Chapter Text
It’s been a while since it happened like this.
I wake up in the middle of the night, and internally groan. I try to roll over to check the digital clock on my nightstand.
And realize that I can’t move.
It’s at this point, as I’m struggling to remain calm, that I realize…
…I’m not alone in my bedroom.
There’s a figure, just past the foot of my bed. My eyes shift downward to see who it is, but can’t quite reach, with my head unable to move.
Slowly, the figure steps forward, and I realize who it is.
“Sydney?” I try to say, the word coming out a silent whisper.
A sinister smirk spreads across Sydney’s face as he approaches.
“Sydney, what are you doing!?” I try to say. But my paralyzed body won’t obey. I try to will myself to scream. I know this is a dream. If I can somehow make a sound, Mom will come wake me up.
But what if this isn’t a dream? What if he’s finally here to do what he’s always wanted to do?
What they all want to do to me…
“Syd, please,” I beg, my mouth forming words that my throat won’t will into sound.
“We both know you deserve this,” he says with a dry sort of laugh.
He climbs onto the bed and onto me. I can feel his weight pressing against me, and again I try to struggle, to scream, to do anything to try to escape. As his knees and elbows sink into the bed around me, I feel a new sensation: I suck in through my teeth as coldness laps at my sides.
My room is flooded.
It shouldn’t be. It can’t be.
But it is. Right up to the very edge of my bed. With Sydney’s weight pressing the mattress down, the water rushes in to fill the space. I feel water soaking up from beneath my mattress as well.
His hands gently slide up my chest, until they firmly grip my throat. I know what’s coming next.
“Syd—” I mouth.
He presses down, forcing my head further into the mattress. I feel the surface of the water working its way up the side of my face as he presses me further and further down. Eventually, with all of his weight pressed down on me, my muzzle slips just beneath the surface.
The struggle is brief, but agonizingly long. My paralysis refuses to let me fight back, so he and I just stare at one another as we wait for the clock to tick down.
Finally, it does, and his face warps and becomes unrecognizable as my last breath breaks the surface into a thousand ripples. For a moment, I refuse to breathe in. The paralysis finally wears off, and I frantically scrabble for anything that might save me. First I try to fight him off, but nothing I can do seems to faze him. Then my claws start to feel around, pressing into the mattress, gripping at the headboard— anything to try and force my muzzle above the surface. It’s right there, not even an inch above my snout. If I could just shift my weight a little—.
But Sydney is too strong, and eventually, I run out of time. I have no choice but to inhale, sucking in ice cold water.
It always ends this way: the last thing I see as my vision fades is Sydney’s sinister grin, warped by the ripples in the surface caused by my twitching and convulsing.
And then I wake up.
*****
I shoot awake, gasping and sputtering. I feel at my throat, the feeling of his paws against me still there. But there are no paws.
Because of course there aren’t.
Next I feel down my chest, then in front of me. But he’s not there.
Because of course he isn’t.
Finally, I feel at the mattress. Then I let one paw hang off of the side of the bed, leaning until I find the carpet. The mattress and the carpet are both dry.
Because of course they are.
I let out an anguished groan, and force myself out of bed. I flip on the light, and scan the room. No Sydney, of course. No flood. No evidence of a flood either.
Because why would there be?
I want to check the hallway, of course. But I tell myself not to. It’s like Sydney— the real Sydney— said, right?
I’m in charge of my mind from now on, not the other way around.
I lean my head against the door behind me, and take a few deep breaths. I don’t cry this time, but I can’t say whether that’s from self-control or just because I’m too tired to.
Doesn’t matter, I suppose.
I take one last look around my bedroom, careful to check that the window is closed and locked.
Of course, it is.
Finally I sigh, and shake my head in exasperation. I flip the light off, crawl back into bed, and, after staring at the wall for a few minutes, drift into a dreamless sleep.
*****
Problem Child
An Echo Fan Fiction
By Fable91
The morning is spent in the usual way— stumbling around getting ready for school, head still spinning with the nightmare from the previous night. It had been a long time since I had the friends-killing-me nightmare, up until yesterday. It’s like my mind knew I was getting used to the usual one, so decided to throw me a curveball, to keep me on my toes.
Of course, back when I used to have the nightmare, all of my former friends did hate me. You might think that this would make the nightmares worse— I certainly did.
That is, until today, when I walked into the gym, saw Sydney, and realized that I’m going to have to fake like he didn’t hold me under until I stopped kicking last night.
I spot him from across the gym, and immediately feel my muscles tense, like I’m getting ready to run away from him. Elliott spots me, and the look he gives me says that he can tell how terrified I am. So I take a deep breath and force myself forward.
It was just a stupid dream , I tell myself, it was just a—
“Hunter!” a voice barks from behind me.
Shit.
I had kind of forgotten about that.
I turn and find Gates crossing the gym towards me. Again, my prey instinct begs me to run.
“Have a nice early day off yesterday, Hunter?” he asks me.
“Uh, yeah, actually,” I respond, somewhere between honest and snarky. I know no answer is going to be a good answer, so I remain as noncommittal as possible.
“Did you really think you could just pull a stunt like that and get away with it?” he asks.
“Stunt?” I ask. “Oh, were you talking to me yesterday? I must not have heard you.” I lie.
“I might believe that…” Gates starts, and lets the anticipation hang in the air for a moment, “…if you hadn’t responded to me.”
Did I?
Right, I told him to fuck himself, didn’t I?
Shit.
“From now on, if I give you a command, I expect you to follow it, understand?” he says sternly.
“Uh, sure thing,” I mumble nervously.
“’Sure thing’ what ?” he asks.
“Uhm… Sure thing, please? ” I offer. I genuinely don’t know what he’s after here.
“Sure thing, sir ,” he corrects.
Not on your life.
“Sure, alright,” I agree.
“’Sure’ what ?” he insists again.
“Sure thing,” I offer, forcing the best innocent smile I can muster. He just glowers at me, as if thinking of something to say. After a few seconds of this, however, I start to wonder if I’ve just shorted out something in his brain.
“If there’s nothing else…” I ask, “Can I go talk to my friends now?”
He growls, a low rumble in the back of his throat.
“ Sure thing ,” he says, mocking my own tone, but adding a bit of extra tenor and flamboyancy for good measure, “You won’t be my problem for much longer anyways.”
Then he turns on his heel and walks away.
I’m still a bit shocked and confused when Elliott approaches from behind.
“What the hell did you do , Killer?” he asks.
I try to laugh it off, but as I turn, I find Sydney giving me a concerned look.
“Was that because of what happened yesterday?” he asks cautiously.
“Uh, yeah,” I admit.
“Shit,” Sydney huffs, “I’m sorry man.”
“No worries,” I insist, “To be honest, I kind of earned it.”
“’What happened yesterday’?” Elliott inquires, his gaze shifting between Sydney and me. Then, he suddenly notices something in my face. He gently grabs underneath of my muzzle, tilting my head back and forth to examine me. As he does so, his hand grazes my neck, and the memory of Sydney’s hands around my throat flashes in my head.
I swat his hand away. He gives me a shocked, worried sort of look, then his gaze shifts back to Sydney, then back to me.
“What did he do?” Elliott asks, and before I can answer, adds “Did he say, you know, the word? ”
“What? No, he didn’t,” Sydney replies, “Chase isn’t that type of guy, you know. Wait, why are you—”
“I mean, he must’ve done something, though,” Elliott reasons, “Because I saw the way he looked at you this morning, man. And I know you wouldn’t do something like this for no reason, you know?”
Sydney’s brow furrows, “’The way he looked at me this morning’? What the hell are you—? Wait! You don’t think I did that to him, do you!?”
“Listen,” Elliott’s voice gets soft, “I know you wouldn’t kick his ass without a good reason, and obviously whatever it is is water under the bridge, or else he wouldn’t be standing here, right? I just wanted—”
“I didn’t kick his ass,” Sydney insists.
“I didn’t get my ass kicked!” I protest, before adding, “And it wasn’t Sydney anyway.”
Elliott seems to examine my face again.
“You definitely got your ass kicked by someone, Killer,” he insists.
“Fuck off, dude,” I warn.
“So who was it then?” he asks, his gaze shifting between us.
“Doesn’t matter,” I huff, “It’s like you said, it’s water under the bridge. Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure?” Elliott asks, “I mean, if you need me to kick someone’s ass for you, I’ll do it, you know?”
“Oh, really?” I balk.
“Well, I mean…” Elliott shrugs, “…for money.”
“Ah, so then, not just out of the goodness of your heart?” I grin.
“A man’s gotta eat,” Elliott shrugs.
“So, what if it was Sydney?” I ask, “You’d kick his ass for me?”
“Of course I would,” Elliott grins smugly.
“You can certainly try,” Sydney smirks.
“Well, what if it was, I dunno…” I hem, “ Leo Alvarez ?”
Elliott’s smile falters.
“Remind me who that is again? Because the only Leo I can think of—” Elliott says, only sounding slightly terrified.
“That’s the one, bud,” Sydney nods, “Flynn’s boyfriend, quarterback, six foot timberwolf… Why, you scared?”
“N-no! Of course not!” Elliott insists.
“So how much would it cost me to watch you try to fight Leo, then?” I ask.
“Th-That’s not the offer!” Elliott whines indignantly, “I said I’d help you get the guy who kicked your ass. I didn’t say I’d fight, just like, anyone . And we both know that you didn’t fight Leo Alvarez.”
“Oh yeah?” I hum, “And how do we know that?”
“If your stubby ass…” his gaze scans me up and down, “…stepped up to Leo, you’d be in an iron lung right now.”
“Maybe I can handle myself better than you think,” I insist, “Big things can come in small packages, you know.” I give Elliott that same flirty sort of smirk that he likes to give me and Sydney.
“Leo is a big thing,” Elliott pontificates, before a sudden smirk spreads across his face. He turns towards Sydney, “Which I guess makes the gila ‘small packages’, huh?”
Elliott stares at Sydney, grinning, waiting for Sydney to laugh.
Sydney just groans.
*****
School progresses suspiciously normally, until an announcement comes over the intercom as I sit down at the lunch table.
“Chase Hunter, please report to the principal’s office.”
A chorus of “Ooohh”s surrounds me as I try to decide what to expect. The stoat stares at me quixotically.
“I didn’t do anything,” I tell him.
He gives me an incredulous look.
“I mean, I didn’t do anything recently,” I correct.
He keeps staring at me, unbelieving.
“Well, I haven’t done anything today ,” I finally specify.
He seems to buy that. He shrugs.
“Maybe it’s not a bad thing?” he suggests hopefully.
“When has being called to the office ever been a good thing?” I press.
He seems to think it over for a moment, before finally sighing in defeat.
“Yeah, you’re right. Well, good luck,” he offers.
I sigh dejectedly as I pick up my backpack.
“Yeah, thanks,” I mumble.
*****
When I enter the principal’s office, I find the Principal, staring at me with a confusing combination of anger and glee, as well as a bookish-looking ferret woman who I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen before. His office is the standard principal’s office— papers all over his desk, a coffee cup full of pens with some pun about golf. The walls are adorned with those stupid inspirational posters, with a picture of a sunset or lightning storm with a word like “success” or “perseverance” below it, then some stupid quote beneath that. One of those black plastic inbox-outbox things sits on a corner of his desk, and there’s one of those snowglobes with a golfball and tee in it on the opposing corner. The golfball isn’t on the tee, and never has been, any time I’ve been in this room.
And I’ve been in this room a lot.
In the center of the desk is a manilla folder with my name on it. Likely my permanent record, or something to that effect. It’s a lot fuller than I imagine most kids’ permanent records are.
After an unnecessarily long moment of tension, the principal finally speaks.
“Mrs. Frazier, this is Chase, Chase, this is—”
“Doctor,” the ferret interrupts, standing to shake my hand, “ Doctor Frazier. It’s good to finally meet you, Chase, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“All of it good, I hope,” I nervously joke, knowing that it isn’t.
Neither of them laughs.
“Chase, I’m a child psychiatrist hired by the district to—” Dr. Frazier starts to explain.
“Nope,” I interrupt.
“Pardon?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I said I’m not interested,” I sneer, before turning towards the principal, “Can I go now?”
“I told you,” the principal snarks at Dr. Frazier.
“But Chase, you haven’t even—” Frazier tries to protest.
“You’re a shrink,” I state simply, “I’m not interested in seeing any more fucking shrinks.”
“Chase,” the principal warns, a low growl in the back of his throat.
I roll my eyes.
“Sorry, I meant to say ‘I’m not interested in seeing any more fucking freaking shrinks,’ is that better?” I hiss.
“See what I mean?” the principal smirks at Frazier.
“Chase, we need to discuss your—”
“I just said, I’m not interested ,” I snarl, “Can I go now? I’ve still got lunch to eat.”
She looks perplexed at that.
“You were meant to bring your lunch with you,” she says.
“Well, did the announcement say that?” I ask pointedly.
She glances towards the principal and clicks her tongue.
“No, I suppose it didn’t,” she admits.
“Great, then I’m going,” I insist. Just as I turn to leave, I hear the bell ring.
“Great,” I snarl, “Too fucking late now, I guess.”
“Chase, I warned you about—” the principal starts.
“Yeah,” I snap, “I heard you the first time.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” the principal says to Frazier, “Some of these kids are just beyond helping.”
Now I know that something is wrong. The principal is never— and I mean never — this calm about anything. What the hell is he up to?
“And I told you ,” the ferret asserts, “That you’re not qualified, or being asked, to determine which students are ‘beyond helping’.”
“I’ll remind you…” the principal retorts, a bit of anger seeping into his tone. Holy shit, they’re really getting into it, aren’t they? “…that this is my school, and I don’t take kindly to—”
“And I’ll remind you ,” she responds, artificially calm, “That I don’t work for ‘your’ school, but rather, for the district.”
“I would think, with the fact that I provide you with an office here, and—”
“The superintendent requires you to provide me with a workspace,” Dr. Frazier interrupts, clearly not interested in taking any bullshit, “So, while I appreciate it, it would be inappropriate to treat it as a personal favor, wouldn’t you agree?”
The principal chews on that a minute, clearly fuming, but unable to come up with a response.
“Can I go now, please?” I whine.
That shitty smirk is back on his face now.
“Of course, Chase. Get to class,” he grins.
There’s definitely something going on here.
But it’s probably not my problem. I shoulder my backpack and walk out the door.
*****
I’ve only made it a few steps away from the principal’s office when I hear Dr. Frazier’s voice call out to me.
“Chase, may I have a word?” she calls after me.
I turn around.
“Pretty sure you already did,” I insist.
“Chase, I’m just asking for five minutes of your time,” she says gently.
There are a million different things I want to say to that, but all of them are problem child shit. So I choke them down as best as I can.
“What’s in it for me?” I finally ask. The bell rings, emanating from the intercom speaker above us, and I know that I’m officially late for chemistry.
“It’s time that you don’t have to spend in class?” she offers hopefully.
I’ll give her credit, she knows her audience.
*****
Dr. Frazier leads me down the hallway, to a back entrance to the office area; a long, narrow hallway on the opposite side of the main office from the principal’s office She pulls a set of keys out of her purse, unlocks one of the many unlabeled doors in this hallway, and pushes it open. She gestures for me to enter as she flips the lights on.
Inside is just a countertop, a single filing cabinet, and two chairs.
This is the office that the principal was bragging about providing her? It’s literally just a room.
“You can have a seat, if you like,” she offers, gesturing.
“I’m fine,” I huff, crossing my arms.
“Alright, then,” she hums, reaching into her purse, and pulling out the manilla folder that had been on the principal’s desk.
“Chase, as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now, I’m here because you were involved in an… altercation … recently. With a Mr. Alvarez?” she says expectantly.
“Yeah, I was,” I wrinkle my nose, “And?”
“And I’m sure you’re also aware, that this is far from the only time that you’ve been involved in such altercations?”
“I am ‘aware’ , yes,” I hum.
“Well, as you may or may not be aware, the school board has asked me to intervene. Apparently they feel that you’re something of a problem ch—”
“I get that a lot,” I interrupt.
“So, the school board has asked me to determine whether or not you’d do better in a remedial school,” she explains, her eyes watching me closely for a reaction.
I don’t give her one.
Fucking shrinks.
“And?” I deadpan.
“Chase, you did understand what I just said, right?” she asks cautiously.
“Yep,” I respond.
“You know, most kids would be upset at the prospect,” she scolds.
“Sucks to be most kids, I guess,” I hum, “Is that everything?”
“So you’re fine with that?” she asks incredulously, “You don’t have any extracurriculars you’d miss?”
“I don’t do any extracurriculars,” I explain.
“No classes you’d miss?” she offers.
I laugh.
“Nope.”
“No friends you’d miss getting to see?” she asks cautiously.
Of course, I finally do have that. But she’s bluffing, and I know it.
“Nope,” I shrug, “I can hang out with my friends outside of school. All my friends live in Echo anyways.”
She sighs in defeat.
“Alright, if that’s truly how you feel—”
“It is,” I say. It isn’t, but I’m sure as fuck not seeing a shrink.
“Then I guess I have no choice but to advise that the school board have you transferred. The school is across town from here, so you’d have to arrange transportation—”
“What, they’re gonna send a whole school bus all the way out to Echo just for me?” I smirk.
“Well, no, Chase. I said that you will have to arrange for transportation. Your mother would have to drop you off,” she explains.
I shake my head.
“Good luck with that. My mom works mornings, so there’s no way she can give me a ride,” I smirk, “So I guess you can’t transfer me after all.”
“Well, she would have to, Chase,” Frazier says firmly, “Or you would be considered truant.”
My smile falters slightly.
“Meaning…?” I ask.
“Meaning that you, and she, could end up in legal trouble, if you didn’t show up to your classes there,” she explains.
She’s bluffing.
She has to be.
“Y— You can’t do that!” I insist. I try to sound firm, but it comes out as more of a plea, and I realize that my own poker face is broken.
“I wouldn’t be doing it, Chase,” she says, “The sheriff’s office would. And believe me, they can .”
“But she can’t bring me, she has work,” I insist, sounding more and more like a blubbering child, “How’s she supposed to—”
“I suppose she would have to get a different job, or start later, so that she could—”
“We can’t afford that!” I snap, only realizing after the fact how loud I’m getting. We both stand in tense silence for a moment, me seething, trying to come up with something else to say; her, just watching me thoughtfully.
Finally she speaks.
“Chase, can I be honest with you for a moment?” she asks.
You’re a shrink, so probably not.
“Chase, I’ve been looking over your records. I won’t insult your intelligence and tell you that they look good. They don’t. You have a long history of flouting rules, insulting authority, and getting into altercations with your classmates,” she begins.
I feel myself involuntarily smirk at that.
“But I’m not convinced that you’re a serious danger to your classmates, or to the school. And I’m not convinced that a remedial facility is the best place for someone like you.”
“So?” I ask cautiously.
“So, I’d like to make a deal with you. If you agree to see me once a week, over lunch, then I can tell the school board that you’re cooperating with me. We can talk about whatever you want. Just so long as you keep showing up, and keep yourself out of trouble, then I can tell them that you’re cooperating, and can recommend that they not remove you to the remedial facility,” she finishes.
I raise an eyebrow.
“So, you’re blackmailing me?” I ask.
“I’m not blackmailing you, Chase,” she insists.
“You’re just saying that if I don’t meet with you, you’re going to transfer me to the ‘remedial facility’, or find me truant, or whatever,” I insist, adding, “Sure sounds like blackmail.”
“I’m not doing any of that, Chase. The school board wants to transfer you. Not me,” she says.
“Still feels like blackmail from my end,” I huff.
“Well, there’s not really anything either of us can do about that,” she observes. “Can I expect you tomorrow?”
“Sounds like I don’t have a choice,” I spit.
“Of course you do, Chase. You can choose not to show up, and risk getting transferred. Or you can choose to show up, and stay here.” I’m about to protest, when she adds, “We get to choose our actions, Chase, but we don’t get to choose their consequences.”
I mull that over for a moment.
“I’ll think about it,” I finally mutter, knowing full well I’m going to be in this room tomorrow.
“Alright then, I’ll get you a hall pass, and you can head to class,” she explains, opening the door for me.
“Whatever,” I growl under my breath.
*****
By the time I get to chemistry, the students are standing at the lab tables, doing whatever experiment is on the menu for today. I toss my hall pass on the teacher’s desk and head towards where Micha stands, absentmindedly clicking the striker as he talks to Heather.
“About time you showed up,” Micha smirks, “Thought you might have died or something.”
“Why would you think that?” I ask.
“I mean you get your ass kicked by Leo yesterday—”
“I didn’t get my… Ugh, whatever,” I sigh.
“Then you’re not in class today, I just figured he might have killed you or something,” Micha shrugs, “Fuck me for caring, I guess.”
“Micha, we…” I stammer, “I talked to you yesterday, after that happened.”
“So maybe you ended up with internal bleeding or some shit, I don’t know,” Micha groans, “Just noticed you weren’t here, is all. Toby’s the nurse here, not me.”
“Micha, I’m—” T.J. starts to explain, before thinking better of it, shaking his head, and returning to the assignment.
“So, what are we doing here?” I ask, gesturing towards the lab supplies on the table.
“Fuck if I know,” Micha shrugs, “I was just gonna let those two do it, then copy their answers.”
I give Micha a slightly disappointed look. A look that Heather must notice, because she chimes in.
“It’s okay, Chase, we agreed we’d let him have our answers,” she beams.
“Um, actually, I don’t think everyone agreed to that?” T.J. tries to assert.
“Shut up, Toby,” Micha snarls. T.J.’s ears go flat and his nose wrinkles, but again, he knows better than to reply, and starts reading something from the textbook instead.
“So, Chase…” Micha says softly, like he doesn’t want anyone to hear, “You’re really okay though?”
I chuckle.
“Yeah, man, I’m fine. Not the first bruise I’ve gotten, believe it or not,” I assure him.
“Yeah, even so… Shit,” Micha shakes his head, “I mean, Leo …”
“Yeah, believe me, I know,” I admit.
“So why the hell’d you do it? I mean, seems like Bronson kind of dug his own grave on that one,” Micha says.
“It’s like I told you, man,” I insist, “I’m not a narc.”
He gives me a strange look.
“I mean, yeah, but…” he pauses as he tries to work out how to say what he wants to say, “…there’s being principled, then there’s being, like, suicidal .”
I shrug.
“I guess. But, I mean, I’m still here, right?” I point out, before adding, “Ugh, and speaking of principal …”
“Oh yeah,” Micha nods, “I remember hearing them call you to the office, what was that about?”
“More of the usual,” I hum nonchalantly, “They’re pissed because I got into an ‘altercation’, so they want me to see this shrink.”
“You’re not gonna actually go, are you?” he grins.
“I’ve got no choice,” I sigh, “They’ll send me to a fucking ‘remedial facility’ if I don’t.”
Micha’s face gets serious.
“Wait, really?” he asks.
“Uh…” I start, taken aback by his sudden concern, “Yeah, I guess. But it’s not a big deal, so don’t worry about it.”
“If you say so,” Micha hems, before snorting, “Pfft, listen to you. Like I give a fuck about your corny ass.”
“You’d miss it,” I smirk, “I’ll tell you what, if I get transferred, I’ll let you kiss my ass goodbye before I leave.”
“Is that an offer?” Micha raises an eyebrow.
“More like a threat,” I reply.
*****
After school, I head towards the bus line, like I always do. After the long, annoying day I’ve had, I can’t wait to get home and… I dunno, take a nap, or something. I’m just glad that they day is finally over.
My phone buzzes.
Sydney: Hey, where you at?
I look around for a moment, puzzled by the question.
Getting in the bus line, why?
Sydney: Well get out of the bus line.
Sydney: TJs mom will give us a ride
Sydney: Karen wont let you get off at the stop by my house anyways
Stop by Sydney’s house? What the hell is he—?
Oh. Fuck. I did tell him I’d do that today, didn’t I?
“Ugghhhh”, I let out a long anguished groan, and head towards the opposite parking lot, where a line of cars, presumably including T.J.’s mom’s, awaits.
*****
“So, how do you wanna do this?” Syd asks.
I have no idea.
Sydney stands in front of me, in his bathtub, wearing a pair of entirely-too-small, and strangely familiar, swim trunks. When I say too small, I mean that I can see the outline of… everything.
I know that I’ve seen him naked before, but this somehow seems more invasive.
He notices me staring.
“Give me a break, dude, I haven’t gotten new swim trunks since I was, like, ten,” he grumbles.
“Why not?” I ask dumbly.
He gives me a look.
“Because I haven’t needed any?” he finally suggests. Duh. If he hasn’t been in a body of water since that day, why would he have kept buying swim trunks?
Then I realize why the swim trunks seem so familiar. They’re those swim trunks. The ones he was wearing that day when I—
“Chase?” he beckons.
“Oh, uh…” I drone for a moment, unsure how we’re meant to go about this. “So, you don’t have any issue with showers, right?”
“Of course not,” he shakes his head, “I mean… You’ve seen me shower.”
I feel a stirring in my shorts, and find myself reminded of a video game Carl and I used to play.
“Now isn’t the time to use that!”
“Okay, uh…” I hum, “So, I know you can’t go under in the bath. Can you take a bath otherwise?”
“Uh, I guess I don’t really know?” Sydney replies, “Once I realized I couldn’t soak, it started to seem useless to take baths? Like, showers are five times faster, y’know?”
“Yeah, okay. So maybe we start there? Just try to take a bath, with your head above water, and see how that feels?” I suggest. Why the hell did I volunteer for this?
Because I thought he would say no. Because I thought I could feel less guilty without having to actually do anything.
“Uh, okay, sure,” Sydney shrugs, and begins running the bathwater.
We stand in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of the bath filling. Then Sydney speaks.
“Hey, Chase?” he says, snapping out of my daze.
“Uh, yeah?” I ask.
“I just wanted to thank you, you know, for doing this,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow.
“I haven’t done anything,” I say.
“Yeah, but I mean…” he sighs, “I know this probably isn’t comfortable for you, you know? This is the closest we’ve come to, you know, talking about it.”
It. That day.
“Uh, yeah, I…” I try to think of something reassuring to say, but can’t. “Look, don’t worry about it. I’m glad I can help. You know, if I can help.”
“Right,” Sydney hums sadly as he turns the water off, “Still, I appreciate you coming over. And trying, you know?”
I hug my tail against myself.
“Yeah, sure,” I hum.
The bathroom is awkwardly silent for a moment.
“Now what?” Sydney asks.
“Oh, uh…” I sigh, “I guess just try to sit down in the bath? Don’t go under or anything, just try to lie down like you normally would in the bath, you know. If you weren’t an otter.”
“Right,” Sydney nods, before hesitantly looking down at the water beneath him. He— very slowly— drops to a crouch, then slides his legs out, sitting in the bath.
“Guess I can do it, after all,” he smirks. But I can tell he’s nervous. His hands are gripping the sides of the bathtub, like he’s expecting to have to pull himself out at a moment’s notice.
“Uh, yeah, you’re…” I pause, unsure how to encourage him without sounding patronizing, “You’re doing great.”
“Heh, yeah,” he chuckles softly to himself. “I haven’t gotten this much praise just for sitting on my ass since I was potty trained, I think,” he jokes.
“Heh, sure,” I laugh back nervously.
“This doesn’t really feel like anything though,” he huffs.
“You sure?” I ask cautiously, again noting the way his claws grip the side of the tub.
“I need to be able to go under,” he insists.
“Um…” I say hesitantly, “Then, I guess, try going under? I’ll be here if you need me.”
He offers a curt nod, then slides so that just his muzzle sticks up above the water. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.
Then, after a few moments, he exhales and opens them.
He tries again, inhaling, closing his eyes, and trying to force his head under.
But his subconscious won’t let him.
“Fuck,” he finally mutters.
“Look, if you can’t do it, that’s alright,” I reassure.
He shakes his head angrily.
“No, it’s not,” he growls, “I want to swim again. Sitting in a fucking bathtub isn’t swimming.”
“Yeah, but—” I begin.
“I need to go under,” he insists.
“Syd, I don’t know if—”
“Well, I do. I need to go under,” he repeats.
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“I…” he mumbles, “I need you to help me.”
“Help? Help how?” I ask.
“I need you to hold me under.”
“What?” I balk, “No fucking way!”
“Chase, if I try to force myself under I’ll just come back up, I need you to help me with this, man,” he pleads.
“Sydney, I—”
“Just put your hand on my chest, and sort of hold me, so I don’t float up on my own, you know? I’ll tap out if it gets to be too much,” he reassures me. He takes my hand and places it on his chest, then taps my wrist gently as a demonstration.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” I mumble.
“Well, I do, so just do it,” he insists, and there’s an edge in his tone I haven’t heard before. Or at least, not in a long, long time.
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose again.
“Ugh, fine,” I finally relent, “Just tap me when you need up, I’ll pull you up, okay?”
“Got it,” he says, with a confidence so fake even I can tell he’s bluffing.
I gently place my hand on his chest, and he responds by gently gripping my wrist with both of his hands. He gives me a steely look. I sigh, and gently press him under.
He immediately starts thrashing and flailing. Instead of tapping me, as agreed, his claws start frantically tearing at my arm. I try to grip his chest fur, but can’t get a good enough grip to pull him up. Finally, I bend over the tub and grab his shoulder with my free hand, and yank him out of the water.
He coughs and sputters for a moment, gripping my arms tightly, and I notice a cloud of yellow spreading from his trunks into the surrounding bath water. After a moment of heavy heaving, he finally calms down.
Or at least, transitions from scared to pissed off.
“God dammit!” he shouts, slapping the surface of the water in frustration.
“Let’s do it again,” he snaps.
“What? Sydney, are you—”
“I’m fine, Chase. We’re doing it again,” he insists.
“No, you’re not fine,” I argue.
“Yes, I am , Chase, now help me go under again,” he insists, his tone growing more irate.
“No, you’re clearly not,” I insist.
“Chase, I’m fucking fine! Now help me—”
“You fucking pissed yourself, dude!” I finally snap at him. He looks down at the bath water.
“God fucking dammit,” he grumbles in irritation as he reaches for the drain plug. He stands up and lets the water run off of him.
“We’ll run fresh water, then do it again,” he says.
“What?” I gasp in surprise, “Sydney, we’re not doing that again.”
“Yes, we are, Chase,” he insists, and I can’t help but be irritated at his authoritative tone. “I’m fine, I just freaked out a little, okay?”
“You think?” I snap, holding my clawed forearm up for him to see.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, “It won’t happen again, I just—”
“No, it won’t happen again,” I insist, “Because we’re not doing that again.”
“Yes, we fucking are, ” he insists, his tone growing harsh again.
“No, we’re—”
“You said you’d fucking help me!” he snaps. “This is all your fault anyway, right? So fucking help me!”
“My fault!?” I balk, before realizing what he’s getting at. In some stupid, fucked way, I know he’s right.
“You know what? Fuck you!” I spit, “You hated me before, you can just hate me again, right? I’m not doing this!”
“I’m telling you, Chase, I can handle it!” he insists.
“Well, maybe I can’t ! Did you ever think of that!?” I yell at him. “I know this is hard for you to believe, but I’m not actually in love with the idea of holding you under the fucking water, man!”
“Well, that’s too damn bad!” Sydney hisses, “You fucking said you’d help. So man up and do it already!”
I just shake my head sullenly.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, “I’m leaving.”
I turn towards the door and pull it open. I spare him another glance.
“What the fuck is your deal, anyw—”
“I can’t hurt him again,” comes the sudden reply.
I narrow my eyes and push the door shut. Sydney isn’t looking at me, instead staring straight ahead at his reflection in the mirror.
“Can’t hurt who again?” I ask.
Sydney furrows his brow.
“T.J.” he says softly, “I can’t… I can’t start doing this again.”
“I thought he forgave you?” I respond.
“He did. He always does,” Sydney shakes his head, “But he shouldn’t. Chase, I’m not a little kid anymore. I could hurt him, Chase.”
“You’d never—” I start, but know better than to finish it. Because I know he’s right.
“Oh, no?” he replies, “What happens if I have a knife in my hand when I have one of my little episodes, huh? What then? Or what if there’s a baseball bat nearby?”
“Syd…” I weakly reply.
“Or what about when I start driving? And I see him on the sidewalk, and the fucking voice tells me to run him down? Or he’s in the passenger seat, and I get the fucking impulse to kick him out while we’re doing sixty on Flint?” he gasps, on the verge of tears. “I’m dangerous, Chase. If I keep having episodes, it doesn’t matter how many times he forgives me. He’ll have to stay the fuck away from me.”
He wipes tears from his eyes.
“I won’t let him stay close to me if he’s not safe, Chase,” Sydney insists, “I can’t.”
“Sydney, I know you sometimes hurt him, but…” I trail off for a moment, unsure of how to finish that thought, “You wouldn’t kill him. I don’t believe that for a second.”
“I don’t know what I’d do, Chase, that’s the problem,” Sydney sighs, shutting the bath water off. He looks at me, like he’s deciding whether or not to tell me something. Then he sighs dejectedly.
“Do you remember the day of the shuttle run?” he asks.
I think back.
“I remember eating shit,” I say, “And I remember you helping me back up. Why?”
“Do you remember… When I mentioned having a nightmare? But a different one from the usual?” he asks warily.
That’s right. That’s the morning I dreamed he didn’t get away.
The morning I killed him.
“Uh, yeah, maybe I remember that,” I mumble. I don’t know where this is going, but I know it isn’t anywhere I want to be.
“So, I have this one nightmare a lot,” he explains, “About that day at the lake. It’s not really even a dream, exactly. More like a memory. I torture T.J., you tackle me, I escape. Just like how it happened, you know?”
“Uh… sure,” I hem. I really, really don’t want to have this conversation.
“Well, that day, it was different than the others,” he begins.
Oh God.
I don’t know how, but he had the same dream.
“Oh?” I ask, trying to sound like I’m not freaking out.
“Yeah. So it started out the same, with me holding T.J.’s head under, only…”
He takes a deep breath, and I prepare for the worst.
“Only you never showed up, man,” he explains.
“I… What?” I ask, confused.
“You usually show up to shove me off of him, you know? But you just… never came. I looked up, and you weren’t anywhere around,” he says.
“Oh, that’s… weird,” I say, unsure of how to respond.
“You don’t get it, do you, man?” Sydney sobs, “You didn’t show up. Nobody did. So there was no one there to stop me.”
His voice cracks slightly, and I can tell he’s trying to hold back tears.
“I killed him Chase. In my dream, no one stopped me, and… I drowned T.J.”
He pinches at the bridge of his nose, but I know enough to know that it’s just a ploy to hide his tears, so I busy myself reading a shampoo label to give him some space. After a few sobs, he finally takes a deep breath.
“So I can’t give up on this, Chase,” he says finally. “I need you to help me. Please,” he begs, “I won’t make you, but… Just, please, Chase.”
I look into his sad blue eyes.
“Look, I said I’d help, and I meant it,” I tell him, “But I don’t know if I can hold you under like that. That day isn’t exactly a fond memory for me, either.”
He looks at me guiltily.
“I’m sorry for being like that earlier,” he says, “I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to from now on, okay? I promise. I really meant it, you know? When I said I appreciated you even showing up.”
“Hey, man,” I assure him, “It’s really no problem. It’s the least I can do, considering…”
“That’s the other thing,” Sydney mumbles, looking away, embarrassed, “I’m sorry for saying that this is your fault. That was fucked.”
Yeah, it kind of was.
But was he wrong?
“None of this is your fault,” Sydney says.
“I mean, it kind of is, though,” I argue.
Sydney shakes his head angrily.
“No, it’s not man,” he insists, “You only did that because… Look, my fuck ups are my own, okay?”
“Syd, you know I don’t blame you for something you did when you were a kid, right?” I offer.
“I would,” he replies.
I take a deep breath, unsure what to say to that.
“What do your episodes have to do with this though?” I ask, gesturing to the bathtub.
“Well, it’s like I said before, you know?” he explains, “I need to know that I’m the one in control. Whether it’s phobias, or my episodes, or whatever, you know? I can’t help but feel like maybe if I can figure out how to deal with my water problem, maybe I can learn to control my other issues. Plus, it’s like you said, it’s not really healthy for me to subsist on just showers, you know, as an otter. Going without soaking probably isn’t helping my mental state.”
I feel a pang of guilt upon learning yet another way my actions have fucked up Sydney’s life.
“If it helps,” I offer, “I don’t think you’re quite as crazy as you seem to think you are.”
Sydney shrugs.
“We’re all crazy in Echo, aren’t we?”
*****
Mom comes home to find me sprawled out on the couch, watching some sitcom on TV. It takes me a moment to realize that she’s staring at me. I sit up and look over at her.
“What?” I ask.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she says.
“Talk about what?” I balk.
“The counselor.”
How does she always know?
“How did you know?” I ask.
“They made me sign some paperwork, to get your old charts. You know, from the other psychiatrists,” she explains.
“Oh God,” I moan, “Please tell me that doesn’t include—”
“That includes Doctor Reskin, yes,” she confirms.
“Oh, fuck,” I whine, “Well, that’s gonna be a fun conversation.”
“Chase, you were only twelve,” she reassures me, “No one is going to judge you for what you said back then.”
“I’m only fifteen now, Mom,” I point out, “And it sure seems like people judge the fuck out of what I say now.”
She shrugs.
“Well, I already signed the papers, so…” she trails off.
“Yep. So I’m fucked,” I sigh.
“I was surprised, you know,” she says.
“About what?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, you had been so adamant about not seeing a shrink, I was just surprised—”
“It’s not exactly my choice,” I grumble.
“What does that mean?” she asks.
“It means that I can either see her, or go to the fucking remedial school,” I explain.
“Still sounds like a choice,” she hums, “Just not a very good one. But it’s still up to you.”
I eye her suspiciously.
“You two must have had quite a talk,” I say accusingly.
“No, I didn’t get to meet her, the office just had the papers,” Mom explains, “Why?”
I’m not sure if I believe her.
“She just said something really similar to that, is all,” I finally offer.
“Maybe that’s because it’s actually good advice ?” she offers sarcastically.
“That’s one theory,” I mutter.