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'Have I still got you to be my open door -
Have I still got you to be my sandy shore -
Have I still got you to cross my bridge in this storm -
Have I still got you to keep me warm?' Damien Rice – Grey Room
The house was quiet as she crept down the stairs. Muted. Each room she passed sat in a hushed mood, punctuated by the inhabitants, shaken to various degrees by their experience with the nightmares caused by the Dream Beavers. Mikey was sitting cross legged on the living room floor with his cheek propped by one fist, perusing a comic open on the floor before him. Leo was reclining on the sofa next to him, reading with a book braced on his chest, one arm behind his head. Raph and Casey were at the general store, taking one last look around for any other signs of trouble that may arise later from the troublesome magical mammals.
"Need anything?" she offered and they replied in unison with soft grunts and shakes of their head.
If they weren't so subdued she could have believed that they were just tired, or simply bored. But the hollow that fear carves from your spirit was something that she was altogether too familiar with; she knew better. The hurt tasted sour in the back of her mouth; lingering like an aftertaste she couldn't shake. They were nursing their wounds. And those injuries were running deep and not having a chance to scab over. Healing couldn't take place where the body and spirit could not rest.
There was nothing to do but remind them that they weren't going through this alone. She was right there with them. Each of them. Her eyes roamed to the door. Her thoughts roved to Donnie and her heart thumped and stumbled. She tucked her fingers into the back pocket of her jeans. "Well, I'll be out in the barn if you do."
She slipped out the side door. The summer evening hung laced with a cool gentle breeze that brought gooseflesh to rise along her upper arms. Hidden crickets sang in broken rhythm all around. To the west, the sun, gold and overly huge, sank into a pale green sky; framed below by the shadowy tops of pine and oak trees. Above her, the lines of clouds hinted at pink but were mostly gun-metal gray in a deep twilight blue sky. The spaces between drew her focus into the emptying expanse and half-formed thoughts of falling, drowning, sinking pervaded her mind. She dropped her head with a scowl, rubbing her arms and hugging herself tight.
"No. No," she repeated in a wavering voice and had no idea why she said it.
She paused for a moment outside the barn. The door was open and light pouring through painted the ashen dirt yellow. She huffed and pushed it open with her shoulder and crept inside.
He was there, just beyond the wreck of a pick-up that Casey and Raph had been working on. Hunched over his make-shift lab. The lanterns burning on either side of his body cast him in curving, curling shadows. Like illustrations penned across his shell, the groves and lines appeared highlighted in exaggerated strokes. Surreal. And again the falling, sinking feeling hit her. Making her grind her molars and shake her head, the word 'no' on her lips as she approached him.
And he sat there, working; as though nothing eventful had happened earlier. As though he hadn't, only hours ago, lay in her arms, desperately close and yet helplessly far away as he slipped through her hands. Edging out of her reach. Out of her life. Leaving her grasping, powerless, panicked. Alone. Without him.
"No!"
He started at her pronouncement and spun in his seat, eyes wide. For a second, that ugly glassy fright was there, clear as tears slipping over cheeks, as sunsets calling an end of not just today, but all things. Everything.
She fell forward as her name formed in his mouth, trickling from his parted lips, breathy and shocked. He lurched, catching her in his long arms. In his strong arms. Gathering her as together they folded and collapsed to the dusty, hay-strewn floor boards. She heard him softly calling her, asking her in a worried voice if she was okay, if she was dizzy, if she was hurt.
"A-April," he asked, voice tinged with fright.
But she could only shake her head, repeating, over and over as she reached up, took his face in her hands, saying, "No, no. No. No." Until; finally, pressing her mouth to his to silence the fear; the troubling denial; to cease the feeble plea; to remind herself there was no need for it - that he was not gone.
He was here. He was safe.
And tomorrow could rise up bright and clear; shattering the nightmares and dreams, crushing the night to ash and dust. But also bringing with it all the concerns, questions, doubts and new challenges, but tonight, right now, she had what she knew, clearly, what she wanted. All her weakness and apprehension forgotten; eclipsed. Because he was breathing. He was breathing. He was. Him. Here. In her arms, against her body; her mouth.
And that's all she needed.