PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE STARTING THE STORY!
Before I begin, I only came up with this idea last night. Yes, it is a fantasy story, but I'm not going to introduce all the horrors of that world in the first page. So although it seems pretty "every-day life", it's not. There is very little love involved (although there is a side-story to keep the character development).
Also, I'm posting this here for fun. To please no one but myself. Sorry. I shall post when I want, whenever I want, replies or not. PLEASE don't ask me to write more, or when I'm posting again, or if I've given up. In the past, those comments seem too demanding to me, and I do actually give up in the end. I'm trying not to lose my enthusiasm with this story, so if you wish me to write more, be patient! Even if it is a few weeks between posts. Feel free to encourage me in my writing (I'll need it), and I welcome comments and constructive criticism. I'm trying to become a GOOD writer, not a POPULAR writer. Do bare in mind that I do have several university course grades in English literature, so I do have a basic understanding on how to write, but if you spot a typo or mistake, go ahead and point it out! I've probably made a fair few. The format appears to change on Anonymatrix, so paragraph indentations are cancelled out. Because of this, I'm inserting a line break in between each, that will not be included in the original copy. So hopefully it isn't too difficult for you to read. Thank you, and enjoy!
Chapter 1
"Mr. Sanchez, I need those files on my desk in five minutes."
Morgan's eyes were cold and black and they glared down at Drake Sanchez as though wishing nothing but ill on the man. He then continued to walk briskly away, adjusting his tie as though he owned the place, and Drake was dirty scum that had marked the matte grey carpets. Morgan took one last look around the room as though wishing to catch one of his employees doing anything but work, before unnecessarily slamming his office door shut, making the frosted glass in its frame shiver as though it was made of fear, not sand.
Drake leant back on his chair, suspending it on hind legs as he placed both of his boots on the desk. He opened a drawer in his desk and flipped through a small handful of files, choosing a particular one, and sliding the drawer shut. To any man, this file would seem headache-worthy, with is complexity of figures and scripts that would make very little sense to the uneducated. But to Drake, this file was the epitome of excitement. $4,000,000 was saved with this file, and once the report was written, Drake was sure that a raise would be soaring his way. He glanced at the recently slammed door, and could see the sketchy silhouette of Morgan pacing his office. Perhaps a raise was too much to ask for, but a small bonus would at least be warranted.
"Coffee, sir?" A soft voice pierced his thoughts and Drake looked up, quickly removing his feet from the desk in fright.
"Thanks, Ash." He exhaled gratefully, his heart racing at sudden appearance of his assistant.
"And your wife left these." She placed a small pile of paper-clipped business cards beside his coffee mug. Ashley smiled and walked back to her own desk, and Drake picked up the cards. Ashley wasn't the beautiful bomb-shell of an assistant, but she was friendly and got the job done. In fact, she did more than her work. Ashley worked hard to set appointments for Drake's clients, as well as typed up various files, took his phone calls, and even took his suits to the dry-cleaners if a late night at the office was needed. It was surprising that this girl had the time to do so much, and Drake often wondered if she ever slept. Every once in a while, an emergency case would crop up, and Drake wasn't the most organized man in the world, so locating the correct files for the job wasn't easy. In cases like these, he would send Ashley a quick text, and almost immediately, he would receive a reply at no matter what ludicrous time of the night. Ashley would be seen drinking copious amounts of coffee, and supporting heavy bags under her eyes that no amount of make-up could cover. However, this was expected from someone in her position. It was near impossible to enter a career in the law firm, and expect to maintain your appearance. There was the odd day that Drake had failed to shave the morning before work, but he held such a rugged look anyway that it seemed to fit with his persona. Although smart dressing was mandatory at the office, Drake rarely wore a business suit. His suit jackets were more casual, and his tie was only fully tight around his neck in order to hide the fact that he almost never did up his top button.
The cards that his wife left all bore pictures of balloons, clowns, and birthday cakes. Drake frowned at them before quickly shuffling through the business names, then throwing them down on his desk. Why did they need caterers for a two year old? His son would probably appreciate a collection of miniature sausages and his own father contorting balloons into various animal shapes as he would a clown. And the chances that this memory would stick with him past a few months was laughable. Drake glared at the cards as though they had insulted him, and he dared not imagine the prices that these costly activities demanded from him. The clock read fifteen minutes to four, and Drake leant back on his chair once more and sighed. He wanted to go home to see his boy. He had promised to play with the train set that evening, and the look of sheer joy in his son's face made that coming evening more than excitable. There was only one week left until Cameron was an official two year old, and although this was a big day, a caterer was highly unnecessary.
"Sanchez!" Drake gave a startled jump in his chair and it almost tipped backwards. Morgan had stuck his head out of his office door and was glaring down upon Drake. Drake hastily grabbed the 4 million dollar file and sprinted towards Morgan, trying to appear as businesslike as was possible from a man who looked so scruffy next to his boss's pristinely pressed suit. Passing the papers to Morgan, Drake realized that he hadn't even started the report. He dreaded spending another late night trapped in this building, and he couldn't put off Cameron's train set plans. Not now. Not when he hadn't been home to see his boy before 9pm that week.
Morgan glanced down at the files, nodded curtly, then retreated back into his office, and once again, slamming the door shut so the name plate reading 'Joseph Morgan' was barely inches from Drake's nose. He swayed slightly, blinking at the force of the slam, then turned around and walked slowly back to his desk. As he passed Ashley, he stuck his hand in his pocket and leaned casually against the wall.
"Listen, I haven't finished the Smythe-Lawson divorce report, and I can't stay another night here." He ran his fingers through his ruffled hair, causing it to stand on end at the front. "That thing is going to take me hours. If I take it home tonight, can you write the concluding statement of the form for Morgan?"
"Of course, Sir!" Ashley said, a little too over enthusiastically. In her haste to grab a post-it and pen, she knocked her empty cup of coffee off the desk and it rolled towards the water-cooler. "Whoops!" She smiled and panted slightly as she scribbled down her message and slapped it against her desktop, wiping her brow with a lacy handkerchief.
Drake walked over to the cooler and retrieved the cup, tossing it into the bucket overflowing with styrofoam. "Are you OK?" he asked Ashley, placing his hand on her shoulder. She jumped at his touch.
"Yes, I'm fine." She said, and subtly tried to take deep, calming breaths. Her eyes were wide and they kept darting all around the room.
"If you're sure . . ." Drake walked back over to his desk, looking concerned as Ashley regained her composure and continued to type at a lightning pace. "Perhaps lay off the coffee slightly."
She smiled briefly, not looking away from her screen, and continued to type. Drake shrugged and sat back down at his desk. He picked up a pen, and the duplicate copy of the file he had previously handed over to Morgan, and twirled the pen absent-mindedly between his fingers. He chewed on its end before underlining various statements and numbers. A highlighter would be more efficient, and he thought for a moment about perhaps investing in one, before shaking his head slightly and forcing his thoughts to return to the task at hand.
The second hand of the clock on the wall ticked by slowly, and Drake strained to keep his concentration. He wanted more than anything to go home to be with his wife and son. To push those toy trains around a puzzle assembled track and see Cameron's shining face beam up at him. But alas, that time was further out of his grasp. Perhaps a little play-time could suffice, after all, he deserved a break, but the thought of his report, and Morgan's expectations weighed down on his shoulders as he bent over his paper. Typing up key words, Drake blinked sleep out of his eyes and the sun winked at him in the reflection of the screen. His back grew hot from facing the large window, and when he looked up at Ashley, he saw her sip a tiny, plastic cup of water and press her eyes shut in effort to stop them stinging from the extended time she had been staring, unblinking at her computer.
He sighed and continued typing. He longed to finish and depart from work, but he knew that more was waiting for him when he returned home. Deciding that he was no better off here than he was in his study, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, yawning like a large cat and gazing at the clock. It was well after six, and he could almost see his wife's greeting face in his minds eye. He could smell her home-cooked meal, and hear his son running up and hugging tightly to his legs.
"Alright." He stood up and slid the papers into his brief case and yanking the flash-drive from its port. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ash."
"Y-yes, Sir!" She stammered, and as she look up at him, he saw that her eyes were bloodshot, and her hands were trembling on her keyboard.
"Go home. Get some rest. Look at you!" He said, snapping his case shut, turning his computer off, and striding towards his assistant. She merely nodded at him and continued her work. "I'd better see you looking healthier tomorrow." He said, giving her a concerned look to which she barely noticed. Sighing for a final time, he crossed the room and exited.
"Sanchez!" The cold voice ripped through Drake's thoughts and he turned slowly on the spot to face Morgan. "Dispose of your coffee cup before you do. I don't want it cluttering up my workspace."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Drake walked back to his desk, picked up the cold cup, and tossed it towards Ashley's. Turning towards the door again, Drake strode out of the door, and along the hallway to the elevators.
♒☾♒
"Daddy!" The small boy collided rather painfully with Drake's shin and hugged him close to his chest. The poor child hadn't truly seen his father for more than a week, despite Drake coming home late and sneaking a kiss to his son's forehead as Cameron slept.
"Hey, little guy!" Drake bent down to hug his son properly, seeing the smile split across his face for the first time in days. "Up top!" He held his hand impossibly high for the child, yet Cameron leaped up and smacked his own tiny palm against his fathers, grinning and giggling, as though this simple action was the most joyous thing in the world.
"Daddy, plane!" And with that, he ran off down the hallway and into the nearby living room. Drake smiled at the place where Cameron had just disappeared, and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the hook by the door. The house was small, and looked to be cleaned just that day. Family photographs hung on the walls in simple, silver frames, and in the corner of the hall was a blue teddy bear, propped up against the wall in a sitting position. As Drake walked into the kitchen, he saw his wife standing with her back to him, stirring something into a large pot on the stove. He approached her, and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck.
She jumped. "Oh, darling! Try this!" And she spooned what looked like stew out of the pot. The stew was hot, but Drake smiled and tasted it. "It needs more salt, doesn't it?"
"No, no. It's lovely, dear!" He grinned at her. He had missed her so much that day, and such a simple feeling it was. Claire turned back to her cooking, smiling to herself. For a moment, Drake smiled too at the simplicity of life, then he remembered the lengthy report waiting for him in his briefcase. His heart sank, but that could wait until late. For now, he was home with his family, and he could miss sleep for one night.
"Daddy! Plane!" Drake turned around to see Cameron sliding into the kitchen on his tiny socked feet. A roughly folded piece of paper was clutched in his fist and he tossed it energetically at his father. The paper hit the ground almost immediately, and crumpled, but the boy laughed. Cameron's face was filled with such delight and pride at the flight of his paper 'plane'. Drake picked it up. To him, it looked nothing like a plane. It was barely a triangle shape, and it wasn't surprising that it couldn't fly well. He handed the paper back to Cameron and took his hand. He led his son back into the living room and found a pile of crumpled printer paper strewn over the carpet. He let go of Cameron's hand, and sat cross-legged on the rug. Cameron sprinted around the circumference of the room, shrieking at the top of his lungs, holding the paper high in the air and making "Vroom" noises. Drake picked up one of the lesser-bent papers, and expertly folded it into a paper airplane, tilting the nose and ripping a rudder out of the tail.
"Hey, Bud! Look at this!" He called out, and Cameron leaped into his father's lap and snuggled closely. Drake flicked the plane out of his hands and it glided the length of the room, landing softly on the far table. Almost immediately after landing, Cameron leaped up, accidentally placing his full weight on Drake's leg, forcing him to wince, and running off after the plane.
"Daddy! Daddy, plane!" He shrieked again and gripped the table, jumping up and down like a bucking horse. Drake got up from the floor and crossed the room in three strides. He picked up the plane and handed it to his son. Cameron put full force into the launch, and the plane flew directly at his feet. Drake prepared himself for the disappointed cry, but Cameron bent down, picked the plane up, and giggled loudly, running around the room shouting "Go! Go, plane!"
Drake located the crate beside the couch that contained the train set and dragged it towards the centre of the room. He sat down and began to lift the pieces of track out as Cameron burned off excess energy. One by one, the pieces of track connected together, and slowly a town grew. Stations and tracks wove between trees and houses, and at long last, Drake planted the train's wheels firmly onto the track. He felt like a child again, not much older than his son. Cameron came to sit in his father's lap, and together they played. The trains ran their errands, and the sun began to set slowly, casting orange and yellow lights to dance across the boy's blond head. All worries of work had been forgotten.
"Bed time!" Claire sang as she held Cameron's hand. He followed her sleepily up the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Drake picked up the family's dishes and placed them beside the sink. He, too, felt exhaustion wash over him, and he looked into the hall to see his briefcase waiting patiently for him, propped up against the wall as though mocking him. He sighed and slumped towards it, picking it up and heading towards his study. This night was about to stretch to great lengths, and his comfortable bed was only feet above his head in the master bedroom; the freshly laundered sheets had never seemed to inviting.
The laptop chimed to life and Drake inserted the flash drive. After locating the correct file, he began to type up the report. The room gradually began darker, and he reached over to flick the desk lamp on. His face shone ghostly in the darkness. His eyes were sunken and his skin was lined and unshaven from the stress. His eyelids drooped and squinted, trying to stay forcibly open. His fingers danced across the keyboard, and several times he had to shake them to prevent cramping. A couple of times, his vision faded and his head dropped, but he started, shook his head, and continued to work. It took all of his will power not to slap himself. The sound of howling wolves sang through the open window, dancing with the breeze. Drake had begun to lose all sense of rationality, for he took this into no heed. How could native wolves be howling in the city centre? Stars winked amiably at him and the text became blurred once more.
Drake Sanchez walked between the thick tree trunks, his steps crunching the dead leaves on the mossy ground, and the full moon slithered between the branches, lighting his path. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he gave rattling breaths that fogged in the mist in front of his face. He was being summoned. He had to find his master. The darkness was not enough, and he longed to witness the power of shadow. His breaths turned into growls and his skin itched terribly. He wanted to run faster and faster, but his muscles impeded him. There was a metallic taste in his mouth that ran down his chin. His teeth clenched together to stop his tongue lashing out with his panting. His tight chest fought to feel a releasing howl, but the silence of the night gripped at his throat and his eyes stung. Hot tears ran down his cheek as he ran, to where, he was uncertain. He stepped over tree roots and fallen branches, but they rose higher and higher above the earth, and his foot snatched at one and he tripped. He was falling. Falling into oblivion and a void was swallowing him whole. There was no light here. No darkness. Just the rush of gravity as his face bowed towards the depths and he knew nothing.
Drake awoke with a start. Cold sweat mingled with hot tears on his face and he dabbed at them with his hand. His report had ended with nonsense where his cheek had pressed against the keyboard in his sleep. Shivering, he took several deep breaths, gasping for fresh air. He felt rather asthmatic. He rushed over to the open window and inhaled. A cool breeze filled his lungs pleasantly, and he gripped the window-sill, his arms shaking violently. He felt nauseous. The full moon shone innocently at him. He turned away from the window and deleted his lengthy typing errors from the report. He slapped his laptop shut and dragged himself upstairs. A cool shower, then warm bed, curled up beside Claire in a dreamless sleep.
He gazed at the clock in the hallway. It was five minutes after six in the morning. Dread swept over Drake and his pulled himself upstairs and towards the bathroom. He would be returning to work, as promised, to hand the report into Morgan. Lawyers couldn't afford to take days off because of a silly nightmare. But what if he had a different job? His imagination carried him into the world of his best friend. What if Drake was a graphic designer? A graphic designer working for one of the top advertising companies in the province: Keyne's Advertising. Then he could take a day off. In fact, he wouldn't even need an excuse. He could just skip work that day, and drag his camera to the park and take photographs of all the scenes that the sun kissed. And that was exactly what Daniel Fletcher was planning to do with his day.
Before I begin, I only came up with this idea last night. Yes, it is a fantasy story, but I'm not going to introduce all the horrors of that world in the first page. So although it seems pretty "every-day life", it's not. There is very little love involved (although there is a side-story to keep the character development).
Also, I'm posting this here for fun. To please no one but myself. Sorry. I shall post when I want, whenever I want, replies or not. PLEASE don't ask me to write more, or when I'm posting again, or if I've given up. In the past, those comments seem too demanding to me, and I do actually give up in the end. I'm trying not to lose my enthusiasm with this story, so if you wish me to write more, be patient! Even if it is a few weeks between posts. Feel free to encourage me in my writing (I'll need it), and I welcome comments and constructive criticism. I'm trying to become a GOOD writer, not a POPULAR writer. Do bare in mind that I do have several university course grades in English literature, so I do have a basic understanding on how to write, but if you spot a typo or mistake, go ahead and point it out! I've probably made a fair few. The format appears to change on Anonymatrix, so paragraph indentations are cancelled out. Because of this, I'm inserting a line break in between each, that will not be included in the original copy. So hopefully it isn't too difficult for you to read. Thank you, and enjoy!
Chapter 1
"Mr. Sanchez, I need those files on my desk in five minutes."
Morgan's eyes were cold and black and they glared down at Drake Sanchez as though wishing nothing but ill on the man. He then continued to walk briskly away, adjusting his tie as though he owned the place, and Drake was dirty scum that had marked the matte grey carpets. Morgan took one last look around the room as though wishing to catch one of his employees doing anything but work, before unnecessarily slamming his office door shut, making the frosted glass in its frame shiver as though it was made of fear, not sand.
Drake leant back on his chair, suspending it on hind legs as he placed both of his boots on the desk. He opened a drawer in his desk and flipped through a small handful of files, choosing a particular one, and sliding the drawer shut. To any man, this file would seem headache-worthy, with is complexity of figures and scripts that would make very little sense to the uneducated. But to Drake, this file was the epitome of excitement. $4,000,000 was saved with this file, and once the report was written, Drake was sure that a raise would be soaring his way. He glanced at the recently slammed door, and could see the sketchy silhouette of Morgan pacing his office. Perhaps a raise was too much to ask for, but a small bonus would at least be warranted.
"Coffee, sir?" A soft voice pierced his thoughts and Drake looked up, quickly removing his feet from the desk in fright.
"Thanks, Ash." He exhaled gratefully, his heart racing at sudden appearance of his assistant.
"And your wife left these." She placed a small pile of paper-clipped business cards beside his coffee mug. Ashley smiled and walked back to her own desk, and Drake picked up the cards. Ashley wasn't the beautiful bomb-shell of an assistant, but she was friendly and got the job done. In fact, she did more than her work. Ashley worked hard to set appointments for Drake's clients, as well as typed up various files, took his phone calls, and even took his suits to the dry-cleaners if a late night at the office was needed. It was surprising that this girl had the time to do so much, and Drake often wondered if she ever slept. Every once in a while, an emergency case would crop up, and Drake wasn't the most organized man in the world, so locating the correct files for the job wasn't easy. In cases like these, he would send Ashley a quick text, and almost immediately, he would receive a reply at no matter what ludicrous time of the night. Ashley would be seen drinking copious amounts of coffee, and supporting heavy bags under her eyes that no amount of make-up could cover. However, this was expected from someone in her position. It was near impossible to enter a career in the law firm, and expect to maintain your appearance. There was the odd day that Drake had failed to shave the morning before work, but he held such a rugged look anyway that it seemed to fit with his persona. Although smart dressing was mandatory at the office, Drake rarely wore a business suit. His suit jackets were more casual, and his tie was only fully tight around his neck in order to hide the fact that he almost never did up his top button.
The cards that his wife left all bore pictures of balloons, clowns, and birthday cakes. Drake frowned at them before quickly shuffling through the business names, then throwing them down on his desk. Why did they need caterers for a two year old? His son would probably appreciate a collection of miniature sausages and his own father contorting balloons into various animal shapes as he would a clown. And the chances that this memory would stick with him past a few months was laughable. Drake glared at the cards as though they had insulted him, and he dared not imagine the prices that these costly activities demanded from him. The clock read fifteen minutes to four, and Drake leant back on his chair once more and sighed. He wanted to go home to see his boy. He had promised to play with the train set that evening, and the look of sheer joy in his son's face made that coming evening more than excitable. There was only one week left until Cameron was an official two year old, and although this was a big day, a caterer was highly unnecessary.
"Sanchez!" Drake gave a startled jump in his chair and it almost tipped backwards. Morgan had stuck his head out of his office door and was glaring down upon Drake. Drake hastily grabbed the 4 million dollar file and sprinted towards Morgan, trying to appear as businesslike as was possible from a man who looked so scruffy next to his boss's pristinely pressed suit. Passing the papers to Morgan, Drake realized that he hadn't even started the report. He dreaded spending another late night trapped in this building, and he couldn't put off Cameron's train set plans. Not now. Not when he hadn't been home to see his boy before 9pm that week.
Morgan glanced down at the files, nodded curtly, then retreated back into his office, and once again, slamming the door shut so the name plate reading 'Joseph Morgan' was barely inches from Drake's nose. He swayed slightly, blinking at the force of the slam, then turned around and walked slowly back to his desk. As he passed Ashley, he stuck his hand in his pocket and leaned casually against the wall.
"Listen, I haven't finished the Smythe-Lawson divorce report, and I can't stay another night here." He ran his fingers through his ruffled hair, causing it to stand on end at the front. "That thing is going to take me hours. If I take it home tonight, can you write the concluding statement of the form for Morgan?"
"Of course, Sir!" Ashley said, a little too over enthusiastically. In her haste to grab a post-it and pen, she knocked her empty cup of coffee off the desk and it rolled towards the water-cooler. "Whoops!" She smiled and panted slightly as she scribbled down her message and slapped it against her desktop, wiping her brow with a lacy handkerchief.
Drake walked over to the cooler and retrieved the cup, tossing it into the bucket overflowing with styrofoam. "Are you OK?" he asked Ashley, placing his hand on her shoulder. She jumped at his touch.
"Yes, I'm fine." She said, and subtly tried to take deep, calming breaths. Her eyes were wide and they kept darting all around the room.
"If you're sure . . ." Drake walked back over to his desk, looking concerned as Ashley regained her composure and continued to type at a lightning pace. "Perhaps lay off the coffee slightly."
She smiled briefly, not looking away from her screen, and continued to type. Drake shrugged and sat back down at his desk. He picked up a pen, and the duplicate copy of the file he had previously handed over to Morgan, and twirled the pen absent-mindedly between his fingers. He chewed on its end before underlining various statements and numbers. A highlighter would be more efficient, and he thought for a moment about perhaps investing in one, before shaking his head slightly and forcing his thoughts to return to the task at hand.
The second hand of the clock on the wall ticked by slowly, and Drake strained to keep his concentration. He wanted more than anything to go home to be with his wife and son. To push those toy trains around a puzzle assembled track and see Cameron's shining face beam up at him. But alas, that time was further out of his grasp. Perhaps a little play-time could suffice, after all, he deserved a break, but the thought of his report, and Morgan's expectations weighed down on his shoulders as he bent over his paper. Typing up key words, Drake blinked sleep out of his eyes and the sun winked at him in the reflection of the screen. His back grew hot from facing the large window, and when he looked up at Ashley, he saw her sip a tiny, plastic cup of water and press her eyes shut in effort to stop them stinging from the extended time she had been staring, unblinking at her computer.
He sighed and continued typing. He longed to finish and depart from work, but he knew that more was waiting for him when he returned home. Deciding that he was no better off here than he was in his study, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, yawning like a large cat and gazing at the clock. It was well after six, and he could almost see his wife's greeting face in his minds eye. He could smell her home-cooked meal, and hear his son running up and hugging tightly to his legs.
"Alright." He stood up and slid the papers into his brief case and yanking the flash-drive from its port. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ash."
"Y-yes, Sir!" She stammered, and as she look up at him, he saw that her eyes were bloodshot, and her hands were trembling on her keyboard.
"Go home. Get some rest. Look at you!" He said, snapping his case shut, turning his computer off, and striding towards his assistant. She merely nodded at him and continued her work. "I'd better see you looking healthier tomorrow." He said, giving her a concerned look to which she barely noticed. Sighing for a final time, he crossed the room and exited.
"Sanchez!" The cold voice ripped through Drake's thoughts and he turned slowly on the spot to face Morgan. "Dispose of your coffee cup before you do. I don't want it cluttering up my workspace."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Drake walked back to his desk, picked up the cold cup, and tossed it towards Ashley's. Turning towards the door again, Drake strode out of the door, and along the hallway to the elevators.
♒☾♒
"Daddy!" The small boy collided rather painfully with Drake's shin and hugged him close to his chest. The poor child hadn't truly seen his father for more than a week, despite Drake coming home late and sneaking a kiss to his son's forehead as Cameron slept.
"Hey, little guy!" Drake bent down to hug his son properly, seeing the smile split across his face for the first time in days. "Up top!" He held his hand impossibly high for the child, yet Cameron leaped up and smacked his own tiny palm against his fathers, grinning and giggling, as though this simple action was the most joyous thing in the world.
"Daddy, plane!" And with that, he ran off down the hallway and into the nearby living room. Drake smiled at the place where Cameron had just disappeared, and shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and hanging it on the hook by the door. The house was small, and looked to be cleaned just that day. Family photographs hung on the walls in simple, silver frames, and in the corner of the hall was a blue teddy bear, propped up against the wall in a sitting position. As Drake walked into the kitchen, he saw his wife standing with her back to him, stirring something into a large pot on the stove. He approached her, and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck.
She jumped. "Oh, darling! Try this!" And she spooned what looked like stew out of the pot. The stew was hot, but Drake smiled and tasted it. "It needs more salt, doesn't it?"
"No, no. It's lovely, dear!" He grinned at her. He had missed her so much that day, and such a simple feeling it was. Claire turned back to her cooking, smiling to herself. For a moment, Drake smiled too at the simplicity of life, then he remembered the lengthy report waiting for him in his briefcase. His heart sank, but that could wait until late. For now, he was home with his family, and he could miss sleep for one night.
"Daddy! Plane!" Drake turned around to see Cameron sliding into the kitchen on his tiny socked feet. A roughly folded piece of paper was clutched in his fist and he tossed it energetically at his father. The paper hit the ground almost immediately, and crumpled, but the boy laughed. Cameron's face was filled with such delight and pride at the flight of his paper 'plane'. Drake picked it up. To him, it looked nothing like a plane. It was barely a triangle shape, and it wasn't surprising that it couldn't fly well. He handed the paper back to Cameron and took his hand. He led his son back into the living room and found a pile of crumpled printer paper strewn over the carpet. He let go of Cameron's hand, and sat cross-legged on the rug. Cameron sprinted around the circumference of the room, shrieking at the top of his lungs, holding the paper high in the air and making "Vroom" noises. Drake picked up one of the lesser-bent papers, and expertly folded it into a paper airplane, tilting the nose and ripping a rudder out of the tail.
"Hey, Bud! Look at this!" He called out, and Cameron leaped into his father's lap and snuggled closely. Drake flicked the plane out of his hands and it glided the length of the room, landing softly on the far table. Almost immediately after landing, Cameron leaped up, accidentally placing his full weight on Drake's leg, forcing him to wince, and running off after the plane.
"Daddy! Daddy, plane!" He shrieked again and gripped the table, jumping up and down like a bucking horse. Drake got up from the floor and crossed the room in three strides. He picked up the plane and handed it to his son. Cameron put full force into the launch, and the plane flew directly at his feet. Drake prepared himself for the disappointed cry, but Cameron bent down, picked the plane up, and giggled loudly, running around the room shouting "Go! Go, plane!"
Drake located the crate beside the couch that contained the train set and dragged it towards the centre of the room. He sat down and began to lift the pieces of track out as Cameron burned off excess energy. One by one, the pieces of track connected together, and slowly a town grew. Stations and tracks wove between trees and houses, and at long last, Drake planted the train's wheels firmly onto the track. He felt like a child again, not much older than his son. Cameron came to sit in his father's lap, and together they played. The trains ran their errands, and the sun began to set slowly, casting orange and yellow lights to dance across the boy's blond head. All worries of work had been forgotten.
"Bed time!" Claire sang as she held Cameron's hand. He followed her sleepily up the stairs, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Drake picked up the family's dishes and placed them beside the sink. He, too, felt exhaustion wash over him, and he looked into the hall to see his briefcase waiting patiently for him, propped up against the wall as though mocking him. He sighed and slumped towards it, picking it up and heading towards his study. This night was about to stretch to great lengths, and his comfortable bed was only feet above his head in the master bedroom; the freshly laundered sheets had never seemed to inviting.
The laptop chimed to life and Drake inserted the flash drive. After locating the correct file, he began to type up the report. The room gradually began darker, and he reached over to flick the desk lamp on. His face shone ghostly in the darkness. His eyes were sunken and his skin was lined and unshaven from the stress. His eyelids drooped and squinted, trying to stay forcibly open. His fingers danced across the keyboard, and several times he had to shake them to prevent cramping. A couple of times, his vision faded and his head dropped, but he started, shook his head, and continued to work. It took all of his will power not to slap himself. The sound of howling wolves sang through the open window, dancing with the breeze. Drake had begun to lose all sense of rationality, for he took this into no heed. How could native wolves be howling in the city centre? Stars winked amiably at him and the text became blurred once more.
Drake Sanchez walked between the thick tree trunks, his steps crunching the dead leaves on the mossy ground, and the full moon slithered between the branches, lighting his path. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he gave rattling breaths that fogged in the mist in front of his face. He was being summoned. He had to find his master. The darkness was not enough, and he longed to witness the power of shadow. His breaths turned into growls and his skin itched terribly. He wanted to run faster and faster, but his muscles impeded him. There was a metallic taste in his mouth that ran down his chin. His teeth clenched together to stop his tongue lashing out with his panting. His tight chest fought to feel a releasing howl, but the silence of the night gripped at his throat and his eyes stung. Hot tears ran down his cheek as he ran, to where, he was uncertain. He stepped over tree roots and fallen branches, but they rose higher and higher above the earth, and his foot snatched at one and he tripped. He was falling. Falling into oblivion and a void was swallowing him whole. There was no light here. No darkness. Just the rush of gravity as his face bowed towards the depths and he knew nothing.
Drake awoke with a start. Cold sweat mingled with hot tears on his face and he dabbed at them with his hand. His report had ended with nonsense where his cheek had pressed against the keyboard in his sleep. Shivering, he took several deep breaths, gasping for fresh air. He felt rather asthmatic. He rushed over to the open window and inhaled. A cool breeze filled his lungs pleasantly, and he gripped the window-sill, his arms shaking violently. He felt nauseous. The full moon shone innocently at him. He turned away from the window and deleted his lengthy typing errors from the report. He slapped his laptop shut and dragged himself upstairs. A cool shower, then warm bed, curled up beside Claire in a dreamless sleep.
He gazed at the clock in the hallway. It was five minutes after six in the morning. Dread swept over Drake and his pulled himself upstairs and towards the bathroom. He would be returning to work, as promised, to hand the report into Morgan. Lawyers couldn't afford to take days off because of a silly nightmare. But what if he had a different job? His imagination carried him into the world of his best friend. What if Drake was a graphic designer? A graphic designer working for one of the top advertising companies in the province: Keyne's Advertising. Then he could take a day off. In fact, he wouldn't even need an excuse. He could just skip work that day, and drag his camera to the park and take photographs of all the scenes that the sun kissed. And that was exactly what Daniel Fletcher was planning to do with his day.
Last edited by Jade Hawk on Tue Mar 29, 2011 3:19 pm; edited 2 times in total (Reason for editing : Correcting mistakes)