Nine

Thursday, January 1, 2014

What brought him out of his stupor was this creepy and loud laughter that echoed inside his head. 

Harris opened his eyes feeling dizzy like he was struck with something really hard upside the head. He sat up then looked around. 

"Where am I?" 

He was out somewhere, that was for sure. It was cold. It was wet. He knew what he felt under his hands was snow. Yet he had no idea where this godforsaken place could be or why he was there at the dead of the night all alone. 

He stood up.

Disoriented.

Vision going black.

"Where am I?" 

Suddenly he heard the blood curdling shriek of a woman from a distance. 

Wind.

Snow.

Cold. 

As far as he could see, in any and all directions, there was only snow. Everything was ridiculously familiar. But why? Had he been here before? When? He looked around frantically. Once more he heard the woman crying and then a voice called his name in despair. He froze.

Oh. He had been here before. Oh. 

"Heather?" he frowned, gripping his abnormally heavy head in both hands. 

All of a sudden there was chaos, voices coming from everywhere which caused Harris to cover his ears and turn in every direction. 

Laughter.

Sobbing.

Screaming. 

Someone, the woman, was screaming for help. Car engines roaring loudly. The wind howling like a lone wounded wolf. And his name. Someone was calling his name. Over and over again. 

Laughter.

Sobbing.

Screaming.

He was going crazy. Harris knelt down, still covering his ears with both hands as he shouted in pain. 

'What's happening here?'

"Harris!"

"Heather!" he shouted back and then started to run aimlessly, shouting her name again and again. "Heather! Where are you?" He shouted one last time as he fell down gasping. "Where are you dammit?" he hit the frosty ground.

He had been here before. A thousand times.

Now, he remembered. 

He was lying hopelessly on the snow, feeling trapped by some invisible force. Harris was huffing and panting when a vile yet familiar voice disturbed the now awfully quiet surrounding. The voice taunted Harris, "You can't help her." It echoed in the area, all sing-songy and obnoxious.

"You can't help her."

"You can't help her."

"You can't help her." 

In the sinister silence, Harris still on the ground, motionless, there came a faint weeping noise. As if on cue, Harris was drowned in light coming from everywhere. Blinding light. His eyes were tightly shut against its onslaught when he heard the weeping again. 

Heather was right there in front of him, tied up and gagged with some dirty cloth. Her lovely face stained with blood and salty tears. Her own blood.

'They've hit her!' Harris reached for her to no avail. The invisible chain was however detaining him still. It was tightening its hold on him by the second. He winced. "Let go of her, you moron!" Harris groaned through clenched teeth. His voice scratchy and strange to his own ears. 

With a smirk on his ugly mug, the guy with the silver hair who was now standing right next to Heather took out his gun. "You are in no position to tell me what to do, Harris Stevenson." Then he grabbed Heather by the hair and made her stand up. She cried in pain, her voice muffled by the gag. 

Harris shouted her name struggling to free himself, "Don't touch her!" He was going to explode with all that rage inside him. "Let her go! Heather!" he didn't know what to do. He was kicking the air aimlessly, uselessly. He could not budge an inch. 

The other guy just laughed that evil laugh. Then he levelled the gun at Heather's temple, grinning broadly. Wickedly. 

"Bang," he laughed maniacally as he imitated the sound. "Bang, bang." 

"No, don't do that… please. Don't. Not her." Harris, helpless, was crying now. No more shouting and struggling. He just laid there and cried pathetically. He was so frustrated, angry, frightened. Wanting to help his love, wanting to protect her, to be by her side, but unable to. All he managed to do was look at her and do nothing.

"Just don't forget, Harris, it's your fault she's going to die. All. Your. Fault." The guy with the gun smirked as he finally pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The sound echoed into the once again dark, cold, snowy night. Left in the dark, Harris groped around for his wife only to come in contact with something warm that could only be her blood. He had shot her in the head. It was too late. 

Heather was gone. 

It was his fault. 

'No,' he thought. "No, no, no, no," he mumbled over and over punching the ground. "No," Harris yelled his grief at the world. 

Too bad it was too late. 

Too bad there was no one to hear.

###

In the mirror of the lift that was taking him up to the last floor where Harris' room was, Jax rubbed a hand over his beard approvingly. He then adjusted his black-framed glasses on his nose. "Looking fabulous mister Corey," he smirked at himself. His good spirits were due to last night's activities, both professional and non-professional. Very unprofessional.

A wild night.

A night that took him away from here and now.

A night of booze, sweaty bodies, and sex.

The lift stopped and the doors slid open. Stepping out, he was skipping towards Harris' room when he came to a halt in the middle of the hallway. 

"No!" Jax heard.

"Shit!" he cursed and ran to the door. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Fumbling with his keys, he finally managed to open the door and rushed inside. It was the nightmares again. Jax knew because he knew everything about this man. Everything. And nothing brought him to his knees like those nightmares. Sure enough, Harris was writhing in his own sweat on the mattress in the corner he had deemed his bedroom.  

"Harris," Jax moved to the bed. "Hey, come on buddy, wake up." Jax sat on the bed shaking Harris gently. The way he moaned and the tears soaking his pillow were tell-tale signs of the exact nightmare Harris was having. It hurt to see him like this. "Come on man, wake up." 

Jax had been witness to nights and mornings like this many times during the years. He had sat by Harris' side consoling him through every single one of them. And never once in all these years had he said: "it's just a nightmare" because for him, for Harris, it was more than just a nightmare. 

It had happened to him. 

He had lived through it. 

It had never stopped hurting. 

These nightmares were a part of their lives; it wasn't "just" anything. Jax would never insult his friend like that.

With a start and an audible gasp, he bolted upright in the bed. Distraught with fear and anxiety he looked around the room mumbling Heather's name repeatedly. He was rattled. 

Worried, Jax put his arms around Harris's shaking shoulders, "Hey, hey, Harris. You're awake. You're awake. Okay? Calm down, man."

Breathing heavily and with difficulty, Harris buried his tearstained face against Jax's shoulder. "Okay. Yeah, okay," he mumbled. The most difficult part of losing someone to death is that after every dream encounter you have to come to terms with their gaping absence in your life all over again. You feel devastated, lost, numb. It is like the first moment you found out about their death, only a million times worse. 

"Are you ok?" Jax asked softly when Harris' breathing became normal.

Shaking his head, Harris mumbled, "It was all my fault". His voice was muffled, faint, almost a whisper. "My fucking fault!"

"The same thing again?" Jax asked. Harris nodded. All he could do and did was sigh. It was not Harris' fault. It was Jax's mantra for the first year after the whole thing had happened, "It is not your fault, Harris. Not your fault." And even though Harris had gotten better at believing that, there were still times that he hit the bottom hard and forgot everything that mattered. Times like today. Jax said nothing. Harris would find his feet again. He just needed time. 

Wiping the tears from his eyes while pulling away, Harris gave his friend an embarrassed watery smile before saying, "Thank you, Jax."

"What the hell are you thanking me for?" Jax gave him a very fake irritated look to which Harris said, "For taking care of me and being there when I need you most, which is all the time."

"No need to thank me for anything brother," Jax chuckled. "I did what I had to do, I did what every great friend would do. And yes, I am a freaking great friend." 

"Yeah, the greatest," Harris chuckled. "And we should probably stop the hugging man. That's all Kaden's area of expertise. We look like idiots. Plus hugging you like this is putting all kinds of pressure on the wrong body parts."

That made them both laugh.

"So," the redhead started as Harris got out of bed to take a very much needed shower. "How much of a dick were you last night? Did you scare off any chicks? Harmonee and I have a counting game going. Be honest bro, it's life or death."

"Since when you guys bet on me?" Harris asked, a humorous smile on his face. A towel on his shoulder, he got inside the bathroom leaving the door open so he could still hear Jax.

"Since forever," replied Jax in a toneless voice. "However, things got way interesting after we hired that Madora girl." Harris could hear the amusement in Jax's voice, no matter how hard the redhead tried to hide it.

"I'm nice to her," Harris took off his clothes. Standing in just his boxers, he picked up the shaving cream and got busy with his itchy stubble.

"Nice my ass," Jax protested. "You don't even look at her. I'm no woman, but I'm pretty sure it wounds their feelings to be ignored for no apparent reason. Hence, you being a dick and us betting on you. Poor Harmonee believes in you, but I know you better."

"Your loyalty makes me emotional, Jax," Harris snorted. "Or should I say bastard?"

"I like bastard," his friend said, laughter in his voice. "It's still way better than dick."

"Touché."

"You were supposed to be nicer to that girl, H. We talked about this," Jax argued.

"I am nice," Harris replied. "I pay her a good deal of money for the work she does. I am civil to her and polite. What else do you want me to do? Stick my tongue down her throat?" 

"Does 'nice' imply frowning constantly in someone's presence while giving them the cold shoulder and ignoring them, H?" Jax asked. "You're being a dick and that can only be solved if you stop being an idiot and start getting laid."

Harris shook his head, not sure whether to laugh or to smack his friend over the head. Instead, he washed his face with cold water and ran his hands down his clean-shaven cheeks for inspection. "Really? We're back to this? Again?" 

It was fun at first. Now it was downright annoying bordering on enraging. Jax had been at it for a while. Mission: Impossible; find a girl for Harris to sleep with. As if that would solve anything. Granted, Jax's pestering was stemming from the fact he wanted to see Harris happy. Harris cherished that, but it was not the way. Happiness went out the window right about the time he caused his wife's death. 

"Have you met anyone? Was there a girl in your bed in the past, I don't know, eternity or so? Had your tongue found its way down Madora's throat?" Jax appeared in the doorway, leaning against it.

"I'm not a monk," Harris protested.

"So you seeing someone?"

"No."

"Shagging someone? And let me clarify here bro, your righty or lefty don't count as people."

Harris just shook his head. "You're crazy."

"Done unspeakable things to Madora?"

"Drop it, Jax," he didn't want to talk about her. The topic was not really one Harris enjoyed talking about on his best days. This wasn't his best day. Add Madora to the mix, and it became unbearable altogether. 

"I'm just saying, you need to-" 

"I need to take care of our business. That's all I need Jax, and you drop it right now."

"Nobody wants to be alone, H," Jax persisted.

"I'm not alone."

"We don't count." Jax's voice suddenly grew grave and melancholy. 

"I had a wonderful life with a wonderful woman, and I cherish that every second of every day. I lost that. I had a life and lived it fully until it was over. I had lived and loved, and it was magnificent. That's not gonna happen twice, Jax. So, please, I'm begging you, let it go."

The redhead opened his mouth to say something, probably disagree, but he decided against whatever he wanted to say and nodded instead. 

Nodding back, Harris turned towards the shower and before he got naked, Jax went back to the kitchenette to pour himself a drink. Five minutes later, with a towel wrapped around him, Harris got out. Feeling refreshed and slightly better. "It's nine in the morning," he exclaimed.

Jax raised an eyebrow, "That's why I'm drinking wine."

Harris shook his head. "So," he chose to change the subject. "You didn't let mister Jones out of your sight for a second last night. Wanna elaborate?"

Jax did just that as Harris got dressed. But too soon, the subject of their conversation changed into Jax's private life, which usually meant his bed. And that was not that private if one came to think of it. 

Looking in the mirror, half listening to Jax and half lost in his thoughts, Harris tied his tie and let his thoughts drift to Madora Fay. She had stayed longer than necessary last night to take care of everything. She was brilliant at her job and managed the kitchen and the menus not just with professionalism but with love. Harris had to be more grateful for that, for her. Maybe Jax had a point, Harris needed to treat her with the respect she deserved. Not that he was going to admit that to the redhead currently babbling about something or the other. As it was Jax had a big enough head. 

"Let's get this day started," Harris said to his own reflection in the mirror. 

Jax got out of the bed, "No matter how you say it, it always sounds pathetic."

Harris laughed at that. Of course, it was pathetic. How could living a life that you did not want or doing the job that you always hated, be in any way exciting? 

"We're pathetic."

He closed the door, locked it and they got in the lift, Jax still talking about some hot chick or something.