Jake heard muffled voices, like there were people nearby beside him. He didn't know what occured, or what is happening. But it was obviously enough to him, that he was in a sort of bed. Though he can't move any muscle and his eyelids were like weighing a pound.
Their voices were blurred by a ringing inside his head, but he knew he heard some words.
Memory, cycle, fell. And some few words he can't figure out.
"You weren't even supposed to be there!" Someone says, clearly angry. Though the tone was definitely male. It sounded like they were arguing, him and the other one whom he was talking to.
"It's not like I have a choice! Someone, something was following him." Another one says, this one was female, and furious at that. Her boots were making a slapping sound against the wooden floor. She must've been pacing back and forth.
Jake tried to open his eyes, but the lids felt very heavy. He might not be able to see her, but he was sure that the voice belonged to her.
Rachel.
"Then you should've just let him.." the male voice said, though Jake could hear the hesitation in his voice. Like there was something he didn't want to say to her.
Jake heard her gasp, he heard some movement and then the sound that echoed throughout the area. "What? Let him what, Gabe? Say it!" She almost screamed at him. Jake would have laughed at the fact that the guy got slapped. If it weren't for the fact that he was feeling ill to even think about it. And because there was hurt in her voice, with the way she said the words. "God gracious, Gabe what is wrong with you?" She went on, "If this was all about what those imbeciles said, you should prove them wrong. You were better than that, than any of us. And still is. We may not be what we were, but there still good left in all of us, and you greater than anyone elses."
"What's that supposed to mean?" The male snapped.
Now, Jake was curious. What were they talking about anyway? Are they talking about me? He thought.
"L-Look," the male says, his voice was stern, stiff even but not without concern. "I didn't mean-" he started, he must've backed away from her, Jake thought when he heard a movement.
"You know what you," her voice broke, "what we all.."
"He's regaining consciousness. Let's go."
Don't talk like I wasn't in here. Jake wanted to say, but he can't.
And then the dreams took over, one after the other, a torrent of images that bore him along like a ship in a maelstrom. He saw someone standing atop a pile of bones, black feathered wings sprouting out of his back. Jake couldn't make out his features, except for the iron-gray plate mail that he wore, and a black hair, that was blown wildly by the wind, like a lion's mane. The sun- or something like it, rose in front of him like a feral star. The image faded, and He then saw Rachel who stood in the rain, facing the angry raining sky, with her eyes closed. her wet jet black hair stuck on her back. She wore an almost transparent white evening dress that clung to her curves, as the rain continues to pour over her. On her hand was the silver sword, and there was blood dripping from it, lots of blood.
--
Jake opened his eyes and found himself tucked into a blue-sheeted bed, with smooth wooden headboard. The bed had a small nightstand beside it with a folded shirt, a wristwatch and a small portrait on it. Blue curtains were pulled across the windows, blocking the light, although he could hear the faint sounds of traffic coming from outside. He hauled himself into a sitting position. Every part of him ached, especially around his shoulder blades.
How did I get home?
He glanced around. He saw a red Fender Mustang, that hung on the wall next to the rowan-wood closet. A flat screen TV on the other side of the room, with several consoles on the top of the table underneath it.
"Must've been a hangover." Jake says, his voice raspy like sandpaper. He shook his head and he suddenly felt very thirsty, like his body was on fire.
There was a knock on the door, and he glanced at it's direction. It opened and a woman, entered through. She was holding a pitcher of water, and a plate of sandwich. Deep blue eyes much like his own bore into him.
Not now, Mom. He wanted to say but exhaled a sigh instead.
"I figured you haven't eaten anything since I left." Stella says, she wore an oversized red cotton shirt, and a black yoga pants. Her brown curls was tied into a ponytail. "So, here." She put the plate on the nightstand. "I brought food. Now eat up, and go straight downstairs. Good ol' Mrs. Grayburne was furious, you know."
"Yes, and so are you." Jake rolled his eyes, and jumped out of bed.
"What makes you think so?" She says.
"Because you are." Jake says, as he waved a hand in dismissal. He heard her exhale a sigh, and the door slowly shut closed. He walked towards the faucet, and washed his face. He nearly tripped his feet when he heard something sizzle.
"Must've been imagining things, what did I drink last night?" He muttered under his breath, and tried to think about last night. But to his surprise nothing seemed to have come into mind. "Come on, now. It couldn't have been that terrible a drink?" He shook his head in confusion, "Or maybe that was why Mrs. Greyburne was mad."
He quickly darted toward the bed, where his jeans hung, and drew his iPhone.
"Hey. What's up?" Anna says, through the phone. There was a buzzing noise in the background, and the clatter of things, being knocked down.
"I didn't do anything stupid last night right?"
"Except the fact that you stripped off your shirt and threw it at the bartender, and kissed the blonde lady last night?" Anna who seemed amused, chuckled.
"Wait. I did what?" Jake says in disbelief, he shook his head and spoke. "Where did we drink anyway?"
"I made that up. And no, we didn't. We were at Turks, after The Crib. And you sent me home."
Jake sat on the bed, his palm on his face. "God, I must've been drunk."
"Well, I don't know where you've been after that. I was hoping you'd call, but you didn't, and I thought that guy at the Crib must've-"
"Wait, Hold up- What guy?" Jake intervened. There was something in her tone that Jake didn't quite understand, though something inside him felt very odd. Like he was supposed to know these things that she was saying. But he can't remember experiencing it. "What do you mean, what guy? You know-the one that the police hauled because of you." Anna says through the phone, like she was dumbstruck.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
"I wish I was, but no. You don't remember? It's that guy in the gray suit. That Phineas, whatever his name was-"
"Wait, you don't understand." Jake felt cold all of a sudden, "There's gotta be some mistake." He denied.
She wasn't lying, it isn't like her to lie nor to take things too far. Even for a joke, Jake thought.
"What are you talking about? You sure you're okay?" Anna asked, when Jake didn't reply. There was concern in her voice.
Ferby. The thought, the name came to him. Like someone was whispering inside his head and his head throbbed in pain.
"Ferby." Jake straightened up and cut her off, his throat went very dry. He stood still and closed his eyes, clutching his head with both hands, nearly dropping the phone in the process. His knees shook, nearly giving out from under him. He barely, moved towards the wall to stop himself from falling down, when what seemed like memories, flashes of the night before forced its way into his head.
"Yeah. The guy's name, and I thought you made that up. Phineas Ferby." He heard Anna confirm. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Ferby." Jake repeated.
"What? Stop repeating it. You're creeping me out. It sounds really weird, and cartoonish."
"I'll call you back later." Jake says, the phone dropped from his hand as he slumped on his back and clutched his head.
--
Jake went down through the narrow stairs into the four sided living room. Where a flat screen TV hung on the wall. A bunch of books were neatly stacked in the shelves beside it. As well as a pile of CD's above a small desk underneath. The blue velvet curtains where being blown away by the wind, through the windows where tiny rays of sunlight passed through, illuminating the rather dim light of the the entire space.
There was a set of couch, encircling a round medium-sized coffee table. And on one of the couches, sat Stella. Her attention was entirely focused on the book that she was reading. She didn't notice Jake's approach until he sat down on the couch, directly opposite of her. She raised her head with a frown, and placed the book carefully on the table and leaned back in her couch.
"So," she started, studying Jake with her inquisitive eyes. "What were you up to last night? I though it was clear enough to you, that I wanted you to avoid such dens of vice."
Her tone was clipped, though Jake knew she wasn't angry. Just a little tinge of dissapointment, with a hint of curiousity.
"Not to mention, all that gambling. You know how I feel about that kind of stuff."
She was probably thinking about what happened to my old man. Of course, it was traumatic, considering my dad used to play bets and gamble. It was some sort of hobby. He kept on winning at first, he always comes home bringing gifts and stuff, saying it was just a game. And he kept on coming back bearing more gifts, not to mention the amount of money he brought with him. I was eight, so I didn't really understand what was happening.
There are even times where I caught them fighting, yelling at each other over something.
There are even times when I saw my mother cry, and times where dad came home more drunker than each passing day.
Then, there was this one night. Just one night, that changed everything. That's the thing with gambling. The time you lose your luck, you better get ready for what comes next. It wasn't until a group of police came knocking down at our door at a late hour, on a friday night. Saying my father got shot, that my mother broke into tears. My father lost in a gamble, and the price was his life.
He was rushed to the nearest hospital, but he was dead when we arrived. We didn't even had the time to say goodbye.
By then, I told myself. That I will never lose to anybody, ever. And I never once did.
Jake thought before he spoke."Yes, but it wasn't that bad."
"I know, but still." Stella says, her face was a mask of worry.
"Look, I understand where you're getting at. But it's different with dad."
She flinched at the mention of my dad.
"You probably think you're dad is both a gambler, and an alcoholic. But no, he wasn't like that in the early years of our marriage. You know he wasn't like that, even when we had you. Especially when we had you. He was a respectable man. A caring husband, and a loving father."
"Yes. If it weren't for trusting the wrong person, he wouldn't have lost everything that you both worked your asses so hard for, and nor will he turn to gambling and drinking, I know."
"I just wanted what's best for you, I already lost your father, I won't lose you to the kind of thing that took him from us."
"There are a lot of things that you can protect me from. But this is not one of them. I am not like my father, nor will I ever be."
Not at his worst, and definitely not at his best.
"Brave words from someone who looked like the spitting image of his father."
"And with my mother's attitude and temper, lest you forget, in that specific area. I take after you."
"Well, you are the best of both."
"And you are the worst," Jake went silent for a few seconds too long before he spoke, earning horrified look from Stella. "That is.. when it comes to cooking." He chuckled, which made Stella exhale a relief. "You smell what I smell?"
A trail of black smoke quickly found its way into the living room, accompanied by a smell of burnt that assaulted their nostrils, and the loud ringing of the smoke alarm. "Oh, shit." Stella jumped on her feet and hastily dragged her heels towards the direction of the kitchen.
"And watch the language." Jake yelled after her.
There's something wrong inside my head, and I cannot find the answer if I just stay here. If somebody knows how to fix this. Maybe she does. Jake thought as he picked up the leather jacket by the stand, the keys to the harley at the table and bolted towards the door and passed by the kitchen area.
It's only the matter of finding her, but maybe I can improvise.
"Be right back." He shouted as the door shut behind him.