johndaltcn

[johndaltcn]

TEAGAN MARON. 

There’s a moment when a smidge of fear flickers. The chase of being with him, and getting to the point beyond almost, is something that she has minded, but it made the wait all-more blissful. However, it’s the fear that they both have gotten to this place where they have begun to write symphonies against each other’s petals that he got a dose of the healing medicine that it will cause him to pull away. Not out of fear, but because he got a taste and thought it was enough. These thoughts are beginning to circulate in her mind, finding their way to her chest as it’s a combination of her heart’s abnormal beating due to the emotions and anxiety interlaced at once. 

But, the auburn-tressed woman tells herself not to think about it. Not to plan further into the fear even though past experiences harmed her and want to etch through. John has been a constant in her life ─ a few moments here and there slipping through them not talking ─ but he’s proven millions to her in the time of their reunion. His undying loyalty. The adjustment of his schedule to be with her. His head lying beside her at the end of the evening and the first sight she sees when she wakes up. He helps her envision the dim-light empty lot they currently find themselves in as it makes her heart yearns further for him. In a way of forever. In ways that may be selfish, Teagan is ready to be selfish for once in her life because this man is everything she has ever wanted in a lover. A love that came without warning ─ starry eyes that sparkle up even on her darkest nights.

The lack of illumination upon her features since Sutton’s loss is slowly but surely returning to the surface as her head begins to get screwed on tight again. His comment about his years of knowing her and the lack of cursing on her behalf is accurate as a chuckle escapes. Maybe that’s what makes this moment even more powerful. He hadn’t expected to hear those words, let alone ever, but it proves the kiss’s bliss empowers her and brings out a side that’s rare and comes out when emotions are powerful. “It doesn’t happen often, but when I’m on cloud nine. I want to reassure you that… this is everything. Everything I’ve been waiting for and it’s perfect,” it comes out in a gentle whisper as if someone else was listening into their conversation as she lets him know she doesn’t regret right now or the kiss from a couple of days ago. If anything, her desires for more without coming on too strong. 

Chartreuse hues flicker over his face as she studies him like her favorite medical journal, beam widening further, hearing that he’s ready to go home. They jumped numerous steps in their relationship lately, but there’s no one else she would want to break the rules for other than John. So, with a glance over as she wonders how he’s real and how he chose her of everyone, feeling the light continues to grow within her. Teagan’s something to someone ─ even when her mother tried to belittle her and told her no one would ever find solace in her. There’s someone who wants her. And it’s then, the last flicker of her thoughts, the short trip to the motorcycle comes from her behalf as her hand found his own, tugging him along to allow the evening to consume them. 

Considering how compact their Southern town happens to be, the trip from the bare community garden to her home takes less than ten minutes. The grip of her arms around his waist cling on for dear life ─ just like she did the short distance from the hospital to the community garden. However, she wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s a symbol of how much she needs him and how, after years of them being this story of almosts, the neurosurgeon is finally granting him access to see all of her ─ even the moments when clouds loom over her head and make it difficult to function. It’s going to be scary, but she doesn’t think she’s going to run.

As they pull up to the gunmetal gray, two-story home in the quiet, family-friendly neighbor, the light beaming from the living room comes on promptly at five-thirty for Trixie. The woman knows the growing dalmatian will be thrilled and jumping at the sight of someone coming home, especially John, showing the dog has taken an immense amount of liking of the male since his visits have become constant. Her arms untwine themselves from his waist before getting off the motorcycle and standing a near distance to John. The houses nearby remain light, and the reverberation of crickets signaling harmony tonight. 

But, there’s something in his expression as the cell-phone illuminates.Suddenly, there’s the ping of fear glazing over her as Teagan’s hand rests upon his clothed shoulder, giving him the same touch of warmth and reassurance as earlier post kiss. Could something that big have happened on their way home? “Is everything okay?”

The air is calm but thick with potential. John feels as though he’s finally shed his summer skin and inched into something more comfortable, something that’s been out of reach for years and years. He rides and basks in the feeling of Teagan’s arms around his broad waist. He passes homes with the lights down, homes with old women on the front porch drinking tea and taking in the early-November evening. 

There’s a vibration in his pocket mid-ride, his phone. The sound of wind pushing against them muffles the sound but John can still feel it moving against his thigh. For a moment, he’s stunned, nervous he was going to pluck his phone from his pocket to another death. Another casualty. He has to swallow hard to keep a steady grip on his emotions, moving through Olympus streets and various neighborhoods to get to Teagan’s front door.

Once they arrive, John doesn’t spend much time before he reaches a hand into his pocket. One leg moves up and around his bike, standing with his back to Teagan now. He doesn’t recognize the number that’s just called which alone makes him paranoid. So much so that he thinks to call Seth first, or maybe even Andy. Just to be sure. The pads of his fingers hover over his phone, thinking to delete the number entirely before it calls again, his cellphone buzzing in his hands. 

With evident nervousness, he picks up, pressing the device to his ear, “Hello?” In a way, John already knows. Something inside him would always know. Everything about that makes him feel sick, from the audacity and to the cliche nature of the entire scenario. 

“Oh, John, honey, you really need to pick up the damn phone when somebody calls.” Jennifer Dalton spews on the other end, most likely holding her phone to her ear by her skinny shoulder. Her manicured fingers were probably tapping at a wine glass filled to the brim while her too-young boyfriend showered in the other room. 

With the phone pressed to his ear, he turns to Teagan, who has since rested a hand on his clothed shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed, the sense of shock pooling through him a tad too paralyzing. He hadn’t spoken to his mother in a few years. The last time he spoke was on some holiday he couldn’t remember. Probably Christmas where she called to give her good tidings before hanging up by mistake. The calls never lasted long. Five minutes, tops. To think she was calling on a random day makes John wonder if there was a holiday he skipped by mistake. 

“Guess what! I’m in Olympus. What’s your address? God, this town is atrocious, John, I’m a little disappointed. Like, you drive through the wonderful New Orleans and end up here? Christ Almighty...” With that, John hangs up on impulse and regrets it instantly after doing so. “Shit,” John says under his breath, staring down at the now dark screen of his cellphone.

Green eyes finally look to Teagan who’s grown more concerned over the last couple seconds. “That was my mother,” The man says reluctantly, “She’s in town.”

[johndaltcn]

HARPER CARMICHAEL. 

She was going to have a long conversation with her father about honesty. Because as she stood in her front yard, desperately trying to figure out why her lawn mower wasn’t mowing, Harper decided that he had been lying all those years when he told his kids that it was the most relaxing chore to do. “Relaxing my ass,” the woman grumbled as she once again, tried starting the machine, who had stalled and given up after half her lawn was completed. At this point it was her pride that was keeping the chef from just saying fuck it and leave the lawn half done until she could get a professional to do this for her. A crescending groan left her lips as she kicked at the lawn mower in frustration - hoping, and subsequently being disappointed - when that didn’t magically fix her problems like it did on TV. 

Turning to find where she threw her phone a few minutes earlier to call her dad to come and work his calming magic, Harper noticed she had an audience on the sidewalk in front of her house. “Hope you weren’t standing there for too long without offering me help,” She hummed, spotting the phone on her front porch step. Pocketing it, she moved past the now dead to her machine to the person in question. “Also the rage in my ears is too loud, so if you’ve been trying to tell me something, you’ll have to start over again.” 

〰️

John Dalton had a habit of burning too many bridges. Not for the sake of letting something be at peace, as the saying usually goes. No, John usually leaves things hanging in the wind when he feels he’s become more of a burden than a friend. Harper Carmichael had fallen victim to this fate. Once Keith passed, John had decided to push her away entirely, fearful she might see him as the man stuck in the mud as he saw himself. No longer writing, no longer inspired. In truth, he was just embarrassed, too shameful to face the past as he moved on to a series of isolation tactics. 

So, seeing Harper was a bit of a shock to his senses. He looks her over, just to make sure she’s actually there and not some strange mirage brought together by John’s cruel imagination. He clears his throat nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approaches the blonde. “No, I was, uh, actually just walking by.” He says, an airy chuckle escaping him. “Here, let me help,” John says, inching towards the lawnmower. With his all strength, he pulls at the starter and the machine roars back to life. “Sometimes you gotta really pull it or else not a thing happens.” The man says over the noise, brows furrowed as he looks to Harper. With that, he reaches down and pulls the throttle to turn it off, allowing the air to turn silent once more. Once again, he clears his throat. His index finger points towards her half-finished lawn, “Though it’s best to just hire somebody to do it.”

[johndaltcn]

IZZY ROJAS. 

John’s touch felt good. It’s something that comforts her always— the feeling of someone being physically there. But there’s also that feeling inside that never quite makes it go away. She’d lost people before. Hell, she’d lost Ethan, which she had been convinced would swallow her whole, considering the bond that they had had, his disrespect or not. Ultimately, losing two people close to her because of the Club makes her want to up and hide everyone she loved in the Club from the dangers that came with it— Jeremiah, Ryder, Blake, Wes— John, himself, even. But ultimately, she knew that it would never make any of them very happy. Not like the thrill of the Club. In her own twisted way, she hates the Club for what it’s done but loves it for what she’s gained from it. God, it was so fucking stupid. “No, baby, I’m fine,” she reminds him, a brave face, that’s for sure. “Two people in the last few years getting shot in the fucking head? Yeah, it’s just a little dark around here. But I’ll figure it out. She was just my friend– for a long time,” Izzy shrugs and sighs, picking up her drink to sip on the tiny straw. “It’s all so… fucked.”

〰️

Fucked, in fact, was the only way John could describe this current situation. She seems to hit the nail right on the head and John couldn’t argue with that. He couldn’t touch her shoulder and say that things were going to be better now. He couldn’t kiss her head and remind her of all the good in the world. No, not while there was this much evil. Instead, he sits beside her and listens. He listens with all he has left in him because he knows it’s what he would have wanted all those years ago when Taylor was found. 

“I’ve been circling my feelings for a little while, trying to make up excuses for what happened. I always come back to the same thing and I think, in hindsight, we all are. In our own way...” He shrugs, “When you’re in it, you’re in it for good. It’s a burden and a blessing, it seems.” Of course, John doesn’t have to display any specifics. Izzy will know he’s alluding to the club, everyone would. “Everything you’re feeling, it makes sense. Still, I’m really sorry you lost a friend. I’m sorry about Ethan too.” John’s tone was sincere, that much was evident.

He sits back in his head, looking out in front of him. His hands rest in his lap. In truth, he feels a tad defeated and he can’t hold that feeling back much longer. Really, he just wanted Izzy to know he was there if she needed it. “Do you have family here? Family you can call or anything?” He asks, head canting to the side as he looks to her once more. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

[johndaltcn]

TEAGAN MARON. 

The urge to stand on her tippy-toes and to lock herself against his lips overpowers her more than anything. However, she withholds for a moment to make sure her sense or emotions are being reciprocate so she isn’t getting blinded. This longing and this feeling of warmth that she receives from him causes her prior worries to vanish into thin air. If he can believe in her by reassuring and guiding her through the empty square footage, as well as see her tackle this, it screws her head on straight. It’s like he’s guiding her to the bright light  ─ the bright light that happens to be him. 

Her hand that happens to rest on his shoulder moves slowly. It takes pit stops on the side of his neck, linger for a moment as her chartreuse optics scan over his familiar features. Little by little, her digits begin to trail on the side of his neck near where it gently dances over his neck vein before reaching the destination of the back of his neck. It’s like she’s teasing him, which as well mean she’s teasing herself from the taste of him. 

You deserve everything, Teagan.

Thump. Louder than ever before. Almost uncontrollable to the point if he laid his ears on her chest, laying near where her beating organ lies, he would hear it reaching and beating to the point where it might combust. Not even her first love made her feel like this. At least, from what she can remember because it didn’t last long but the heartache felt unreal. He called her to tense and focused on her future rather than enjoying herself ─ which she did but it was an attack. Nonetheless, standing here, breath hitched in the pit of her throat, Teagan feels like she’s experiencing a moment that only exists in the fairytale books you read as a child. Maybe in a way, this is a fairytale but instead of them returning back to their separate entities, they’ll go home tonight as they are allowed to properly allow these emotions to consume them.

I wanna be here. It’s all that she hears before their lips collide against each other and Teagan is standing upon her tippytoes, almost feels like she is clinging onto him for dear life because she thinks she won’t get another go at this. God, she’s so wrong because it’s only been a few days that passed and they’re hear lost in the moment, writing a story, perhaps even history against each others lips. Further this moment goes on, making it clear that everything around them becomes background noise as they are fixated on their actions.

To say she’s winded, but in a good way, is the first thing Teagan is greeted with when their lips part. They’re still close as his forehead feels against hers. Her hand remaining on the back of his neck as taken a few dark of his dark locks in her hold. Speechless. Breathless. “No,” it comes out immediately, gently because she isn’t sorry. Hell, she’s glad it happened again. It’s putting things in perspective. It’s shaping what should’ve happened years before her departure. “I’m glad you did that. So fucking glad,” the beam widening on her mouth corners matches her words.

“So glad.” Once again, but for the last time, she reassures him. Her mind isn’t even thinking about the next moments, how much this is going to change things and cause them to open webs of their past to each other. It doesn’t matter right now because while her mind is constantly on the move, the moments with him keep her still and locked in the now. As her other hand, the one that rested on her side during their kiss comes to rest on his clothed chest, she nibbles on her lower petal whilst observing him. “Wanna head home?” 

Taking this plunge, at first, gave John the impression that he might have been dipping into ice cold waters. He had many factors to thank for this. His paranoia, Taylor, the promise of impending doom thanks to the calatoral damage that was his parents’ own marriage and relationship to one another. But, as always, Teagan earns newfound hope to bloom through him. You’d think it was spring the way his cheeks burn and the smell of flowers and light and warmth consumes them both in one swoop. 

Though despite all it’s warmth and ease, it’s the most profound thing he’s felt in ages. If anything, this moment now makes him realize that he’s been quite stuck for years. Trapped in an eternal cycle of vague sorrow and reluctance. Teagan had become a part of that cycle, a victim to his own unwillingness to try or move on. For that, he’s guilty, wishing this moment could have happened ages ago because, in hindsight, it should have. He should have kissed her the moment the tips of their noses brushed all those years ago before his phone rang. He should have held her hand when they walked alongside one another, staring up and trees and apologizing for the past. He should have wrapped an arm around her waist when she was feeling defeated after the loss of Lucille. He should have been there more than he was.

But you’re here now, John, is what the little, kinder voice inside his head says. John can’t help but lean into it, finally submitted to whatever kindness the world or himself has to offer. Why more did he have to lose if he were to deny himself this one pleasure? When he’s pulling away, he realizes that there was so much he could actually lose. The protection his metaphorical walls provide, the idea that Taylor would no longer loom over him like a darkened cloud because, somehow, that strangely brought him comfort on certain days. Though he was clinging rather than accepting and that much becomes evident now.

Then, profanities escape Teagan and John can’t help but laugh. All his worries disipate once more and he’s a little lost in her. In her smile, her skin, her scent, her voice, the way she leans into him. It all morphs into one large being and leaves him struck. It deepens. “In all my years of knowing you, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse,” The man teases, a chuckle weaving through his words. 

With all the willpower he had left, he pulls away, forehead still pressed to hers. His hands remain on each side of her face, the pad of his thumb gently grazing her cheek. Home. Now that was another concept that had since become forgein. Though it comes alive now and it’s not burning red as he assumed. It was golden.

“Yeah, I do.” He says, almost exhausted. It’s exhaustion in the form of bliss. He feels like a child coming home from a long, wonderful day at an amusement park. Green eyes lift to look toward the empty community garden once more. Even then, barren, he can still see all that he mentioned. Roses, crops, flowers galore. Then, he looks to Teagan again, and she’s the reason for all it’s glory. “Come on.” He says, an airy laugh escaping him. He nods to his bike in the distance. In his head, he thinks to name the little metal butterfly Goldie.

[johndaltcn]

JOHN DALTON’S NOVELS.

Saw You In A Dream, released December 16th, 2008.

Saw You In A Dream follows a lonely man haunted by his past, experiencing vivid delusions that lead him down a road of trouble and revelations.

Uranus, released October 23rd, 2011.

Uranus tells the story of a woman in the late 1950s mourning the mysterious and timely death of her late husband, only to find hidden secrets about him in unspeakable places.

[johndaltcn]

RYDER AERON. 

Heavy. He couldn’t explain how he was feeling any other way than heavy. Ryder honestly could barely remember the service, he could pinpoint moments - like when he comforted Izzy beside him while Maddox was giving his eulogy. The burden of his numbness sat heavy on the blonde man’s shoulders as he silently internalized every ounce of grief he felt. Even in a time of mourning, his initial reaction is to refuse absolutely any type of weakness showing up across his features. A selfishly vain measure. He wanted no attention on him, wanted no sort of message being passed back to Georgia about what’s been going on here. Put it out of your mind, the voice in the back of his head chided. There are more pressing matters right now. Like one of his closest friends having to say goodbye to his wife, and their baby confused by the entire ordeal. Betsy once suggested that his childhood coping mechanism never truly left, and when faced with this much grief all in one room, Ryder would feel overwhelmed and shut down instead of reacting.

But then why, when he was sitting on a slab of concrete outside of the reception, cigarette smoldering between his fingers and his tie loosened around his neck, was he still feeling like everything was pressing into him? He had no idea, but he hated every moment. That might’ve led to the lashing out, and he probably shouldn’t keep snapping at people when they ask him questions. He probably shouldn’t, but he always would. Shaking fingers pulled the cigarette up to his lips when he heard someone’s voice approaching on his good side. Hollow blue eyes lift to meet John’s gaze. Ryder let the question hang in the air between them for a bit as he exhaled smoke over in the other direction. “‘M not going to say no to a free drink.” He admitted, a lazy shrug falling through his shoulders as he tossed his cigarette onto the ground and stepped on it. Neatly avoiding the question about his feelings. “Receptions always freak me out for things like this.”

〰️

When Ryder complies, a quiet sigh of relief moves through John. Perhaps this was his own way of getting out of the receoption too. Everything about it seemed strange and somewhat suffocating. Mingling with mourning strangers and grieving family members. John wasn’t sure where he should stand or what to do with his hands. He gave out hugs and his deepest apologies. Though, after a while, all of these things seem painfully trivial. The moment that thought sinks in, that’s when John decides it’s time to leave. 

“Yeah, same here,” The older man says, sighing a little as he nods to his car. For a moment, he thinks of what his own funeral might be like. Perhaps they’d have it by the sea, the way John would have liked it. Or maybe they’d throw his ashes into the ocean and sing some Viking song. Everything about that seems both dramatic and fitting. “I’m still not sure what the point of a reception is.” John says, now just speaking out loud. “They’re more for the living, it seems. Something to form a sense of togetherness. Really, it just makes me feel kind of itchy. Or like I’m about to choke on my own breath.” With that, he releases an airy chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood however he can. 

John circles to the drivers seat, “Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” Maybe, in hindsight, John just didn’t want to be alone with this either. “You ever been to one before? A funeral, I mean.”

[johndaltcn]

TEAGAN MARON. 

Being blown away by John Dalton is an understatement. From the first moment her chartreuse hues locked on him, this unfamiliar figure resting in her cousin’s house took her by surprise. Mostly because when she had come over, the auburn-haired woman was so used to Wesley wandering around and making himself comfortable, she didn’t know Blake took in another semblance of her boyfriend in. While these thoughts grasped her, remaining airtight in her conscience, the petite woman swallowed the surprise by extending a hand to his direction. Even if she didn’t know then, taking the first step to greet him and to see where things go lead Teagan Maron to the most important person in her entire life ─ even if it took her four years of an intermission and a few recent exchanges to know there’s comfort in the shape of his frame. 

So, when he releases her hands, her feet plant themselves in the recently paved sidewalks that twist and turn around the square of the lot back to the entrance. All she can do is let her chartreuse optics look at the blank slate that has gone through so much development since May. To think one morning, after a long shift at the hospital and passing out in her bed with Trixie, that she’d wake up to see the antique shop that Lucille loved with her whole heart torn to shreds. All of the rubble that crinkled underneath her tennis shoes and pieces destroyed beyond repair. It took Maddox coming out a few days later, and Silas helping her out with filing a claim for the structure to be removed. Teagan thought long and hard. Selling the property would be a profit, and someone else could have a benefit. But, it was Sutton’s mind that pieced it all together. Not only is it a way to keep the land that Lucille spent hours at, but others can make memories of their own. It’s surreal how quick she was to get rid of it.

And she’s glad that she didn’t ─ even if anything aches within her. 

Then there’s John, mending the aching sensation that sits in the pit of her chest by taking the time of his day by being with her at every point possible and while pointing out parts of the empty land with bushes. He starts with roses, which happens to be one of Teagan’s favorites and would make a beautiful statement because who didn’t love roses? Their adjoined hands move further forward, allowing her to make a mental reminder by his recommendations, a tear breaks from the confines of her tear duct at the mention of Sutton’s favorite flower. It’s something she’d have to ask Maddox, but that detail would be beautiful and breathtaking beside her starter plant. One idea flows after another, feeling the way her heart begins to beat against her chest, mimicking the moments before they kissed at the Harris House.

She didn’t forget it, even if Teagan didn’t have the chance to bring it up because of the overshadowing news of Sutton’s passing. The aroma of the saltwater fragrance that lingered on his skin, down to the softness of his lips against her own, as she got a hint of the bourbon he had before they came outside. She still remembers it. It’s clear that when she thinks about that evening, especially that moment, it calms her down when everything becomes too much for her to handle. 

Even if she’s consumed by silence, allowing him to guide their hands to the areas around the garden, making more mental reminders. There’s a soft chuckle that slips from her mouth, tongue licking the bottom of her petal, “Basil and green beans. It’s an interesting combination, but I like that a lot,” her songbird falsetto fills the prolonged silence from her behalf. It’s different. It adds character because she wasn’t too sure what kind of plants to have around. She had a general idea of gardenia’s for her grandmother then roses. But he’s putting the pieces together. Almost like he’s fulfilling this position of being her other half  ─ the saving grace she never knew she needed. 

So when the woman is face-to-face with him, feeling as there’s a slight weight that vanished off her shoulders but all of the work she’s going to have to do, it’s going to work up the motivation. Nonetheless, all she can do is beam happily underneath the growing night sky, grateful for all that he’s doing for her right now and to lift her. Many people are missing the lose of Sutton right now. She isn’t the only person. But the way he’s prioritizing her, coming at her beckoning call without a second thought, it feels like there’s more truth linger behind his actions. Like he doesn’t want to be elsewhere. “John,” her voice increases in octaves after a moment, sighing gently. “Thank you for all of this. For those kind words, the idea of what to do with this garden is the belief that I can do it but especially with me. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Maybe there’s a part of me that doesn’t think I deserve this at all,” she rests a hand on his shoulder, not knowing what her mind and actions could do next. So, she keeps talking. “Like I don’t deserve….. you in my life. There are so many other places you could be right now, but you’re standing here with me this empty lot… telling me about you planting basil and green beans.”

〰️

Oh no. It’s all he can think. It’s all he can fathom when the familiar rapid beating of his heart ensues. He can hear it in his ears, thumping like a snare drum. The air feels thin and cool around them. The silence blanketing Olympus soon turns into something warmer. It no long suffocates which alone feels like a miracle. For a moment, John wishes everyone could experience Teagan Maron just like this. Her hearts emits an energy the size of a large city and it plows right through John, almost knocking the wind right out of him. He can’t quite remember the last time he felt this overcome by another person. Even with Taylor, which was a daunting thought. Perhaps if what he had with Taylor was pure, it would be easier to compare the two. But, when he looks back, the story’s warped. Unlike anything. What he had with Teagan was pure. A rose growing from frozen ground, a humming bird perched on a branch of a high tree. It’s little wonders.

When she speaks now, John’s hearing goes. There’s a quiet ringing deep within his ears that pairs with the constant thump of his awestruck heart. With that, he can’t muster the right words to say.

His breath hitches, her voice once again sending him hurdling back down to earth. As before, he’s grounded, feet planted to the concrete. His green eyes stare into her own before they move down her face and then up again. By then, only one thing comes to mind and it’s the kiss. In the back of the maze, the celebration coming to a slow close. He remembers the faces on the children who recognized Teagan as none other than Princess Ariel in the flesh. He can see the whites of their teeth shining in the night as they smile up at her and ask for a hug or a photo. In that moment too, all he wanted to do was kiss her, just as this one.

“You deserve everything, Teagan.” John says, his voice hushed. The sincerity in his voice was evident. He means it. “I mean that.” A breathy chuckle sounds from him then, the sound soon followed by a shake of his head. “The only thing on my list of things to do is to replace some old man’s boat motor with a new one. He lives out in New Orleans. On the coast,” Green eyes wander, a shrug coming next. “This, being here with you, is the most important thing to me right now. I wanna be here.” Another sincere truth.

After a few beats, John’s impulse seems to flip a switch inside him. He goes to speak again but stops before cupping each side of Teagan’s face, kissing her. It’s vaguely similar to the kiss they shared just a day ago. It was slow though this time it feels deeper. 

John’s not sure how long it lasts before he pulls away. It could’ve been seconds or minutes. Time has a tendency to blur while he’s in her presence. By now, the sky is a deep shade of blue. Almost black. Barely-there stars hang above their heads and the town of Olympus. John inhales, “Sorry..” He says, also on impulse. His hands remain on her cheeks, finding that he doesn’t have the strength to pull away entirely.

Was it so terrible that he wanted to be close to her? Perhaps that was the real thing haunting John. From the moment he met her, wide-eyed and sweet in Blake’s living room, he believed that feeling anything for anyone would be a betrayal of sorts. He’d tossing the last bit of dirt onto Taylor’s grave. Her death would be finalized, solidified, and John would have to live with the fact that his past was his past no matter how much he hid in plain sight.

With a sigh, John leans his forehead against Teagan’s. Once again, he can’t think of anything to say which, in hindsight, was a tad jarring for a retired novelist. You’d think his words would have been piled up by now, too many to consider. But while Teagan has a way of leaving his moments in a haze, she also has a way of leaving him seemingly speechless.

[johndaltcn]

STARTER FOR: @catxmendoza​ LOCATION: A local grocery store. SETTING: Morning.

In the days after Sutton’s passing, John has found himself attached to Teagan’s hip. Each second that passes, he’s thinking of her, worrying for her. The only times he doesn’t see her is when she’s at work and right now was one of those times. Once alone, he decides to go on home for the first time in days. After doing a quick sweep, he was pretty low on groceries and other essentials. So, he heads out. Doing such a mundane task like grocery shopping feels annoyingly trivial during times like this. He can’t help but think of poor Maddox, staring at an empty bed while holding his young, now motherless child. Meanwhile, John was buying peanut butter and wondering if he should be plain or sea salt crackers. It feels ridiculous. 

Either way, he goes for the sea salt.

“Do people still like receiving flowers?” He asks the nearest person, both because he’s been thinking of getting some for Teagan but also for the Chambers family. “Is that outdated? I can never keep up with trends..”

[johndaltcn]

IZZY ROJAS. 

Izzy’s been having a rough time, that much is apparent. It’s in the way she walks and the way she talks. She’s not a bright light in a dark room, she is a black hole, trying to suck up any light that she can but ultimately, losing it. Her heart breaks for Sutton, a promising young woman, a good friend. Her heart aches for Maddox, whom she can’t even attempt to comfort, her own needs as normal, coming before anyone else’s. And her heart longs to cuddle up to Eliza, a little girl that looks nothing like her mother but her spirit— well that’s closer to Sutton than they’ll get anywhere else. Sometimes you hear about taking care of yourself before others and ultimately, that’s what Izzy thinks she’s doing. However, that involves downing drinks at the bar and trying her hardest not to seek out pills to accompany the shots. When she hears someone approach, an odd smile comes to her face, not happy, not sad, just almost devoid of anything. “No meetings for me, right now. Got some shit to attend to,” she says, licking her lips and looking away from John. “You don’t need to check-in, baby, but I appreciate it. You’ve got your own girlie to think about. Besides, I lost a good friend. I don’t know how you get okay after that. At least not right now.”

〰️

Just at the sight of Izzy, John can tell that all the light has been sucked from her being. In truth, this state looked strange on her. Knowing Izzy meant knowing and accepting all her light and all her social nature. To see her down like this, grounded in a way that was below her, it seems like the world is on the brink of ending. “I’m sorry,” John says, reaching a hand out to gently rub her arm. He hasn’t known the woman long but that was the magic of Isobella. She captivated people in an instant. Already, he cares for her. The fact that she even attempted to reach out to him after that horrible meeting was enough to make him empathetic. He wanted the best for her, not this. But perhaps loss was simply inevitable. “I can check in on more than one person at a time,” The man teases with a quirk of his brow, trying to lighten the darkened mood that consumes Izzy. Though, he’s thankfully not naive enough to believe that he could rid of her suffering. Really, he just wanted to offer a soft place to land. Comfort. “It’s something nobody could ever prepare for, that I know for sure.” He replies, his expression falling once more. Green eyes scan her expression before continuing, “People always promise it’ll get better soon but I’m not gonna do that. I hated hearing that when Taylor died.” At this point, Izzy knew who Taylor was. She wasn’t aware of the truth behind her death but she knew she once existed thanks to that one group meeting. “You’re allowed to take as long as you need to feel better. People forget to say that.”

[johndaltcn]

TEAGAN MARON. 

Her head tilts to the side, observing the breathtaking sight of the male with both chartreuse hues as the dim streetlight in the distance causes him to stand out. It leaves her breathless amidst the cloud of loss that she’s battling with. Death feels too familiar. Not because of her job, which is an unfortunate circumstance, and the feeling of having to tell a loved one the surgery didn’t work out was still complicated over the years. However, it seems like everyone who has made an impact in Teagan’s life vanishes. Like they finished their task and deserved to rest elsewhere ─ unsure considering her own belief in religion faltered over the years. But, they’re somewhere, and she knows that. 

“Maybe a little,” the saccharine, silk-like laced falsetto, informs him. She finds herself beaming further since he texted her and told her he’s outside. It was like he’s a disease injected into her veins, and she has no desire to remove it because the feeling welcomes her like a blanket after a long day. Like he’s the blanket. After all, he has made himself at home in the last few days. It doesn’t even bother her. If anything, she adores the sight of a wakey sight of John in the morning as Trixie lays between them ─ like a barrier. “My words always come from a good place. You should know that,” she reassures him.  There’s never a moment where Teagan says something for effect without there being the meaning behind her. She’s always been the kind to lift others up, especially in her suffering.

We can go right home. Home, he thinks of home with her in it. The auburn-haired woman doesn’t miss those words for the life of her. However, the serenity from her behalf is occupied at one task at a time due to her heart fluttering out of control. Jesus Christ, she thinks to herself on in such a short time, John is drilled back into her mind ─ which is amusing coming from a neurosurgeon ─ but it’s hard not to be swept in by him. He knows her so well. He takes care of her, which Teagan does in return because she wouldn’t have it any other way. And she never fears like he’d judge her. After all, he encouraged her about her fellowship in Los Angeles, even if it came between them. It’s all too good. After a nod, she nibbles on her plump lower petal, “Yes, if it gets too much, we’ll go home. Trixie will probably be excited to see us.” There’s no point in correcting him because it makes her feel whole and alive. He has to know that.

Putting her helmet on, hearing more of his reassurance now, the Ariel tressed woman chuckles softly as the bridge of her nose scrunches. “At your request, Eric,” she hits him right back with the humor, shooting him a wink while swinging her leg over the motorcycle. Both arms slither around his tone waist in an effortless motion, tightening her grip to indicate that she has no desire to be elsewhere or with anyone else. Even though Teagan has never flat out said she needed protection, aware of her upbringing and the abuse she has dealt with, it feels nice to have someone willing to look out for you without asking. It’s like his soul knew long before she felt the need to tell him how scared she would get when allowing new people in her life. Then John waltzed into her life and began to smash those barriers down one after another.

The sight of the work-in-progress community garden causes her breath to hitch, but the way her mouth is somewhat near John’s ear causes her to bury that noise any further. She knows it’s too soon to be here. But, every part of her feels like it’s necessary to come to visit. It had only been a few days, and the workers have begun to hit up Teagan’s phone on what to do next as she avoided their calls. So if she came here, see all of the work Sutton and her up until this moment, it would further motivate her to finish this and go through with their planting party right before Thanksgiving. “Okay,” she softly utters, watching as John gets off the motorcycle. Before entirely vanishing into the surrounding, his touch on her thigh sends a jolt through her body. 

Goddamit, John. He’s been driving her crazy for a while, but tonight these things interlaced with the loss that she’s suffering yearns and tugs at her. Almost like she needs to lock and secure his importance in her life before he also vanishes into thin air like her loved ones. 

With the sight of the extended hand guiding her off the motorcycle, the auburn-haired woman doesn’t let her grip pull away from his large palm. Instead, her fingers miraculously intertwine with his. There’s a gentle pull from her petite behalf for him to follow. As she trails them a short distance, roughly around the area where the shop’s front door laid, is the archway that leads into the eventual wonder of green. “All of this happened because of Sutton. She saw that I didn’t want to let this land go, and she gave me this idea,” she explains softly. A freehand motion to the arch with metal butterflies sitting there would eventually be veins from rose bushes drowning out the frame and illuminating the butterflies. “First, my grandmother’s shop, now the only person that I trusted with bringing this vision to life. I feel like I lose everyone.” Not him, but she clenches her jaw not to frighten him.

〰️

Loss, to John Dalton, had become a constant birdsong. He wakes up each morning to the same oozing light across the hardwood, to the same birds perched on branches outside his window. They sing the same tune, a reminder like an alarm clock on high, and it all stems from loss. Even when he feels brand new, fresh emotions lining the area where his brain resides, it’s always there. Loss. The loss of Taylor Danvers, the loss of his mother and her dignity, the loss of his sister and her mispaced love for their mother, and the loss of his father to the bottle. Loss was how he started his days and ended his nights.

Usually, his outlook was on the matter was absurdly pessimistic. He’d toss his emotions to the wind and hope for the best. And, when nothing ever came to, he’d opt for a good place to hide. Olympus served as just that at first. When he arrived all those years ago, this town was meant to be a place for John to bury his head in the dirt. He’d make no friends, no connections, and he’d live in a shell of isolation until he he became old and satisfied with lonesome. Yet, he was struck once again and in the most unexpected way. Struck by a head of red hair and a smooth voice. He’s struck by a beaming smile and a makeshift community garden with metal butterflies. 

A few beats of silence brew between them after she speaks. John cants his head in thought, averting his gaze from Teagan and to the empty community garden. For the first time in what feels like forever, he taps into a section of his mind that has gone dark. The storyteller. The imaginative. 

“You know what I see?” John says then, breaking through the silence. He releases her hand, moving to stand behind her, allowing his hands to rest on her shoulders before gliding down to her hands. One of his arms moves outward while still holding onto her hand, pointing to an area in the corner, “I see a rose bush. Red and pink. You’ll plant them as a start to the garden. Then, next to it,” Their hands move further down, “Maybe Sutton’s favorite flower. It’ll grow large and mighty. And then, in the other corner, maybe some daisies or a tomato plant. Some housewife might come through and plant some basil to put in her Italian dishes that she cooks for the family on Easter or Christmas Eve.” He eyes a spot near the front, moving Teagan’s hand to follow, “Rowan’s plot could go here. She’ll bring Maddie and Benny and you’ll plant with them after a shift at the hospital. And when Blake’s baby is born, she’ll teach her son to plant here with Wes at their side. They’ll grow up here. So will Eliza. She’ll remember this as a piece of her mother. Maddox will take her here all the time.” 

John releases her hands, padding towards a place in the center, “Mine will go here. I’ll also plant basil but I’ll do it way better. Green beans too.” A fond smile graces his expression as he allows his eyes to rest upon Teagan once more. The sky was darkening outside, a sea of yellow and orange blanketing over Olympus. Teagan is backlit by the light, making a halo of white frame her body. She looks like the angels John would read about in books as a child. “And you’re gonna make it all happen. Sutton too. You’ll do it because you loved her and she was your friend, and because it’s something you love and believe in. It’s more than a vision, it’s a legacy. When we’re gone, people will still come here and talk about how it started and how it used to be an antique shop owned by a sweet woman who loved her grandaughter.” John reaches a hand out to touch one of the metal butterflies, “Maybe little kids will name the butterflies. Maybe someone will prick their finger on one of the stems on he rose bush while on their first date. Maybe rebellious teenagers will sneak in one evening to drink cheap beer and smell flowers and pluck tomatoes from vines.”

John turns to look out across the soon-to-be garden one more time before averting his gaze over to the redhead standing a few feet from him. “Loss is...sometimes, it really does feel like dying,” John says now, trying to muster the right words. Really, there was no right way to approach this. There never will be, that he knew for sure. “It’s hard and brutal. This will be too. Making this happen. But it’s so worth all the strange feelings of pain. It kinda reminds you how human we all are which is sometimes forgotten in this town.” The man steps closer to her, “This garden isn’t going to be great just because you trusted Sutton. It’s going to be great because you trusted in your own ideas and your own heart too. Even in the midst of all this loss.”

[johndaltcn]

STARTER FOR: @wesleyevans​ LOCATION: Around town. SETTING: Early evening.

Making rounds earns an abundance of new nerves to trample John. At every turn, he feels more jumpier than before. Sometimes he swears he can see Taylor’s face in the likes of a stranger. Suddenly their eyes would turn wide and glimmering brown like hers. He’d continue on his bike, speeding down the empty street. Or perhaps he’d see her reflected in a shop window, waving to him, waving him back to shore. John jumps at the sight of her each time, closing his eyes tight to ensure that she wasn’t really there and he was very much here, in Olympus, present.

After a few hours, John decides to walk. He parks his bike on a street downtown, now making his rounds on foot. The sky clears his this evening, a shade of clear dark blue cascading over the town. It was evident that they were still struck by tragedy, by death, but the air was cool and wide which helps aid in the healing process. Or at least that’s what John believes. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

As he continues to walk, he can sense someone near. Though when they get too close, John jumps out of his skin, turning around and grabbing them by the collar. When he comes to, noticing that it’s only Wes, he releases a shaky sigh. “Jesus Christ,” The man says hoarsely, releasing Wes from his tightened grip, “Shit, man, I’m so sorry..”

[johndaltcn]

TEAGAN MARON. 

The death of Sutton Hart feels like a twisted reality. Almost like it’s a pinch-me from this dream moment. But this isn’t the case. All of the years, Teagan has known the other, her presence in the neurosurgeon’s life grew a special place in her heart: one that couldn’t be replicated if another tired. Recently, in the last four months, they have been working side by side with the development of the community garden ─ an idea that came from the mind former woman because Teagan was struggling with what to do. Rebuilding the shop made no sense because she wanted nothing to do with owning a business when her priority is saving lives. But there was Sutton through it all, guiding her to the light when the auburn-haired woman suffered like no other.

Sutton gave her belief that what they’re doing, shifting the community into a place of love would serve justice. Now it just feels like what they were working toward, along with the memories they made, is meaningless now.  It is, but she knows giving up on what they started would mean whoever took Sutton from her loved ones… her husband and daughter would be winning whatever is going on.

As Teagan pushed through the day at the hospital, going about checking in on her patients down to locking herself in her office while attempting to bury in heaps of paperwork, the silence is deafening. If you could drop a needle, the motion of it bouncing against the tiles would be oddly satisfying. But, she’s just ready to get home and to drown herself in the plush bliss of her comforter that cuddles her as a lover would. Just as she thinks about calling it a night, the vibration of her iPhone with a message from John not only causes her heart to do somersaults, but she’s rapid on a reply back: For you? Always. Give me a few minutes. Just like that, there’s meaning and reason for the rest of the evening.

Exiting from the hospital’s main entrance, the way she spots John is like a ray of light signaling her home. It causes a soft crinkle on a single mouth corner, even though in the center of her chest, everything feels heavy because of the loss. It’s only been a few days since Sutton’s passing, but the way John has stood by her and would check on her frequently began to put things into perspective. It makes her feel special and cared about. As well, it does cause her mind to flicker back to the kiss they shared before everything went to shit. Just when she thought things were looking forward for them, a cloud of gloom rests over the town. But she’s going to look past it and enjoy the fact that there’s someone else lingering around her place. “Hey,” her songbird falsetto is gentle, narrowing the distance towards the motorcycle and taking the helmet from him. “What did I do to deserve you?” It falls from her lips because it’s true. It’s almost like John is too good to be true. “Mind taking me to the project Sutton, and I have been working on?”

〰️

It’s a little cliché, the sense of ease that washes over him at the sight of Teagan. Perhaps he was just relieved to see her okay and in one piece. When you lived in Olympus, it was easy to become desensitized by the tragic nature this town holds. Sometimes, it’s like a hurricane. It can take and take without much of a warning. It can sweep through the lives of people, the lives of the unexpectant. Though, this time, it feels like a tornado. It sweeps through the town in search for fear and sorrow and it gets just that. It’s thick, the atmosphere, and it vaguely reminds John of the evening Taylor died. He could almost smell the salt and sand. He has to swallow hard to rid of the taste and the feeling it brings. Thankfully, Teagan’s voice slices through the atmosphere like a blade. Clean.

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me,” John says teasingly, shaking his head. He moves from where he was leaning against his bike, shoving his hands into his pockets as the helmet is taken from his grasp. His own was propped up on the seat behind him. The tightness within his chest seems to finally subside, newfound nervousness from Teagan’s compliment replacing that feeling. He was thankful for it, that much was true, though he might not admit to it in the moment. Maybe later, when the world was less made up of eerie silence.

At her request, John almost thinks to decline. Was she ready for that? Was the wound still too fresh? It had only been a few days, Sutton’s presence still looming like a cloud. His lips soon purse in thought, looking to the ground and then to his shoes. His green eyes trace the area where a crack resides in the concrete, a weed was growing from the ground. It seemed fitting, maybe even a tad poetic. So, he sighs a little, a gentle smile gracing his expression. “Of course.” Is what he decides on, turning around to grab his helmet. “Just tell me if it gets too much, okay? We can go right home.” Home. Teagan’s home. He should’ve clarified. Really, it just slipped out without a second thought. 

That’s when he turns, helmet still in hand. He approaches her with care, his free hand reaching up to brush Teagan’s hair behind her ear. The pad of his thumb gently grazes the smooth skin of her cheek, “It’s gonna be okay.” He says, tone quiet, though an easy quiet. It doesn’t harbor the same darkness that envelops the town. “You’re gonna be okay.” With a hitched breath, he motions towards his bike, now sending a blade through the unspoken tension that always seemed to be brewing between them. They had kissed, John thought that would have vanished by now. Yet, it was still present. Prominent. Stirring.

“Hop on, Ariel.” John says then, still hoping to lighten the mood with whatever humor he could get his hands on. Once he’s straddling the seat, he revs the engine, the noise blaring through the air.  For once, the sound is somewhat comforting. To natives, it might seem more alarming, though, which earns a pang of guilt to move through John. But, just as that thought arrives, his eyes drift to Teagan once more and all he wants to do is protect her. Fuck the rest.

The ride is quick. They soar through their haunted town and the broken mess it’s become. He avoids the street where it happened, taking an alternate route. Once the soon-to-be community garden comes into view, he parks out front. Before getting off, he reaches back to rest a hand on Teagan’s thigh, “Hold on, let me check around. Just to be sure.” This might have been for his own sanity. His own paranoia that plagues his every endeavor. In truth, buried beneath it all, he can’t quite fathom what he’d do if Sutton’s fate was Teagan’s too. Taylor was enough to send him reeling, but Teagan’s might be his actual demise.

“Alright, we’re all good.” He says after circling the grounds and peeking inside other businesses and buildings surrounding the area. John plucks the loaded gun from the back of his pants and settles it carefully into the side pouch hanging from his bike. This will never be normal, his thoughts remind him. Despite this, he reaches his hand out for her to take.

[johndaltcn]

STARTER FOR: @izzyrojas​ LOCATION: The Dive. SETTING: Late afternoon.

By some miracle, the day was beginning to wind down. Though the silence death brings may take a while to dwindle, that’s something John has learned the hard way. After spending most of his day making sure Teagan was safe, he had begun to make his rounds. He never thought he’d grow so empathetic for the people of Olympus. When he first arrived, this town was meant to be a place to hide. A resting stop, a disguise. But, over the years, these people have made him grow fond. He liked it here and he especially cared for the people.

You could add Isobella Rojas to this growing list now too. John had a feeling that she might have been friends with the deceased, Sutton, mainly because Izzy seemed like the kind of woman who was friends with everyone. Whether they liked it or not, as well. Once he finally finds her, John approaches her carefully, making sure not to startle her. “No more meetings?” The man asks, attempting to form a subtle smile. It works but only in the slightest. He moves to sit beside her, “I just wanted to see if you were okay. Things are a little dark right now..”

[johndaltcn]

STARTER FOR: @ryderxaeron​ LOCATION: The reception. SETTING: Morning.

You will not give into fear. Count to three, look out to the water, remember it’s not concrete but just water. Something a doctor once told John Dalton after a long, brutal panic attack. This morning, he attempts all of those suggested mechanisms. There was no water near the church so he stared into a sad looking puddle. It must have rained last night. John focuses on that too. It might have rained and because of that it created a puddle in the broken cracks of the street. It works a tad, distracting his senses. Though it doesn’t quite slow his thoughts or the abundance of paranoia that surges through his body like a jolt of electricity. Really, John just wanted to be calm for everyone. He wanted to make sure everyone was okay. From the look of things, nobody was okay. Especially poor Maddox, his fellow club member and Sutton’s widower.

Arriving at the reception was something John decided to do on impulse. He wasn’t a fan of the whole idea of a reception, not in the slightest. When his grandmother died when he was young, he locked himself in his room until everyone went home. The funeral was enough, why would he want to grieve more but this time with cubed cheese and too-salty salami slices? But, still, he wanted to pay his respects. 

From the corner of his eye, he spots Ryder. He had been quiet today, a tad more prickly than usual too. John couldn’t blame him, this was more than anyone should have to handle, especially someone so young. The man approaches him, “You okay?” He asks, head canting to the side, “Maybe we should go. I can buy you a drink, if you want.”

[johndaltcn]

STARTER FOR: @teagansmaron​ LOCATION: Olympus Medical Center. SETTING: Late afternoon.

Silence swallows the town of Olympus. It feeds on the fear that spreads like an infection. The sound of bullets from a near distance is something John will never quite shake. He’s now aware that, despite his undying fear from one Taylor Danvers, there was much more to be paranoid about these days. Though dying had never scared him, he had come to terms with the fact that death was boundless and seemingly inevitable. But to die by the hands of an accident, a mistake. That burden was too much for John to fathom. It’s probably why he keeps himself at Teagan’s side. He’ll be damned before she becomes another casualty. Sutton Chambers didn’t deserve a demise that useless, that random. She should have been buried after dying of old age alongside her husband. Her daughter should have attended her funeral and reminisced on the good days. But, no, Olympus was unkind. 

John’s bike roars as it rides through the empty streets. Housewives and their unfaithful husbands have, rightfully so, decided to stay inside today, tucking their fear riddled children into bed. You’d think a storm was coming and everyone was just bracing for impact. Perhaps there was but more in a metaphorical sense. John slows down as he arrives to the hospital, putting his transpiration in park, removing the helmet from his head. Usually, he never wore one, but Rowan’s voice inside his head nagging him about it was particularly louder today. His phone is plucked from his pocket. The pads of his fingers hover over the keyboard, wandering what he should say. Nothing seemed right, even now. He can’t exactly say “Sorry your friend is dead and sorry we kissed on the night she died. Wanna talk about it?”.

With a sigh, John decides to keep it simple. I’m out front. You wanna go for a ride? 

A couple minutes pass before Teagan comes wandering out. They were both back in their regular attire. Teagan in her scrubs and John in his jacket, flannel, and jeans. “Hey,” He says through the quiet, one hand reaches back to grab his extra helmet, “We can go wherever you want. Your choice.”

[johndaltcn]

WANTED IN THE STATE OF NEW YORK: TAYLOR DANVERS or A DAY IN THE LIFE OF MISSING HER.

Drowning. John could think of worse ways to die. A car accident where you hurl out of the windshield like a ragdoll, some form of cancer, being beaten to death, a gas leak, poison. The list was seemingly endless. John could have conjured new ideas with each breath, with each turn of his head, which each greeting. He’d be sitting opposite a middle-aged man with a greying beard and a beer belly who needed a new motor for his boat and, suddenly, dying of old age alone in your bedroom. Though, there was still drowning in the ocean. Perhaps he would have eventually given up the good fight when he was out there for too long. He’d wade into the eerie quiet of the sea. On days where the list feels useless, he imagines Taylor doing just that. A product of her surroundings, growing gills and a tail like they do in the movies. She’d be blue but shiny like a wet marble. Her arms would be spread and she’d be smiling up at the blue, blue sky and quietly go the way the world wanted. The way she wanted.

Waves. An interruption to a dream about a man stranded on an island. John stirs under his duvet, light from his window peeking through the heavy fabric of his curtains. The man eats a coconut with one hand and draws shapes in the sand with another. First, he draws a circle and then turns it into a smiley face. Next came a hard penis and then an ocean wave. A lonely, makeshift masterpiece.

As the sun comes up, the room becomes brighter, earning the sun to rise in his dreamscape. It looms just along the horizon, casting a glimmer of white and pale blue across the darkened sea. The edges look transparent paired with the white foam that laps against the sand. His toes dig hastily into the warmth there before the cool of the ocean comes running up his hairy ankles.

This was a nice dream. For now. A miracle. The man wanders around with a smile. He is alone but he is satisfied. No burdens have followed him to his little island. He may starve one day and become a mummy in the sand. Rich people in need of normalcy will arrive one day and find his skeleton perched against a palm tree. Inside his hands will hold a now withered, torn note that says I loved it here.

Dying alone stranded on an island. A piece of John’s brain leaves a reminder to write that down on his list of ways to die.

The man wakes once again after another island sleep, stretching his limbs with a hearty groan. The sun comes up just the same. Glimmering, warm. Today, there was a grey cloud somewhere in the East. Light eyes look to it with confusion. How dare the weather interrupt his state of mind. His shoulders frump like a disturbed toddler, padding across the sand and into the wild jungle where the leaves hung low and sweat became his best friend.

He walks and walks. He’s not sure why. Perhaps he was looking for an answer or someone to scold. The weather was sickeningly humid, the kind that makes every inch of you damp and slick. John could smell his own skin in his sleep. His own sweat too.

The man follows a path down a long line of dirt and sand. He reaches the other end of the island which is much more bleak. The clouds hang low and are a muggy shade of black and grey. The ocean is almost green like moss. It doesn’t lick the shore like the other end. No, it clings to it. It’s thickened over time, probably from oil and other grimes that he couldn’t name in this moment. To his right, he hears a strange sound. A wet but also dry sound that makes the hairs on his arms prick and rise. He looks, there’s a fish. It’s dying, moving around, and gasping for air. His throat tightens. Is it food or a test? He looks to the sky for an answer, perhaps from God, but it only darkens. He was very hungry and a nice, dying fish over a fire sounded like a blessing. But, by some impulse, he scoops the slimy thing up in his shaky hands and goes running through the thick jungle once more. He scrapes his arms and legs on branches as he runs and runs. The beat of his own heart becomes loud like a speaker on high. His breathing is jagged and he begins to squeak with each breath.

Once his slice of heaven comes into view once more, he dashes to the water. His perfect water with all the blues and whites. When he’s close enough, he places the squirming fish into the water. It flops around uselessly. John thinks he might have been dreaming about the stupidest fish in history. It flies right out of the water and onto the sand again.

Did this damn thing wish to die?

With that, he scoops it up again and basically tosses it into the water. “I’m trying to save you!” He yells though his words come out muffled. It sounded like his throat had been piled to the brim with cotton balls.

Then he turns, only to find that the shore had been covered in dead fish. Most of them squirmed and jumped along the sand, bouncing off one another helplessly. The sound was atrocious, like someone chewing loudly in his ear or rubbing their thighs against a wet sheet of marble.

It grows louder, the sound of dead fish and now gawking seagulls falling from the sky. They were hungry for fish but are too ambitious in their endeavor to feed. They crash land to the island and accompany the still dying fish. They’re dying now too. The sound becomes louder and louder and louder. The waves sound like nails brushing together. Rusty ones that have been since forgotten inside someone’s garage.

The man covers his ears and screams. He screams his cotton ball scream and wishes to go home to the mainland. There’s a rotted human hand poking out of the sand just at his feet before John wakes up, gasping for air.

Like in the movies, he hoists himself out of his bed upon waking up. His sweaty back presses carefully into the headboard once he comes to. He was alive, awake, and dry. Well, almost. A hand reaches up brush strands of hair that stick to his forehead. John swallows hard, breathing heavily for a few moments. Mostly to collect himself. It was often that he had nightmares like this. Though they were all different in certain ways, they did all have one thing in common. Water. Sea. John has come to accept that this was the price he had to pay for knowing and missing Taylor Danvers. It might have been the price of loving her too.

The covers are thrown from his body then, draping down and across his bed. The bottoms of his feet move to touch the cold hardwood of his bedroom which grounds him. You’re alive, John. Light that pokes from behind his curtains moves across the floor, creating a line from the window and to under his bed where most of Taylor’s things were stored. He could have easily stuffed them in a box within the back of his closet but something about that made John uneasy. Embarrassed, even. To him, it seemed like such a cliché and John was already coasting the line of borderline cliché these days. The nightmares were enough.

Once the sleep was rubbed from his eyes, John heads to his kitchen to make himself some coffee. He checks the digital clock above his stove. The bright green numbers read 8:12AM. 

At least it was early. At least he hasn’t become like his father, waking up late in the afternoon and still drunk from the evening before. The smell of coffee begins to envelop his home as he opens the creaky cabinet above his head in search of a mug. He plucks one with a decorative J on the front, a lackluster birthday gift his mother had sent him one year. She was a month early but he appreciated the sentiment regardless. Sometimes anything was better than nothing from Jennifer Dalton.

While he continues to wait for the pot to brew, he pictures Taylor dancing around the kitchen in her underwear. She did that almost every day, making a mess in the kitchen as she attempted to make both pancakes and scrambled eggs at the same time. How she made a mess of something so simple, John would never know, but he had always found that endearing. Her dark, smooth hair was always thrown up in a bun at the top of her small head. Her eyes were wide and muddy brown like a cartoon lamb. She would kiss his cheek and say he looked “positively handsome” each morning and then slide him a steaming cup with his beverage of choice.

The memory makes him purse his lips into a tight line as he picks up the pot and pours the coffee into his mug. Though he can never quite combat his thoughts. A specific memory comes to mind as he moves to sit at the marble island in his kitchen.

....

Rain tapped along the large windows inside his living room. His home is Dallas was large but comfortable, something out of an interior design magazine you’d find in a doctor’s office. Taylor had been reading a book, cuddled underneath an old blanket of John’s. Taylor made a habit of staying the night after a while and John didn’t mind. He enjoyed her company. He had slid beside her, removing the book from her lap and placing it carefully on the coffee table. A wide, beaming smile graced her expression in no time. She ran her fingers through his dark beard. John had started to ask about her family. He thought maybe they could spend a Christmas or a Thanksgiving with them sometime. At the mention of family, Taylor’s expression fell. He knew that look, it was always the look she sported when something or someone made her uncomfortable. 

“My family is disgusting,” She said through gritted teeth, scanning John’s expression as if he should have known that much. He only shook his head, feeling guilty. “Oh,” Is what he started with, a little lost for words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Taylor then went on about how her sister was a backstabbing bitch and that her mother was a liar and her father just the same. Apparently they had disowned her, cast her out like some unwanted puppy. The idea not only confused John but also baffled him. She was so intelligent, so willing, so creative. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make something like this happen. To make her family dislike her with such vigor. 

“Well, what happened?” John asked then, head canting to the side. He had to know. By then, John had told her everything. About her mother and her bloated lips, injected hips, and much younger boyfriends. His father and his proclivity for drinking himself into a haze. And, then, his sister, a Jennifer Dalton wannabe with manicured fingernails and a voice that sounded so feminine and so grainy that it made you want to rip your ears right from your head. 

That’s when Taylor’s own brows knit together, a look of anger flashing across her face like a stroke of lightning. Had he said something wrong? Was he not meant to ask? John can vividly remember the feeling of panic that had washed over him in an instant. He could still feel it now like he was reliving the moment. 

She had grabbed his arm. Tight. Her much smaller fingers left a reddened imprint on his skin there. “Do not ask me about my family. Ever. I’m here with you now, John,” She cooed, releasing his arm then to stroke the sides of his face, “Nothing else matters but me and you. I want to forget them.”

At the time, that seemed fair enough. John had done so much to forget his own family, as well, especially once he moved away and his parents got divorced. Who was he to judge her or her reaction? He’d learn more about her past eventually. Someday. Perhaps this was how love worked. You had to fight for it and you had to deal with the pretty and all the ugly too. He remembers reading that somewhere. But he also might have heard it come from Jennifer’s mouth.

....

Back to the present, back to reality. Looking back, he should have known. Even then. The truth of the situation was that Taylor’s family had endlessly tried to have her arrested. For many things, actually. Theft, stalking, assault, battery, and more. She had once broken a Coke bottle and threatened to stab her sister and her boyfriend with it before running off to wherever it is she went. She always did that, apparently. Ran away, even as a child. After her death, John had taken a detour to Long Island, where she was from. It was a brief visit though her family was willing to tell John just what he needed to know. 

Taylor was troubled, unsettling, and not the greatest person in the world. Not by a long shot. She stole and mostly survived, never really living. Apparently, they had a grandmother like this too who died of something that John can’t remember. All he remembers is something about alcohol being involved.

Meeting Taylor’s family, for some reason, made it easier to make up scenarios or reasons why. To this day, he does regret seeking out the truth. He wished he would have let it remain a mystery, an unknown woman coming into his life who made him fall in love but then died in the process. That sounded much better than discovering that Taylor Danvers was an unstable woman who had no true moral compass. 

But, she was exactly that. As time went on, John began to see her as a lonely woman rather than a bad one. He started to look for excuses that, soon enough, formed into a ball of guilt. Perhaps she was depressed, maybe her family wasn’t telling the truth, maybe she needed a friend, maybe she lied about stalking, maybe something happened to her when she was young, maybe this, maybe that, maybe anything.

An alarm sounding through John’s home rips him from his thoughts. He sets his mug down and races back to the kitchen. He doesn’t know when he wandered into his living room. This usually happened when John’s thoughts went too deep, when he spiraled. A pan of scrambled eggs were burning on the stove. John didn’t even remember putting them up. With a shaky hand, he shuts off the stove and tosses the pan into the sink, running it under cold water. He grabs a dishtowel and fans the place and then his smoke alarm until it stops beeping.

Burning to death in a housefire. He mentally writes that down, adding it to his long list of excuses.

[johndaltcn]

DELPHINE DUPONT. 

“Well, it’s a handsome costume.” She said with a smile before glancing down at her own costume now in her arms, stained and slightly ripped. “Between the two of us, John, you win.” She felt her smile waver but immediately pulled it back up, allowing a comfortable silence to settle between them. She allowed it to linger for a few more moments before turning to glance at John once more. “You don’t… seem too surprised to see me.” She finally said before waving a hand quickly to rectify her assumptions. “Not that I… Not that I expected you to have any other reaction. It’s just… so far I’ve been getting mixed feelings, and… I don’t know…” John had always been nice to her, if not a little wary, but she didn’t mind that. 

A lot of people were wary of her. 

“Or is the big shot author just too blasé for the sudden reappearance of a no-name Siren such as myself?” She teased, no malice in her tone. 

〰️

The large, doe-eyed look gracing Delphine’s expression is never something that’ll bring John ease. It wasn’t her fault, not at all. Her strange but undeniable resemblance to Taylor, inside and out, was nobody’s fault, in hindsight. Though he can’t help the itch that crawls across his skin as he looked into her face, listening to her works. She even spoke like her. Ambitious, confident, and a little desperate like she was sending vague pleas into the universe. 

“Well, thank you.” The man finally says, smiling warmly. He attempts to swat away the feeling festering inside his stomach. The memory of Taylor too. He was having a good night and he’d rather not dwell on that much. “Why would I be surprised?” He asks then, his head canting to the side. He was aware of Delphine’s departure. Despite her small frame and dainty mannerisms, she seemed to leave a lasting impression on the people of Olympus in her wake, that much was evident. “No, it’s not that,” A laugh weaves through his words before he continues, “To be frank, what you do or where you go isn’t really any of my business. You’re allowed to do whatever you want.” John shrugs, looking to his shoes for a brief moment before allowing his gaze to settle on Delphine once more. “And I’m sure you had a good enough reason to leave, of course. Everyone needs a break from this place from time to time. I don’t blame you.” Though, he can’t quite speak for the people she might have hurt. But, once again, that wasn’t his business either. John wasn’t one to dabble in drama in that way. So, he takes her reappearing act with grace.

“Also, retired author. Now I’m just a club member and a boat mechanic.”