Mason

Blood, pain, and probably a broken nose. This isn’t typically how a teenage boy spends his time after school, but according to my third grade teacher, I have a penchant for trouble. My mom has told me I have a “strong sense of justice”, but I’ve come to discover mothers just say that to be supportive. They don’t actually understand why their sons come home with black eyes or cut lips.

Another punch to the stomach, and my knees buckle. My body drops to the hard asphalt. Before I can process the pain, I lurch and whip to the side, hot bile spewing from my mouth. 

Goodbye turkey sandwich.

“Jesus...That’s what you get for trying to be the hero.”

I lift my head unsteadily, focusing on a large figure in front of me. A head of wild, blond curls perfectly blocks the sun from stinging my eyes as Brett Muler looms over me. 

For a moment, I consider that he might be right. But as I catch sight of a lanky boy standing behind my attacker, a fearful expression blanketing his face, and I discard that thought. Maybe I would have had a peaceful evening if I didn’t step in for that guy. Then again, Brett didn’t have to be a bully.

“Whaddya mean? I’m just sick by how weak you punch,” I say, and spit out bile-coated saliva onto the sidewalk.

Brett’s nostrils flare as if I had insulted his mother or something. He yanks me up by the collar of my shirt and repeatedly throws fist after fist into my abdomen. When I can no longer hold myself up, he kicks me. I try to block, but I can’t move my arms after our tussle earlier. I found out the hard way that punching him back was the equivalent of punching a damn sumo wrestler. Absolutely exhausting. Instead, my useless limbs hang limply to my sides and I just tense for impact. The kick easily knocks me over. Everything hurts. I consider it a miracle I’m even still conscious.

After that, Brett stops just shy of probably breaking one of my ribs, and turns around to face the guy behind him. He slides his hands into his pockets and chuckles wryly.

“Can’t believe you let Mason take your beating again, Siggy,” he says before sauntering off through the parking lot to a sparkling, white sports car.

Sigmund waits until Brett drives away before he rushes to my side. He carefully rolls me over, and helps me sit up. My vision swims, but I do my best to focus on my friend.

“You alright, man?” I ask weakly.

Sigmund frowns and shakes his head.

“Why are you like this?” he asks through gritted teeth.

This isn’t the first time I’ve stepped in between Sigmund and Brett, but never had it escalated this far. A few punches, a bloody lip, that's what I was used to. Calling Brett a “white trash prick stuck in the closet” probably wasn’t my smartest idea. I laugh thinking about it. The motion aggravates my sides.

“You make robots for fun. I climb. Which of us stands more of a chance against him?”

It’s the truth, but not exactly why I do it. I care about Sig, and it feels wrong to let anything happen to him when I can do something about it. Also, I hate that other guy. And he's had it out for Sig for years. But screw that, he doesn't get the satisfaction of messing with him.

Sigmund helps me to my feet. He isn’t exactly gentle when pulling me up. Every movement burns, and the trek to the car feels like taking a bath in a volcano. If Brett broke actually my ribs, I decide murder is on the agenda. I'm at least half serious.

“I’ll drive,” Sigmund mumbles as I take out my keys and unlock the doors. I dump them into his open hand. Getting into the car becomes a bit of a blur, and when he starts it, I let out a rattling breath and the corners of my vision fade.

~

I jerk awake at the loss of motion. With a groan, I take in the tawny garage, and gray walls of my house. A blue Subaru sits in the driveway next to us. Mom’s home. Fuck. I doubt she’d write my face off as “having a strong sense of justice”. More like senseless.

Sigmund lifts my arm and has me hold onto him for stability from the vehicle to the front door. Normally I’d just enter through the garage, but this will attract less attention.

“I can’t take it from here, Sig,” I say, forcing a smile.

He looks worried, but unhooks my arm from around his neck.

“Don’t get caught,” he whispers, dashing across my driveway and into his just a few houses over.

I try shutting the door as quietly as I can, but the living room spins, and I catch myself on the stair railing and our console table. I bite my lip as one of the decorative books clatters to the ground. I regret sending him away.

“Mason! Is that you? I didn’t hear you come home!” My mother’s voice sounds from the kitchen.

I look back and forth between the kitchen and the stairs wondering if I can make it to my room before she sees me. The living room couch directly in front of me is also really tempting, and I give into its call, plopping down, folding my arms, and leaning back into the plush upholstery. Just like in the car, the white ceiling slowly fades out of existence.

“My Lord— Mason! Look at you! What happened?"

I peek open one eye and stare back into my mother’s pale face. My nose must be in terrible shape then. I can also feel my eye swelling by the minute. It would be nice to tell her about something that's been going on for years at this point, but what good would that do? She'd overreact, call the school board, get Brett's mom involved, maybe even Sigmund's folks.

I choose to brush her off with a simple, "It's nothing."

Shit.

Her ears grow red and she crosses her arms.

“Mason Bellamy Burke, what is wrong with you? This is no joke. You come home with a face that's black and blue. And don't think I haven't noticed the other times you've looked like you've been on the losing end of a fight. You won't even talk to me? You're a growing boy, I thought that if I gave you some space, you'd come around, but it's just gotten worse—God, what would your father say if he saw you like this?” She sounds exasperated, and she uses my chin to turn my head from side to side to review the damage that had been done. 

"Ashes don't speak, Mom," I snap before I can stop myself.

She goes stiff and presses her lips into a thin line. Her eyes flicker back and forth between different spots on my face, and the two fingers gently cradling my chin lower. Her already furrowed brow scrunches even tighter.

"No, they certainly do not," she replies, her panicked tone flattening.

Shit, I didn't mean to upset her. I just wanted her off my case.

"Lay down, I'll be right back," she says, leaving for the kitchen.

I don't argue or question. I just kick off my shoes and settle down into the couch as instructed. She returns shortly with two items: A frozen pack or peas wrapped in a towel, and a slip of paper. She hands me the peas without a word. I know what to do. With a wince, I place the wrapped pack over my swollen eye. The paper, I'm less sure about. Are we going to discuss grades or something next?

"I signed the form for that field trip you have coming up. I thought maybe...well..." Mom shakes her head, and walks away from me.

"Rest up, Mason. I'm going to go lay down as well. Leftovers are in the fridge. Let me know if you need anything."

She retreats up the stairs before I can cough out at least a "thank you." Fuck, that didn't go at all how I wanted it to. Great son, I am. I can't stop thinking about my mom's dejected expression as I slip away into dreams of guilt and heroes and a school field trip in a little yellow bus. 

I haven’t gone on one of these since elementary…

~

A senior field trip. It should be at some place cool like an amusement park or a water park. Not a national park. I make out nothing but ugly orange rocks as the bus traverses through the desert waste. I would like to know who voted for the Grand Canyon.

I hear some rustling from the window seat and a bag of goldenfish slides into view.

“Want some?” The girl beside me whispers. “I snuck them on.”

My stomach flutters, though I’m not exactly sure if it’s from hunger or from the sound of her voice.

“Thanks, Emily,” I say, letting her pour some into my hand. The wonderful taste of extra cheddar coats my mouth, and I relish the flavor. She has good taste in snacks. The bus rattles around as Emily shakes more fish into my hands. The cheddar crackers try to swan dive to the floor and she giggles softly when I make an overexaggerated attempt to catch them all.

The bus stops shortly afterwards, and I shove the rest of the crackers into my mouth to avoid getting caught. No food on the bus since we're getting free lunch later. But I'm probably the last kid to be concerned with. Some of the students goofing off in the back rush right to the front of bus, despite our teachers’ and chaperones’ warnings to stay seated.

I look up to see Brett standing right in front of me, and I hold my breath. It doesn't seem like he notices me, and I withhold all the snarky remarks that are just begging to be freed. After a doctor’s visit last week I discovered I did not have broken ribs, just bruising that was mostly healed by now, but I promised my mom no more fights. After having dropped the "Dad is dead" reminder on her, I feel inclined to keep my word. For her sanity.

After what feels like ages, the teachers finally let the students off the bus to join the rest of the class in front of the gift shop.

“Because we don’t have enough guides to take all of you at once, we’ll be rotating in groups. We've based the groups on the order of turned-in waivers. If you’re not in the first group, then you can spend your time in the gift shop and the other buildings in the area as long as you stay with a chaperone.” Mr. Williams announces to the grade.

Sigmund’s name is called first, and he walks over without saying hi. Strange. His car was still at home when I left and I didn’t see him in the bus. I just assumed he wasn’t going. Was he avoiding me? Thinking about it, we haven't spoken since the last incident.

They call a few more names including mine and Emily’s, then Brett’s last.

“Glad you could make it, Mason.” Brett sneers, walking past me and towards his girlfriend, Natasha. I feel my fists tighten, but I taken a deep breath and force the wave of irritation to pass. I won't let him bait me.

“Lucky we’re both in the first group, huh?” 

Emily’s lively voice inexplicably puts me right at ease, and I smile at her. 

“For real. Think they're gonna take us on the hardest trail? Our group is practically the whole cross-country team.”

“Oh, the teachers are definitely getting revenge for our senior prank. No way a student actually voted for the Grand Canyon. We live in Arizona, it's basically our backyard.”

I laugh at her theory.

The tour begins shortly, and even though I exercise pretty regularly, I’m sure I’ve never had to breathe this hard. Did a week of rest really set me back that much? Then again, stamina isn't really my thing. I prefer using my energy in quick, explosive bursts. I quickly fall to the back of the group where Sigmund is. Emily walks with me, but upon seeing Sigmund, she urges us over to him. I learn they’re both in the same robotics club, and that they often partner up for projects. There’s an entirely different vibe between the two of them, and I feel a bit like I’m caught in a conversation that’s not exactly English.

“Oh, looks like the nerds are all together!” Brett’s grating voice breaks up the friendly atmosphere. The three of us pause as he and his girlfriend walk up to us. No fighting, no fighting, no fighting. I desperately remind myself that I'm being Responsible Mason today.

“What exactly is so bad about being a nerd?” Emily asks. If looks could kill, she'd be a top mercenary.

Brett doesn’t look like he has an answer. He glances back at his girlfriend and she shrugs. What a passive person. Hard to say who the bigger asshole is. Someone like Brett, or someone who just doesn't care. 

We've been standing around for a bit longer than I think we should, and while trying to gauge how far ahead the group is, I notice that the trail looks a bit cloudy. Like the students ahead kicked up a bunch of dust. I expect a little of that, this is a desert. But the way it just hangs in the air strikes me as a bit odd.

Emily and Brett stare at each other. Sigmund looks nervous, like he’s not sure if he needs to step in or sit this one out. I normally make that decision for him, but doing the same for Emily seems kind of… I probably shouldn’t.

“Am I going to get an answer?” Emily asks.

“Oi, Siggy. If Mason wasn’t enough, now you have a girl fighting for you?”

He has nothing smart to say to her so he decides to attack Sigmund again? I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Not starting shit is hard.

Emily snaps her fingers in front of Brett’s face. The haziness I noticed turns into fog, swallowing up the tour group in the distance.

“What was that for?” Brett growls.

“You’re not talking to him, you’re talking to me. Why is being mean so fun for you?”

At this, Natasha sighs loudly, and puts a hand on her hip. “This is cute. Sorry to interrupt, but can we walk and talk at the same time? The group is getting further—”

“Shut up, Natasha,” Brett interjects. “We’re not leaving this spot until Siggy gets a hold of his girl.” Brett’s girlfriend sighs and steps behind him like this is a routine they've been through many times. The bigger asshole is definitely Brett.

Sigmund’s mouth drops open, and he tries to stammer something to the effect of Emily and he aren’t together. Brett watches Sigmund’s attempts at defending himself with a sneer splayed across his face. I know what I promised my mom, but I really can’t hold it anymore.

“Hey Brett, seriously? What’s your problem? Daddy cut your allowance? Does Mommy not have any time for you?” That was a mistake. Brett’s cold gaze snaps towards me.

“There he is. I was wondering when the hero complex was going to kick in.”

“Being a decent person isn’t being a hero,” I say, digging my nails into my palm. I would not swing first. I was ticked off, but I would not swing first.

I glance back at Sigmund who seems almost mad? He stares at me with a glassy look in his eyes. Natasha shifts further behind Brett, looking around. I look too. The fog is much thicker now, and I don’t hear the tour group anymore. Brett says something to me, but I don’t listen to the specific words.

“We should regroup,” I say, cutting off whatever insult Brett decided to follow up with.

“Good idea,” Emily says, beginning to walk in the direction we last saw the others heading.

“Hey, we aren’t finished here!” Brett says, eyes trained on me.

“That doesn’t matter. I don’t want to get lost in some desert rock structure. Let’s go, Sig.” I follow after Emily’s barely visible form past Brett, and Sigmund tags along, an indescribable, but serious expression on his face.

Not a moment later, I hear a grunt to my side and Sigmund falls to the ground. I hope he tripped, but the smug smile I see as Brett and Natasha walk by tells me otherwise.

Alright, screw promises. I’m sorry, Mom. I really can't stand by this anymore. Hero complex or not, I'm pissed. I tackle Brett like a WME athlete, secure my position on top, and then I punch him. And punch him again. Natasha screams and tries to pull my arm away, but I continue to punch him, dragging her forward with my every swing. Sigmund picks himself off the ground and bolts towards us.

“Mason, stop it! For once, please just stop it!” he says.

A wind sweeps through the trail, fog billowing all around us. I can barely make out Brett’s face, and while I let my eyes adjust, he pushes me off. His fist collides with my jaw. I fall back against who I think is Sigmund, but I can’t tell.

Dust blows against my skin. The wind picks up speed. I hear Natasha, with a hand still around my wrist, frantically calling for Brett. My eyes sting, and I shut them closed.

“Where are you, you motherfucker!?” Brett's yell is the last thing I can make out before all that’s left is the roaring of wind.

The wind jerks to a halt, and I crack open my eyes to sunlight and a vast, green meadow. I swivel around, smashing into Sigmund who reels back in pain.

“Well it’s good to know you’re alive!” he yells, rubbing the upper left corner of his chest.

“Sure… Uh Sig, where the fuck are we?” The muggy scent of humidity hangs in the air, and there’s bright green blades of grass as far as the eye can see. No rocks, no sand, no fog.

“Where are we?” Natasha, a few paces away, echoes my question.

She looks scared, shoulders visibly trembling. She’s holding onto Brett’s arm. He seems stunned, just standing and looking around. As long as he’s not actively trying to hurt anyone, fine by me. I focus back on Sigmund who seems paler than usual.

“Sig, what’s wrong?” I ask.

“Where—” he cuts himself off to take a deep breath. “Where is Emily?”

I take a moment to properly take in what had just happened and where we are. Emily walked ahead of us into the fog so she couldn't be too far, right? I twist my head in every direction. She’s nowhere to be seen, not even in the distance.

“She’s not here…” Sigmund says.

I get up as well, brushing off my knees. Clumps of dirt hang onto my jeans and require a little more effort to flick off. Not even freshly watered soccer fields back home carry this consistency.

“Maybe that’s a good thing, Sig?”

I don't know where we are. This can't be the Grand Canyon anymore. Hell, this kind of climate doesn't even exist in Arizona. Maybe we'd all simultaneously inhaled some psychedelic drug and are sharing the same illusion. Sigmund grabs my arm with a strength I didn’t know he had. The area under his fingers sting a little.

“Why would that be a good thing, Mason? You saw it too, the fog. She could have wandered somewhere dangerous. The national park has wild animals. Or worse—whatever is happening to us is happening to her. And she's alone.” 

I understand where his fears are coming from, I do. Even in the modern age, it isn't unheard of for hikers to get hurt on unfamiliar trails. Still, I don't see how it's helpful for either of us to worry too much about where Emily is when we don't even understand what's currently happening to us. 

"I get it, Sig. But calm down for a moment, okay? We have to get our bearings first. How can we help her if we don't even know how to help ourselves?" I point at Brett and Natasha, the former still standing around silently. "I've never seen that asshole so quiet in my whole life. We've got to focus on us right now."

I search Sigmund's face for any trace of recognition to make sure he and I are on the same page. Whatever it is that's going on between us can be put on hold for now. Once we figure out what's going on, I'll make sure that we have a long talk about what I did wrong. Cause at this point, I'm certain he's angry with me.

But Sigmund doesn't show any signs of calming. In fact, I think what I said makes him even more mad. His grip on my arm tightens.

"Calm down...calm down? Like you were calm earlier?!" he asks, voice raising in volume with every word.

What looks like thick, black tendrils pour out from under his hand and wrap around my arm.

"Sig—" I say, trying to get him to notice. This isn't normal. I don't know what this is, but I can only reason that it's happening cause we're fighting. And it's coming from him. And if he would just let go—

"Don't Sig me. What was that earlier? Why are you being so passive right now? If you're so keen on saving the day, protecting the weak, why aren't you doing anything?"

"That's what I'm trying to— Sig, that's what I'm saying if you would just—" My words are cut off as the tendrils reach my neck and wrap themselves around my throat. I can't think about trying to de-escalate the situation anymore, whatever good that did in the first place. It's all I can do to breathe. I furiously scratch at my neck with my free hand, trying to remove this constricting force, but it's like my fingers just slip through air. Does he not see this shit? 

I try to focus on Sigmund, and I barely recognize my friend. His normally bright green eyes are clouded over with a dark haze. His body stands in stark contrast with the bright, blue sky, every inch of him wrapped in shadows. Is he even talking anymore? I can't tell. My head is splitting and my vision is going in and out. My attempts at breathing come out in quick, little gasps. I stop my futile struggle to loosen the grip around my throat, and reach my hand out towards him. The shadows surrounding him leap towards me in an instant, covering my entire body, carrying with them an unimaginable pain.

My whole world goes black.