Freck & Wishes in Death of Gee (Wattys Longlist 2018)

Chapter 3: Last Words

No one had to tell us twice. We jumped out of those colorful atrium chairs and left a burnin' trail to Gee's room. We busted through the door, and rushed to his bedside. I felt red faced, but Freck was pale.

Gee looked the same. I doubted he'd moved. His eyes was still closed. They said he wants to tell us somethin'. How could he in this condition? Did we arrive too late? We waited beside his bed tryin' ta keep our minds clear so's we could hear him. Finally I felt somethin'. It was barely a whisper. I knew it was him.

He softly, so softy, mind whispered, "Freck . . . Wishes . . . believe. . . and . . . avoid . . . WormWood."

WormWood? What the heck is WormWood?

Maybe there was more. I listened so hard my eardrums was achin'. Nothin' at all. Was Gee gone? Did our great friend and teacher leave his body? How could that be? He would never abandon us. I refused believe it. I knew he was gone, but couldn't accept it. Maybe it's just a bad dream. I'd shut my eyes and when I opened them, the dream would just fade away. Pretendin' doesn't work. I knew he was gone. My legs was shakin' so much I had ta sit down. Through eyes blurred with scaldin' tears, I could hardly see Freck. She looked like she'd climbed onta Gee's bed. She seemed in a fog so thick I could barely make her out.

From a deep, bottomless well inside rose a volcanic eruption. It was an enormous rumble of loss, grief, and anger. I couldn't stop it anymore than I could stop a dam from breakin'. My mouth busted open. A powerful, earth shakin' howl blasted out. All my agony, pain, and outrage was expelled. The horror consumed me. Primal howls. The explosion of soul-deep anguish consumed me. Torment was all there was. It kept repeatin' like a row of tidal waves, one after the other until I collapsed inta a soggy heap.

Someone was holdin' me. We was on the floor. I was curled in a tight ball like a baby. "That's okay, son, just let it out." It was momma's gentle voice givin' me permission to grieve. Permission or not I warn't in control anymore than I could tell the sun when ta rise.

The awful bellowing' and bawlin' sucked ever'thin' outta me. I felt heavier than a pallet of bricks. Even rasin' my arms was impossible. As I laid still, unable to move, ever'thin' faded . . . got murky . . . and I fell inta blessed oblivion.

◽️◽️◽️

Blackin' out prob'ly saved my sanity.

◽️◽️◽️

When I woke up I warn't in Gee's room, and I warn't in the Keepers hospital neither. I was starin' straight up at my own bedroom ceilin', but it warn't really my bedroom, and not my actual house. This was my Palace Elm Street house reproduced in exact detail. I knew if I got up and walked out onta the porch, I'd see bent trees, cracked sidewalks, and splotched fences with peelin' paint. Freck's house would be two doors down. How did I know it warn't real? Ever'thin' was too perfect. All the windas was shiny clean. Nothin' was outta place. Even the sunlight streamin' in was too pure without tiny specks of dust lingerin' in the air.

Makers are Keepers assigned to work inside the palace replicatin' familiar stuff, so's visitors feel right at home. When we first came to the palace they recreated the Burns town-hall and surroundin' park. It was perfect. Sometimes visitors from other In-Worlds come, Makers do the same for them. Of course, what they need for comfort I cain't even imagine. What if their homes was under an ocean, or in an endless desert, or at the top of a mountain? The palace is big, but ain't that big. How could a mountain fit inside the two mile high palace and have room for anythin' else?

How did they know? It ain't like they questioned me about Burns. As I thought about it, I realized they mind-read us. They musta pulled out our happiest memories from our subconscious. We didn't know it was happenin'. Wowzers, the Keepers are a wonderment at every turn.