Mystery in the Mist novel (Chap. 6)

CHAPTER SIX

 

“Dad! Dad!” Troy's words rebounded from the main floor to the attic. A windy shove against his back had almost unhinged the front door. Now the boy’s steps thundered across the hardwood floor.

He could hardly believe Dad was doing the dishes.

            “Missed you,” he said, then clapped a wet hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Bet you thought I'd be snoozin’.”

            Troy almost fainted from the caring words. It was a long time since Dad had shown any feelings towards him. For a few moments, it was difficult to speak. “Dad, you have to come! You have to see!”

            Troy was jumping up and down as if he had ants in his pants.

             “What? See what? Can't you see I'm kind of busy? In fact, I’m doing your job. You did leave rather suddenly, you know. By the way, where were you? On a secret mission or something?”

            “Dad. Stop asking questions. Please. It's just amazing, Dad. The weather...the snow...actually changed. It stopped falling. And the glow was really a rainbow. And I think I saw Boots.”

The boy stopped talking, almost pleading to be listened to.

            “Boots? She’s been missing a whole…Whoa, whoa. Slow down and tell me what's going on here. Sit down. Okay now, one step at a time. This, I've got to hear. You dry while I wash.”

            And Troy told his fantastic story. He didn’t begin with Dad promising to take him fishing. By the time every detail was acted out, Troy needed to sit down. He had excitedly walked in circles around the kitchen, arms waving in all directions.

            His mouth had spoken a blue streak. Fists clenched and unclenched with excitement. Not from anger. He just didn't know what to do with all this energy.

            Troy's father kept shaking his head in amazement. How in the world did his son come up with such a story? Maybe he should take Troy fishing today, no matter what the weather was like. That might settle him down and get his mind off imaginary things.

            First he spoke to an imaginary friend, and now this tale of fantasy? It must be confusing for the boy, with his mother leaving this world so suddenly. “Let's put all this away for now, chum. Besides, I think it's time for lunch. What are you going to cook?”

He couldn't think of anything else to say.

            Troy hated it when he thought he was being ignored. Or put aside, like right now. Here he was telling the story of his life. About a great big adventure and all his dad seemed interested in was food.

“Come on, Dad. Come with me. Now. I'll show you,” Troy pleaded. “It's not that far. Just down by the river.”

            “Don't be so absurd. Clouds like children jumping around in the sky? Birds were dancing? Even green grass and flowers this time of year?” His father shook his head. “I could sure use a beer right now.” 

            Troy felt so deflated he just sat down. Words that wished to share the greatest story of his life simply vanished.

            “Let's have a reality check,” his father said. “The weather changes from snow to sunshine just by walking a few feet? And besides, you're carrying on 'Yakkity-Yak' stuff with JC again. I told you before your imagination is going to get out of control one day. Now it sounds like it has.”

            “Okay, don't believe me then.” Troy recaptured his voice, astonished at his father's reception. “I'm lying, okay? Forget it. I'll go back by myself.”

            “No way. You just stay put in this house! You're not going anywhere. I mean it. Imagine, trying to tell me you saw your cat Boots. He ran off into the bush when we first moved here. Fat chance he's still around. Probably got attacked and eaten by a fierce owl. Or a pack of coyotes.”

            “Gee Dad, thanks. At least my story wasn’t so gory.” Troy stomped upstairs. His fists bunched, ready to smash the wall to pieces. He tried to make a mountain of noise, slamming his door then jumping onto the bed.

Who does Dad think he is anyway?

            “I suppose you're having a nice chat with your imaginary friend? Say hello from me, okay?” Sarcastic words from his father curled up the stairs. They were nasty and mean, all rolled into one. It was almost too much for the boy.

            Troy flung himself on the bed. He scrunched up his face sucking in deep breaths then exhaled slowly. Miss Silver told him it was a method to get rid of his unwanted temper. And it was the best way to prevent taking out his anger on anyone.

            This time it wasn't working.

            His fists balled up like two Canadian Tire hammers. They had a mind of their own as he began punching his nice soft pillow.

            Wham! Wham! No use, though. It wasn't doing any good. Anger sizzled out of him slowly. Troy hung his head, feeling defeated and dejected.

            Everything wasn't Dad's fault. But, it wasn't fair to make fun of JC. He was an important part of Troy. What was the big deal if JC was part of his imagination?

Later, he knew he’d be helping Dad get to bed after drinking too much. The thought   made Troy feel needed. Maybe he should plan to get up early in the morning and begin some repairs. He didn’t think dad would be in too great a shape. 

            Taking a picture of his mom from the dresser, he held it to his chest. Just thinking about the accident gave him a terrible headache.

 

It seemed so long ago, when Sgt. Delaney came to their house in Halifax. Troy pretended the policeman was searching for 'big-time' crooks, or international spies. He wanted to think about anything except hearing more about a son losing his mother.

            Troy was lying in bed when the doorbell rang. “I’M COMING!!” he yelled. Troy walked painfully down the stairs to answer the door. Simply walking was difficult since coming home from the hospital.

            Dad raced to the door and whispered something to Sgt. Delaney. “Troy? You can go back to your room now. I’ll take it from here,” he said.

At first the boy was reluctant to go. He thought his father was maybe teasing him. Still Troy went, all confused. His lingering headache from the accident convinced him it was a good idea to return to bed.

Was this the second or third time the Sgt. had come to their house? He wondered. For some reason Sgt. Delaney must be very concerned about the boy. 

Troy slowly accepted the fact Mom was killed in a car accident. It was most difficult to escape this terrible ache in his heart. But he wasn't a kid anymore. Like Dad said, “Life goes on.”

            When he heard Dad's howl he rushed downstairs. Seeing Dad's face full of tears made him realize something terrible had happened. When Troy was little and became upset, he usually ran to his room and hid under the bed. He felt like that little boy again.

            Troy saw the shock on his father's face and a sad look from Sgt. Delaney. The boy didn't want to know what they were talking about.

            After coming home from the hospital, he tried to forget there was a bandage on his arm. And his leg was aching. Didn't the doctor say Troy had to take it easy and not worry about things?

            When he heard Dad scream again, the boy knew something was very, very bad.

            And it was. But he wouldn't find out for a while.

Now the boy’s thoughts returned to the present…

 

“JC. I miss her so much. Mom...Mom.” He crossed his arms tightly, thinking of her giving him a squeezing hug. Troy didn’t feel shy shedding tears in front of JC. It wasn't like he was a real boy or anything. At times like this Troy felt really close to JC, almost like a brother.

            "I know, I miss her too," JC added in their private conversation.

            Then Dad's call from downstairs came in a softer voice. This time, it was even pleasant. “Hey chum? Coming to help or not?”

            But all Troy heard was someone pretending to be his dad. That stranger downstairs was really an imposter, too lazy to even shave.

            Would things ever change for the better?  

            “Guess I have to go now, JC. I don't want Dad to have a cow.” Troy wearily headed downstairs to see what his new orders were.

            “Got to make lunch, I guess. Get the table set. Eat the food, then clean up again,” he moaned. “I'm just a slave-boy,” he said to no one in particular. “Next thing I suppose we'll have to go and work on a couple of cabins.”

The boy was definitely feeling sorry for himself.

            “Does it matter if it's snowing? Oh no. Work, work, and more work. No fun being a kid. You can't even get your dad to take you fishing.” Just thinking about preparing a meal made Troy really tired. His legs were still shaky from his trip to the river.

            In fact, he was feeling a little dizzy.

Maybe he should lie down.

            There was a throbbing in the back of his head. Was someone playing on a set of drums? Boom! Boom! Boom! Imagined sounds pounded at the base of his spine. Then they crawled up Troy's back.

It was creepy like a daddy long-leg spider in no hurry to get somewhere. He began to feel light-headed. And fainting was a definite possibility. Then he was floating like a butterfly. It was so pleasant.

Now he was a trembling leaf falling down and down during an autumn day. And the sunshine was so bright.

Staring straight ahead was impossible. At first there was only a very bright light…then faces and a ceiling? What were they doing up there? He smelled some kind of medicine. Troy tried to get up, but couldn't. Some kind of pressure held him down.

He felt weak and so tired. Then he realized he was in a bed.

            Where was he? He knew he wasn't at home. Was he in a hospital?

            Hearing voices he tried to speak. But his lips felt numb. He remembered the time Dad's car got stuck in the snow. And they were pushing. Just pushing.

He felt so weak he could barely squint. It was hard to focus on the faces staring down at him. The boy’s tummy felt funny.

            Troy wiggled his toes. They felt chilly. Voices came at him from several directions. Then his vision cleared. It was as if he was returning from a journey. He began to feel a lot better.

            A familiar face looked down at him.

“DA…AD?” The voice that came from his lips sounded like a dry rag being pulled through his mouth.

            “Welcome back, son. I think it's time to go home.”

            It seemed so confusing to Troy. What did he mean, welcome back? And go home? Why was he here anyway? Questions kept going round and around in one huge confused circle.

            Other people were in the room, watching. They were all in white coats. Now he knew for sure he was in a hospital.

            Thoughts were interrupted by his father’s sudden hug. Imagine, in front of all these people. He worried they might think he was a little kid.

            But instead, everyone was cheering.

            “Is it my birthday?” he asked. The room filled with at least a million smiles.

            “He’s okay now,” he heard Dad say. “It’s just another one of those spells.”            Thankfully, Troy was allowed to go home.