Strong on the Surface

He woke in a sweat, fear clinging to him like the small beads across his forehead. The memory of the dream hung precariously on the edges of his mind, threatening to be lost forever in the transition between subconscious and consciousness. The deep shadows, etching across the corners of the room alerted him, even in his sleepy state, of the deep hour of night. Without fully awakening, fearing that such a thing would force him to loose grasp on the significant dream, he turned over to face the woman beside him. 1

The sheets twisted about his figure gently, the small pull leaving the woman undisturbed in her peaceful slumber. The deep blonde curls highlighted her soft features even in the dim night, rosy lips pursed into an expression of such bliss that he would not dare wake her for the world. But with the sight of his beloved came a bittersweet twinge, the dream creeping back into the edges of his mind. 2

Her tear stricken face, rain soaked clothes, stood out hollow in his mind. He felt himself grow cold as the memory threatened to engulf him once more with a life threatening panic. 3

He needed some fresh air to clear his head. 4

What once was a fear, now became a frantic attempt to forget and press the memories of the dream into the far corners of his subconscious, where they could do him no harm. 5

Slipping on a pair of jeans, a clean shirt, and a leather jacket he stepped outside of the small apartment, wrapping his arms around his chest. The chilly autumn air was such a contrast to the warmth found beneath thick covers that he was soon jerked into full awareness. Stepping to the edge of the rusty railings, he peered over and out into the streets below. 6

The boughs of the streets below were darkened by recent rain, freshness wafting and holding the air down heavily. The scent sent shivers of painful nostalgia through the man, but he couldn't recall why. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breathe, the scent filling him. 7

A bright flash of light overcame him, the screams of a woman, pain coursing through him in one quick thunder. His knees buckled, only his grip on the railing keeping him upright. Lungs tightened and his muscles clenched as if in reaction to the memory.8

Memory? Or dream?9

As soon as he was certain his legs would support him he turned, quickly stepping back into the apartment. His heart was racing, yet there was no reason for panic. A drink, that was what he needed, or maybe just a friendly ear. As he stepped back into the bedroom his eyes drifted on the sleeping woman.10

She was so peaceful, there was no way he could wake her over a silly dream. No, he had caused her enough troubles that day. They would just get into another bitter argument, create another scar in both their hearts. She needed, deserved, and earned her rest. Reaching over he gently brushed the strands of her disorganized hair behind her ear. 11

Grabbing an envelope he scribbled out on the back, "Went out for a drink." Then with an after thought he added, "Keep me in your memories babe." Tacking his signature on the end, he placed it on the empty pillow beside her. 12

Keep me in your memories. It was the words she said to him after their first date, when he dropped her off back at that white picket fence home. From that day on it became their signature, their little saying for each other. It was their goodbye, their form of a see-you-later. 13

As he trudged down the damp streets, littered with a few people or late night drivers, a strange feeling overtook him. Dejavu couldn't quite describe it. It was like being caught in a dream, so realistic that he wasn't sure if he was really sleeping or not. 14

Frantic cries and screams echoed in his head, causing him to slow in his step. He could see Lira, oh dear Lira with her beautiful curly hair stumbling through the streets, calling out his name. Guilt and fear overtook him instantly, watching his dream through woken eyes. 15

Tears streamed her face, pjs damp and dirty from falling. Her voice was hoarse, like she had been calling for hours. "Please! Tell me you saw him! Please! Dear God please tell me where he is!"16

The people only stared at her grimly. Lost her mind, he could practically see the thoughts written across their faces. Anger bubbled up, not at the people but at himself. What could of, even in the confines of a sane-less dream, possessed him to leave her in such a state? As the ghostly visions of his dream-- no, more like nightmare-- faded away he forced himself to keep walking. By the time he reached the pub only a few blocks away he was sweating again, and it was taking all his will power to calm himself.17

As he stepped into cheery, drunk filled room he was met with a grunted hello from the bartender. Taking a seat, the friendly faced man addressed him, "Hey man I thought I'd see you earlier. Most the crowd is already gone."18

Slightly hunched forward on the counter, hands folded in front of him he muttered, "Got into a fight with the wife so I was delayed." This was not a pleasant change of thought. 19

"Damn, again? What about this time?"20

"Same as always," he said, then musing to himself, "just the same as always." He must of still looked pale or a bit terror stricken because the bartender was giving him a strange expression. He then sighed heavily, sitting up a bit, "Give me a beer and I'll be good."21

As the bottle was slid over to him, his eyes and attention began to wander in an attempt to distract himself, both from the bad memories of that evening and the dream. The fight had to be the reason for the nightmares, that had to be it.22

There were only a few other people in the pub; some locals who stopped by every week, a couple googling at each other in the corner, and a woman alone. Placing her money on the counter, the woman stood, steadying herself as she did. Fumbling for her things she walked out, a small wallet escaping her loose grasp as she did. Normally he would of ignored and dismissed such a thing. But the woman, she looked so familiar, like an old colleague or something. Her wallet landed a mere foot from him, and out of habit he bent down to pick it up. 23

"Wait you dropped your," he started, looking up to see her already out the door. Aw come on!24

With a irritable groan he jumped up, quickly following her out. Why did the singles always have to drink themselves into a stupor? It was so annoying when-- hey wait a minute where was she going?25

The woman, clutter clutched against her chest, had broke into a full out run down the street, little legs carrying her like an olympian. What the heck? Was she really that drunk? Why did sympathy have to tug at his heart this difficult night? 26

Half reluctantly he broke into a run after her, his pitiful calls no more significant to the woman then a passing breeze. As she went around a corner he was forced to pick up pace, shoes pounding rhythmically against the damp ground. 27

The sound, it sent another stab of nostalgia through him.28

As he reached the corner he was pleased to see the woman had stopped, a couple yards away in the middle of the street. Taking in a deep breathe he lifted the wallet into the air, calling out again. "Ma'am your wallet!" 29

The woman turned to him, wide eyed and fiery. She waived her purse at him menacing. "Leave me alone you vandal!" she called in slurred words, making the sentence almost impossible to understand. 30

Ah come on! Was that why she ran? The "vandal" starting walking forward slowly, arms held up in hopes to calm her. "Ma'am I'm just trying to give you your--" his words were drowned out by the squealing of tires, an earsplitting sound on this peaceful night, against asphalt, impending as the rising sun. Bright white headlights blinded the man as the car turned around the corner at full speed, back end sliding from beneath it. 31

It was all a blur of motion, raw reaction, and little thought. His feet moved, hands coming in contact with skin, eyes turning towards the white headlights. Then, everything became pitch black pain. 32

Lira, the woman still lying peacefully in bed was stirred awake, not by dream or strange feelings, but by the simple drop of temperature from a missing body. She turned over, a small complaint on the edge of her lips. Only, the blankets were all that accompanied her and no ear was there to receive her words. Sitting up slowly her eyes pried the dark for some form of an answer for the missing husband. 33

Her hand briskly brushed the rough textured envelope, the touch so vivid in her half asleep state. Surprised, she lifted it up, eyes scanning over the words.34

Went out for a drink.
Keep me in your memories babe.
Cain35

Her dainty finger traced the name of her beloved with a bittersweet smile. They hadn't used their little saying in long time. She was surprised he even remember it. As she sat there, her restless mind kept her from lying back down and sleeping her peaceful slumber. She would never tell him, but that bed was so lonely without him. 36

She reached for the remote at her bed side, blinking rapidly as the light flooded the room. For a a couple minutes she sat there, flipping through channels with little interest. Most of it was news. As she passed one of the local channels her eyes caught the highlights of some accident in the area.37

Half heartily and perked interest she flipped back.
Hit and run.
One pedestrian injured, a middle aged woman.
One pedestrian killed.
Man in his late twenties.
Police
No sign of the car
ID
was
found...38

It was like the world had shattered around her, the words coming in at mixed garbles. She couldn't get herself to move, to take her eyes off the screen. Sound was no longer registering correctly and for a moment she could of sworn hearing the sound of a passing ambulance. No, no this couldn't be happening. It had to be another Cain, a different guy. Oh please no. 39

She stumbled out of the bedroom, throwing the door open to the frosty air. "Cain!" 40

Everything was a blur. Her feet stumbled along the wet cold ground, falling, tripping. She stopped anyone, everyone she saw. "Please, please tell me where he is," she would repeat over and over again. 41

But no one would listen, because no one else cared. 42

And as the man, lying there on the ground, world darkening around him, felt the blood trickling, he realized what was done. The drunk woman sat there, screaming hysterics, as her knees and hands were drenched in the lifeblood of her savior. 43

Lira, oh poor Lira. He was leaving her alone, with last memories of hate staining her image of him. Some would say he was strong, having the courage to dodge in front of that car for a woman he didn't know. But he knew the truth, the limit to his strength, the cowardice that shown through in those fights, those arguments with Lira. 44

Crimson trickled from his mouth, eyes widening.
He spoke soft, muted words that were meant for ears that would never hear them.
"Keep me in your memory babe."45

"And please, leave out all the rest."