The Sound of Silence: A Dream Daddy story

Chapter One

The engine in your tiny, beat up SUV strained against the weight bearing it down, revving with the effort of hauling your whole life up a hill. Calling it an SUV was a bit of an ego boost since she was so small, but then again, so was giving her a name, and that had never stopped you before. Old Jez was the only thing you had left in the world--along with several boxes of books, the clothes you'd been able to fit into the single suitcase you owned, a shitty laptop, and an old keyboard that had seen better days.

That was it: everything you'd salvaged or found important enough to bring with you from your trainwreck of a life.

There was nothing else. No pictures, not even a cell phone. You'd left it all behind.

Jez gave a whine of protest as you pushed her to the top of the hill, but she crested it like a champ. Then it was a nice, easy downhill ride, and then you'd be home free. This was definitely a place you could settle down. You could see it now: throwing ragers in the tiny, two bedroom house, knowing all the neighbors. Having a life.

You couldn't help snorting. More like getting a cat to fill some of the empty space and then sitting alone every day until you died.

Way to stay positive, buddy.

As you pulled into the neighborhood, you looked around with interest. You'd visited briefly before, of course. It was a quiet place, minutes away from a coffee shop, a park, and a handful of bars and restaurants on foot, and you couldn't help the little surge of excitement as you pulled into the driveway of your new home. It was the kind of place that seemed perfect for starting fresh. You could imagine yourself walking down to the coffee shop regularly to get some work done, or finding a little bar to frequent after long days at the office.

Again, you had to laugh at yourself. Look at you, still so fucking hopeful. It would be a miracle if you left the house at all, let alone made any friends. You hadn't moved to make friends, you'd moved to put some distance between you and. . .

An odd quartet passed by at a jog, a man pushing an occupied stroller and two twin girls. Their laughter as they flew past caught your attention, and you were still shaking your head, a smile tugging at your mouth, when you got to the front door.

Juggling the suitcase, a box you thought held your favorite books, and the keys to the house, you managed to unlock it without too much trouble.

An empty house greeted you. No fresh fragrance of cookies baking or flowers blooming prettily on the kitchen table. Just a house that smelled vaguely of dust, an empty front room, and shadows that lurked just beyond the light that sneaked in through the door and windows. There was no furniture, no coverings on the windows, you were lucky the fridge and other appliances had, by some miracle, been included in the cost. Someone must have really wanted out of this house.

You let the suitcase fall to the floor and then carefully settled the box onto the carpet. As you went back to your car for more boxes and returned a moment later, you realized you could see straight through the windows and into the house. A shudder ran down your spine.

First things first: buy some fucking curtains.

It didn't take you long to bring in the handful of boxes, though getting the keyboard in through the front door did take some effort. Once you'd finally gotten everything inside, you stopped, suddenly unsure of yourself.

There didn't seem to be anything else to do.

You didn't have a shelf to unpack your books onto, you didn't have any food, you didn't even have a bed. It would be a long, hard night on the floor.

Second things second: buy a fucking bed.

The weight of your decision suddenly crashed into you. You'd been putting it off, trying not to think about it, for weeks. Truth be told, you'd thought you'd come to terms with it. You'd left, hadn't you? You'd made your decision, planned it all out, executed it perfectly. It had been a plan months in the making. You'd agonized over it, fought with yourself over it, you'd done everything in your power to convince yourself not to do it.

But you'd done it, and even as you'd reveled in the sudden freedom, the pain and fear had been there, in the back of your mind.

Now it hit you, and you sank to the floor of your new, empty home, curling up right there against the front door and choking back a sob. Your whole body began to shake, the spasms lurching in your throat and stomach until you felt sick. As the tears took you, you realized that they were only partially because of what you'd left behind.

In a way, the prospect of being free and alone, for the first time in years, weighed far more heavily on you than everything you'd left behind to get there. You were finally well and truly alone, and though every part of you wanted to believe it wasn't true, you knew you were going to be alone forever. No one would want to be around you, to have to deal with your baggage.

You cried until you felt dried out, and then you just . . . sort of lay there for a while. The thoughts from earlier had settled into a sort of emptiness, a fuzziness in your head that you couldn't seem to pierce.

Only when your stomach growled did you realize that you hadn't eaten anything since that morning. By now, the square of sun from the window had crawled across the carpet and touched the wall. Evening was drawing in around your house, leaving you in shadow. It was late.

Your stomach growled again, and you finally knew it was time to find some food. After scrubbing your face in the bathroom sink for a few minutes, trying to erase the proof of your little breakdown, you left the house. It had gotten later than you'd thought, the shadows of evening lengthening into the darkness of night. Still, you had no food in the house, so you had no choice. Somewhere was bound to be open.

You decided to walk, enjoying the touch of the cool air against your face.

In the end, you found a little hole-in-the-wall bar. A drink and some greasy food sounded perfect, and so you stepped inside and into a room that really wasn't much brighter than it had been outside. Quiet music played in the background, while The Game played on the handful of televisions scattered around the room. There were a surprising number of people inside, some sitting in groups at the tables scattered around, others sitting solo at the bar. The general atmosphere was calm, if a little sketchy, and you immediately felt at home.

No one really looked up or noticed when you came inside. You preferred it that way. Only the bartender seemed to notice that someone had entered, and he shot you a look as you found your way to a stool and sat, as far away from the door as possible. He was nice enough, and the drink and food menu you ordered were promptly delivered. Then he left you alone to peruse the menu, and peruse it you did.

When you'd put in an order and gotten some alcohol into you, everything was beginning to feel fine. Any town where you could find a bar this dingy and cozy was an alright town to start fresh in. Just as you had nearly become absorbed in The Game, the door opened. Your eyes were drawn immediately toward the motion.

You froze.

Your heart seemed to stop beating in your chest, but only for an instant. Then it jump-started into roaring, terrified life.

The bar seemed to fade away around you, until all you saw was the man who had just stepped inside. It was him.