first spotted.

The dog was dead. It's underbelly leaked blood and guts. Man's loyal best friend, for whatever reason, dead in a public park. Loyalty is dead.

Rhys gingerly made his way home. His eyes still hadn't adjusted to the light, sleep still contorted his demeanour and limbs. He thought about Lucy. He enjoyed yesterday, but after they left the record store, everything after that was a daze.

His home was swarming with police officers and their cruisers. The neighbours looked on in morbid curiosity, whispering among themselves what they thought happened last. 'She should have a left him yes ago,' said Mrs. Healey. 'The bastard, I can't believe this!' Miss Alvarez cried.

An officer wrapped yellow tape along the Porcher mailbox and around their poplar before he noticed Rhys on the inside of his barrier. "Excuse me, kid. You're not allowed passed this point." He said, flailing his arms before his colleague stepped in Rhys' way "This is a crime scene!" The other said.

"This is my house," Rhys exclaimed. "What's going on here?"

Middlehazy's Chief of Police, a burly, pig-skinned Detective Navarro, flashed Rhys his badge like he didn't already know who he was. "Rhys Porcher, son of Alain and Olivia Porcher. Right?

He nodded.

"Do you know what happened here?" he question. Rhys shook his head. Navarro gave his deputy a sceptical look.

"Your mother was the victim of a murder last night. The murder was reported by Alain, who could not give us satisfactory answers regarding what really happened last evening after he'd come home from drinking. We would like to ask you some ques—"

"Am I under arrest?" Rhys asked. His eyes had welled up and his words were constricted in his throat.

"No. We would like to ask you some questions. That's all."

Rhys was lead towards a police cruiser by an officer. "Don't worry, we'll catch the perp who did it, kiddo."

Lethargy took over Rhys's limbs, his vision tunnelled, his heart thudded harder but more hesitantly in his chest. He dragged his feet and sat down on the trunk of the car, as directed.

He was checked by a medical professional and given time to compose himself before they could take him to the station. He silently watched on as the police questioned the neighbours, looking for witnesses to the incident.

Not very far away, his father mentally stumbled over a waiver as he pored over the words one at a time, asking about his rights and his lawyer and other things Rhys couldn't quite catch. For someone that was supposedly present and could/should be able to provide vital details, he was a mysterious blank, drunk or otherwise.

"Detective Djiku." A black detective in crisp casual clothes reached to shake Rhys' hand. Formalities are somewhat of an officer's reflex. He withdraw after quickly assessing how appropriate that would have been. It might have been just another day, but it was a different animal to the victim's family. "Sorry kid. I can't imagine what you are going through." He sat next to Rhys for a bit. "Ready to head on to the station?"

Rhys nodded and was made to seat in the backseat of the police car. He wondered if he could have prevented what happened here if he had been here last night. Why did Lucy leave him to sleep in the park and not say she was leaving? He could have been home and done something. He was barraged by all emotions on the spectrum, was disoriented and more tired than he thought he should. And Lucy, where was Lucy?

Questioning was quite routine. A morose, flat-voiced Rhys answered truthfully: he left home yesterday at 3.p.m., visited the arcade, record store and park with Lucy Deubel. They chatted in the park into the next day. They slept together on a park bench. No, not sex, they fell asleep together. Where is Lucy now? At home. Yes. Yes, she can verify this sequence of events. The light of the interrogation room was harsh, he couldn't wait for the officers to be done with him.

Rhys didn't actually know where she was, or what happened other than him falling asleep. He sat on a waiting chair as they questioned his father elsewhere and arranged for his relatives to arrive and give statements.

Aunt Betty, his mother's sister eventually arrived at the station with her husband, teary eyed and disbelieving. The at least provided Rhys some solace, which they would continue to do as he lived with them until he finished high school.

In a turn of events, Alain was arrested, pending further investigation. His in-laws' disgust for him grew stronger, and they were having serious discussions about Rhys' future with them, whether his father was found guilty or not. It just didn't seem like a safe place for him. In the afternoon, they took him home with them for the time being, as the custody laws suggested.

Rhys couldn't describe what happened next. His grief was latent, and when it made its presence known, it hit him like a freight train. He balled up on the bed in the guest room and cried. They should have never believed that sorry excuse of a human being would change for the better. He couldn't quite explain it, but Rhys' guilt extended passed him not being able to save his mother. His memory was a mysterious blank where the scene of the murder projected itself. Deep down, he adopted a dreadful false recollection. It wasn't his father.

~

Rhys didn't move for while, He got up to go to the bathroom and that was it. He was almost catatonic in his grief coma. His dreams as he was sleeping and waking were no different, it was confusing and nonsensical imitations of real life that overlaid over each other, repeated themselves, and faded away to real life when someone (mainly his aunt Betty) came to see him. The days stretched into weeks, Rhys subsequently missed three weeks of school. He wasn't taking his antipsychotics or his antidepressants anymore. He would rather wait out his grief than take a lousy antidepressant. His mother's funeral was a low-key affair. He didn't want to attend it initially, but was glad he did as he felt less terrible and could sleep better. The bereaving couldn't see Olivia's body, it apparently was a mangled mess from the head up, a brutal murder it was. He wouldn't have liked to see the body anyway.

A curious thing happened as he drifted in and out of sleep. On awakening, he would roll over on his side and be met by Lucy in all her splendour. At whatever time that Rhys saw her, her beauty was far unmatched by anyone or anything he'd ever seen before. With liquid smooth skin as soft as ripe fruit, her ghostly pale skin looked ethereal, and bright blue eyes that held unparalleled warmth and kindness. The very sight of her was close to a religious experience. Her figure laughed in the face of 'perfection'. Her glassy-smooth legs seemed to stretch for miles before they stopped at her taut but full rear, with the shaven entrance to her gates of heaven just out of his sight every time. Her delectable breasts sat high and firm on her chest. Every morning was the same, she would be lying there like they had spent all night making sweet passionate love. She would gaze at him lovingly, hum, and then fall asleep. He tried to touch her, but she would just fade away before he could, his day wouldn't get any better from then, not with the other unexplainables that occurred.

The talking head from weeks before made it a game to irritate Rhys. He called himself The Hierophant or The Emperor, and would then repeat a chorus: Spread Chaos, Achieve Death. The so-called Hierophant would say the most terrifying, horrible things to Rhys and often jolted the teen out of his dream-addled sleep. You can't fight. You will obey, Darkness will enslave you. Those were only a few of the decapitation's threats. He saw a number of tarot cards superimposed on his line of sight; The Moon, Two Of Swords, Page Of Swords, The Tower and others he couldn't see clearly enough as they were upside-down. The numbers, 903, of that oddity of an abode summoned him out his sleep and made him sick to his stomach with expectation of the unknown. He missed 3 weeks of school as he gradually came out of his grieving shell. His cousin's antics around the house cheered him up, he loved watching the younger teens Thomas and Tammy Tom and Jerry-ing around in the house.