Fever Dream

Gideon ducked under the barricade and moved forward through the groups of cops, the men with walkie-talkies, the men in uniform. Nobody noticed him, nobody cared: all eyes were fixed on the front entrance to the building.

And then a faint voice rang out from inside the doorway. 'There must be an investigation!'

It was his father's voice. Gideon paused, his heart in his throat.

'I demand an investigation! Twenty six people died!'

A muffled, amplified fumbling, then a male voice boomed from the sound system. 'Dr. Crew, your concerns will be addressed. But you must come out now with your hands up. Do you understand? You must surrender now.'

'You haven't listened,' came the trembling voice. His father sounded frightened, almost like a child. 'People died and nothing was done! I want a promise.'

'That is a promise.'

Gideon was at the innermost barricade. The front of the building remained still, but he was now close enough to see the front door standing half open. It was a dream, a nightmare; at any moment he would wake up. He felt dizzy from the heat, felt a taste in his mouth like copper. It was a nightmare--and yet it was real.

And then Gideon saw the door swing inward and the figure of his father appear in the black rectangle of the doorway. He seemed terribly small against the elegant facade of the building. He took a step forward, his hands held up, palms facing forward. His straight hair hang down over his forehead, his tie askew, his blue suit rumpled.

'That's far enough,' came the voice. 'Stop.'

Melvin Crew stopped, blinking in the bright sunlight.

The shots rang out, so close together they sounded like firecrackers, and his father was abruptly punched back into the darkness of the doorway.

'Dad!' screamed Gideon, leaping over the barrier and running across the hot asphalt of the parking lot. 'Dad!'

Shouts erupted behind him, cries of 'Who's that kid?' and 'Hold fire!'

He leapt the curb and cut across the lawn toward the entrance. Figures raced forward to intercept him.

'Jesus Christ, stop him!'

He slipped on the grass, fell to his hands and knees, rose again. He could see only his fathers' two feet, sticking out of the dark doorway into the sunlight, toes pointed skyward, scuffed soles turned up for all to see, one with a hole in it. It was a dream, a dream--and then the last thing he saw before he was tackled to the ground was the feet move, jerking twice.

'Dad!' he screamed into the grass, trying to claw back to his feet as the weight of the world piled up on his back and shoulders; but he'd seen those feet move, his father was alive, he would wake up and all would be well.

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feverdream/gideonswordteaser.mp3

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