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spookilyfingergunsoutofexistence · 6 years ago

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How do you measure power?

Chapter 3 of ?

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Tw: Breif mentions of past explosion, therapy, mentions of blood, mentions of death and decay, mentions of PTSD. (Let me know if I missed anything.)

Enjoy!

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“So Patton. Let’s go over that day again, ok?” Emile leaned forward in their seat, eyes peering over their glasses as they watched the formally known to be bubbly man fidget on the couch, “Now remember. It’s ok to talk about the past. Confrontation can be hard but if Anna would have never confronted her sister Elsa then Elsa would have shut the castle doors after coronation day and everyone would have been miserable!” Patton looked up at the doctor with a light smile. The first smile that had graced his lips in the week since he had woken up from his coma. Dr Picani was good at finding silly links between problems and cartoons which confused a lot of patients but had always made Patton feel safe. By referring to a problem and linking it to something from Patton’s childhood such as a cartoon it made issues easier to deal with.

“W-Well it started just before I’d fully woken up… I had a dream.”

Darkness pooled around Patton. His eyes were closed but he could feel a hand on top of his own. The hand felt limp as though the person was sleeping... Possibly dead. Where was he? The last thing he could remember was the explosion. A crash so loud that his ears were still ringing. He could feel freezing cold air beating against his face as his stiff, aching muscles finally started to respond. He intertwined his fingers with the hand in search of warmth and squeezed. He felt calmed by the hand. He slowly opened his eyes and screamed. He sat up and tried to push himself away but came crashing into a wall. Where was he? He wasn’t in the hospital. He was in some sort of bunker. The walls were a icy, coal grey concrete. All the walls were lined with shelves that were filled to the brim with empty food cans. The place looked prepared. The room had a thick layer of dust covering every single object. There were cabinets and boxes filled to the brim with used supplies. The bunker looked as though it had already been used. As though an apocalypse had already happened. Across from Patton there was a woman’s decaying body laying against a bed. Her skin was grey, her lips a pale pink. From inspection she must have been pretty in her time but now she was simply a corpse. Bundles of blond hair lay straggled atop her scalp; bald patches separated each clump of greasy fibre. She was sat up on her own bed that looked almost identical to Patton’s. Her skin was torn and bloody. Patton looked away quickly from the girl. He instead focused down on himself. He was in a gasmask and had on a hazmat suit. The suit had a name stitched onto the sleeve, ‘Luke Jenkins’. Upon further inspection of himself, he too was decaying. Parts of the suit and his skin had decomposed leaving only bone in its place. Patton, feeling confused and scared whispered his fate to the lone unrelenting bunker. A bunker he could not remember. The words left his lips as solid fact, “I’m dead.”

“And then you woke up?” Dr Picani inquired. Patton nodded, pulling his sweater over his hands to make sweater paws and stared at the floor. “I woke up. And my husband was there. He was wearing the suit.” Dr Picani nodded and scribbled down some notes. The room felt silent except the soft scratching of a pen against paper. It was a sound that brought Patton a great deal of comfort- it reminded it of long winter nights with his husband in which they would both be sat in a relaxed silence. Patton would be reading and Logan would be busy marking books. “So you told me in our last session you were going to research Luke Jenkins. Did you find anything?” Patton once again nodded his head. He had in fact researched Luke Jenkins. Mr Jenkins was a short man standing at only 4’9. He had long straight ginger hair that he often wore in a man bun and he had a BMI of around 19 making him a healthy weight for a man of his height. This was all irrelevant knowledge. Luke was married to a young woman in her twenties called Gina Jenkins. She was quite a tall woman at 5’8 and she had short blond hair bobbed to her shoulders. Mr Jenkins was a hypochondriac and as well as being constantly paranoid about his health he was also constantly paranoid about the earth ending. Because of this, Sunnyside resident Mr Jenkins ended up building a bunker in his back yard. Ten years later when his house was resold due to Mr Jenkins never paying rent the young couple that had ended up moving in found the bunker and inside found Mr Jenkins and his wife dead. Rotting away inside the very thing made to keep them alive. Patton explained all this to Picani in detail.

“Patton, here is my analysis. I think you remembered an article you read and you simply dreamt you were Mr Jenkins. Don’t worry. This sort of thing is very common. I’m going to prescribe you some clonidine as I believe that the explosion has triggered some form of post traumatic stress disorder and you are having nightmares because of it. I would like to see you on a weekly basis so I may check up on your well being and hopefully we can get your life back on track. Is that ok?” Again, Patton simply nodded in response before saying his goodbyes and leaving the doctor’s home. He braced himself on his crutches he now had to use as a result of breaking his leg in the impact of the explosion and pulled out his phone calling Logan.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

Patton sighed and tried again. Since he woke up that day everything had been different. He’d barely spoken a word to Logan- to anyone except from Dr Picani. Logan felt it was as though Patton was a ghost in the shell of their old home. He simply drifted from room to room, not speaking and hardly eating. The trauma of the event that still haunted the entire town had started to die down for most until it was just a nightmare. Not for Patton. Most people had been given months to recover. Many people hadn’t but life in Sunnyside was becoming normal once more. Buildings that had been damaged were being rebuilt and work places were reopening. People had started getting back into their routines and the once very thick and gloomy atmosphere had seemed to finally be lifted. Kids could be seen dancing and laughing as they skipped by open shops and streets bustling with people. Life went on. Logan had started working again now that Patton was awake and said to be well. Patton was not well. Sure, he was physically well. Aside from a broken bone in his leg he was in perfect health now that the radiation poisoning had worn away. His head had collided with the floor in the crash but had only caused minor head injuries. Mentally though Patton was a wreck. He couldn’t focus. Memories of that day kept him awake at night. Memories of his dream aided his lack of sleep. Patton found himself feeling much colder then before. Touching certain objects caused him to have daydreams. Some daydreams were of cute memories- some were his own memories but others were like an out of body experience. Other objects gave him nightmares that left him a shaking, sobbing mess. Patton was rarely seen now without gloves or hoodies, sweaters and jumpers so long that the sleeves covered his hands. Dr Picani had ordered Logan to keep track of these dreams. Logan spent a lot of time watching over Patton in case his ocean eyes would drain of colour to that blank white. He’d make sure to be there for his husband when those white eyes would overflow like a dam and blue would spill out, colouring the empty page. What Picani believed to be PTSD, Logan believed to be a superhuman ability. It wasn’t a secret that certain people in the town had been given superhuman abilities due to the explosion. In fact, people spent a lot of time after the first few months trying to find out if they had received abilities. Logan had always been a man of facts and the fact was that pure white eyes and the ability to relive memories that didn’t belong to you were not symptoms of PTSD. Logan just wished he could be there for his husband and discuss his hypothesis but Patton had become so distant since he had woken up. It was as though sleeping beauty had lost himself over the last few months and Logan feared Patton had fallen out of love with Logan.

Or maybe he was just over-reacting. Patton had only been awake for a week. Logan should give him time to properly heal.

Ring. Ring. Ring. Voicemail.

Patton slumped against the red brick walls of Dr Picani’s home. Clearly Logan was busy. Next, he tried Virgil who answered almost instantly. It wasn’t long before he was being picked up in a taxi with his best friend in the back seat. He got in the car and fastened his seat belt making sure to avoid eye contact with his friend. He would have called a taxi and travelled home alone if he knew the number to the local taxi company. Virgil sighed as he sat back in his seat. He had hoped maybe today would be the day Patton spoke outside of therapy. He shouldn’t have got his hopes up based on the call he had got this morning in which Logan Berry was actually crying on the other end. Logan doesn’t often cry. To Virgil’s knowledge, the only person Logan has ever cried in front of is Patton. Virgil thought it was fitting that the only other person that has heard him cry heard him crying over Patton. Logan had dropped Patton off at therapy this morning and spent twenty minutes parked outside on the phone to Virgil in tears because Patton still hadn’t spoke to him. The only words any of them had heard since Patton had woken up was the phrase, “I’m dead.” The only explanation they ever received for that phrase was from Dr Picani who told them all Patton was simply dreaming. After seeing a person who had received superhuman abilities as a cause of the radiation, Virgil along with Logan wholeheartedly believed that this dream was instead a power. A superpower. Part of Virgil believes that the only reason he thinks this is because he’s always been a massive superhero nerd. His collection of comic books is that large that there is an entire closet dedicated to them.

Most superheroes gain their powers after tragedy strikes. The true showcase on whether a person is a hero or not is how they use their powers. Virgil has always seen his friend as a superhero. The guy literally spends his days helping those who are sick or in need. Virgil might not have any super hero abilities as far as he’s concerned but he could still save his friend, “Patton? Is everything ok?” Virgil slowly reached over and placed his hand over Patton’s bare hand as a sign of comfort and as a sign that he is there. Patton’s eyes quickly faded to that dreaded colour once more and his friend turned to him, eerily slow. His lips parted and he uttered the first words Virgil had heard him say all week.

“You have powers too.”

Taglist: @sandersfandersblog

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