Fever Dream Pt. 01: T.L.D.E.

Authors Note -- The following story is a work of fiction, any names, characters, or situations are entirely my creation. This story involves an incestuous, romantic and sexual relationship between siblings. Everyone involved in sexual relations is over 18. I have been toying with the idea of writing creatively for a long time, and my desire, mixed my curiosity with the topics within, and 5 years of personal experience with the dangers of military service, have led me to work through them through writing. I have been a reader for a little while here, and I should warn you, if you're looking for a couple-page, jerk-off romp, then you'll not find the satisfaction you want here, at least not yet. This is part 1, chapters 1-5. I lay some pretty in depth groundwork for, what I hope, will be a story full of action, drama, emotions and of course physical passion. I guess I wanted to do something different. As such, this is a slow burn, but I wanted to explore incest, love and sex within the confines of a more, I don't know, 'believable' or 'accessible' narrative. Anyways, this is part of one of an emotional tale. Thanks very much, and let me know what you think.

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Pt. 1 The Longest Day Ever

CH. 1

It was a bright day. A Tuesday.

A spacious two story house stood at the end of a long road. A craftsman style home, with a sizable front yard and a very large back yard which sat surrounded by green trees on all sides. The wind was blowing lightly through them, creating the calming sound of rustling leaves combined with the light jangling chimes which were hung from the front patio roof. All else was quiet.

A lone, compact car turned onto the street, heading straight toward the house. It made a stop right in front of the driveway and a tall bearded man got out. He paid for the lift and bid the driver thanks with a wave, grabbing his Army issue duffle-bag from the backseat. The car drove away and he was left standing in front of the house, although thinking of it as merely a 'house' seemed almost insulting to it. It was his home. The home he was born in. The home he was raised in. The home he fled.

With the car out of earshot all was quiet, with exception of the sound of the wind moving through the trees, rustling leaves and moving chimes. He dropped his bag on the ground gently, tilted his head back, closed his eyes and listened. In all 28 years of his life, it was this sound that could soothe him every time. Other sounds could do it at different times throughout his life, but this was the only sound which, regardless of circumstances, could always calm the storm in his mind and in his heart. For 5 whole minutes he stood there, eyes closed, listening, soothing himself, trying to gain the strength to move his feet to the door. He hadn't heard that sound for ten years. At least he had this moment, alone, to listen and be calm before the storm.

What could be said? What could be done? Like a river thoughts, memories, and fears ran past in his mind's eye. A pair of dark, hypnotizing eyes. A violent haze of red. A war-torn desert far away.

Life. Love. Death. Pity.

Ten years, and all he could piece together right now in this moment were flashes, images and feelings. A collection of words used to describe the little pieces of life that stood out. What could be really said about whatever life was in between these moments in a human life which define us.

He ate. He slept. He worked, fought, bled, ran? Hid?

He was all of these things, and none of them. It really depended on the moment, he thought to himself. At this moment he was 10 again, a scared boy who was afraid to go home after being out much, much too late.

He knew he could only prolong the inevitable for so long. With that realization he reached up with his hand and blew a kiss to the sky to thank it for what it had given him. Hope. Strength. Calm. Control.

"Cool Control," he whispered to himself.

He picked up his bag and walked to the front door. He froze upon reaching the door, but only for a second. Then, with a deep breath, he took a hold of the handle, turned it, and walked through. Once inside, he closed the door quietly, almost on instinct. He held his breath at first, waiting to hear movements throughout the house of someone, anyone who might be home to greet him. What he heard was the near deafening silence which almost always accompanied a home with no one in it.

"Hello?" he said, a little more timid than he would have liked. "Is anyone here? Its uh...I'm...home...", he almost whispered.

No answer.

He walked over towards his father's office and set his bag down by the door, listening carefully.

*Nothing. He walked around the corner into the kitchen. Nothing. Everything was put away nice and neat, almost the same as when he'd last been here. He walked through the dining room to the family room, again with very little aesthetically changed over time. Nothing. Not wanting to leave any stone unturned, he padded through the office, went out the back door and walked across the back porch which overlooked the rather impressive grounds behind the house, and then went back inside, still without finding anyone. Walking back to the entryway, he turned to the stairs. He carefully padded up each step slowly, looking at the familiar pictures hung on the wall, all of them in their same spots. He noticed some new ones, but since he was already on edge with anxiety and he had forgotten to take his morning medications, he could only note that they were there, without looking at any of the people within them.

With the stairs crested, he made his way softly and slowly down the hall, pausing to look in each room, which was made easier by the fact that his mother detested closed doors to rooms no one was in. He always found this little quirk in his mother funny because she never explained why, she would say, "I just do."

No one was in his parents room, either of the three guestrooms, or his older brother's old room, which now seemed to belong to someone else, someone far younger. Then he came to the door to his and his sisters 'twin suite'. It was a very spacious suite, remodeled special by his father shortly after they were born. The odd thing was that this door was the only one fully closed. Every door to every other room in the house was open...except this one. He looked down at the handle and it looked like a much newer one than the one he'd remembered in his childhood. With a quizzical look, he reached for the knob to give it a turn, but it didn't budge an inch. Locked.

"But there are no locked doors in this house...Well, there weren't any locked doors anyway," he muttered to himself. This was a rule put down by his father. He hated locked doors, always saying "Locked doors lead to locked hearts."

He thought for a second and then quickly remembered that there was a key rack in the pantry with a specific, labeled spot for every key to every lock in the house, the cars and every other part of the grounds. His father also used to say, "It's always best to be prepared for the worst.". He was the Police Chief after all. He trotted down the stairs, walked to the pantry in the kitchen, opened the door and quickly scanned the rack for the right key. After a few seconds seconds he found a key simply labeled 'JS'. Once he saw it he knew it was the right one. No other key came even remotely close, with very clear titles like 'Emergency back shed key' and 'Backup BMW X5 key'.

Grabbing the key off the rack, he left the pantry, padded slowly up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom door. He put the key in the door, turned it until he heard a clear and satisfying click and the door practically opened itself, ushering him in. Walking into this room was like walking through a time portal. While the rest of the house was reasonably the same, with rather small changes and improvements here and there, this room was precisely the same as the night he left. The smell was that of a room that has been closed and locked away for a very, very long time. The bedroom door led immediately to a sort of mini entry way which had two open doors, one on the right side, and one on the left. Both doors led to two separate bedrooms, each with their own bay window, queen size bed, and walk in closet. Each room was a mirror image of the other by design, meeting in the middle by a wall with set of double doors in the middle, connecting the two rooms. At the moment these doors were wide open.

He walked into his room, on the right. It's uncanny, he thought to himself. Everything in the room, from what he could tell, was exactly like he left it. His closet door was ajar, from when he grabbed a change of clothes and a backpack. His bed was made, the covers and pillow the same as the ones he remembered. Just to check, he walked over to his small stereo, sitting on his nightstand, to see if the album he had been listening to that night was still there. He flipped open the lid to the CD player and sure enough, Juturna by Circa Survive was still sitting there. He hadn't listened to that album since the night he left, which was a shame since it was his favorite album by his favorite band at the time. His school bag hung beside his door on the wall, just as he'd left it. his hoodie was hanging off one of the bottom posts of his bed, just as he'd taken it off earlier that same evening. Upon closer scrutiny, the room appeared to have been dusted and kept clean on a consistent basis, but other than housekeeping, things were left where they were, and he suspected that was no accident.

To some, finding their childhood room in exactly the same condition they'd left it might be comforting. To him, it only served as an indicator of just how much he knew he must have hurt his family. His sister. They must have felt so betrayed and hurt by his sudden and callous departure, that none of them could even step foot in his room. They probably didn't even speak his name anymore. He wouldn't have blamed them.

"This was a mistake..." he whispered aloud to no one.

He shouldn't have come. He should have stayed gone. Suddenly, his nose started to tingle, his breathing become increasingly shallow, and he couldn't stop his jaw from clenching. An anxiety attack was about to come at him full swing if he didn't try to calm down and take his pills. He quickly exited room and rushed downstairs to his bag, snatching it and running back upstairs.

He deftly opened his duffle, finding his pill bag instantly and fished out his Trazadone and popped one in his mouth. It was a few hours early, them being night-time medicines for anxiety and sleep, but he knew he couldn't hold out any longer. Today wasn't a normal day and todays stress wasn't normal stress. He reached back in his bag and pulled out his Army workout shorts and shirt, along with his toiletries and a towel. What he needed was a hot shower, to wash over his back and help calm his nerves. With that plan in mind, he quickly undressed, threw his clothes on the floor at the end of his bed, and crossed the threshold of his room into his sister's side, where the only structural difference between the two rooms was their shared bathroom on her side of the suite. He was tempted to look around to see if her side of the room was the same as his, untouched since that night, but he didn't think he could really handle that.

He fished his body wash, toothbrush and toothpaste out of his toiletry bag and hopped into the small shower. He brushed his teeth in the shower in order to save time and do most of what he needed to do every morning in the same place. A habit he picked up in the Army. Some people would probably find it gross, he often thought to himself, but whatever. He lathered up some body wash in his hands and slid it all over his tired, sore muscles. With a nonstop plane-ride from his duty station in North Carolina, and a long car ride to the house, he hadn't showered or slept in over 24 hours. Wanting to get the business end of showering out of the way quickly, he rinsed himself off, and quickly brushed his teeth. Afterwards he stood there, head hanging forward, letting the near-scalding water cascade down his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back. Within less than 10 minutes, he felt the effects of the relaxing water and his anxiety meds kicking in.

He exited the shower, dried himself off, grabbed his things and just as quickly as he had crossed the room before, walked over to his bed. He deposited his toiletries back in his bag and hung the towel on his old desk chair. He had a thought to try to find his old favorite pair of sweat pants to wear, maybe feel a little closer to the past, but with him putting on over 50 lbs. of muscle mass in the last 10 years, he knew they would never fit him again.

He pulled on his Army shirt and shorts, and took a deep breath. Since entering his old room, to keep his sanity he had succumbed to routine. It helped to turn off his brain to simple let his bodies auto-pilot guide him, and for the most part it had worked. He was just about evened out. But now he could think of no more routines to take care of. He was in new, and old territories simultaneously. Looking out the window to his left, he saw late afternoon starting to turn to dusk. It started to dawn on him that although with the door left unlocked, which meant his family was certainly local, he had no idea where they were and when they might return. I should probably just wait in the entryway so I can get the being yelled at and stuff out of the way, he thought. Then he realized that he probably should be dressed in clothes that he could make a quick exit in should they simply demand he leave outright. They wouldn't do that though, right? he pondered. I mean I know they're gonna be shocked and angry, but I don't think they would just immediately throw me out. Mom and Dad are reasonable enough people, even when they are mad, he decided.

Not really knowing what to do with himself exactly, he thought it might be comforting to lie down for a few minutes. Maybe put on the CD in the stereo for old times' sake? I doubt it will, but maybe I'll feel a bit better, he thought. With that, he turned the stereo on, a bit surprised that it still worked, and it immediately started playing exactly where he had shut it off, just as The Great Golden Baby was starting, roughly 1/3 of the way through the album. He couldn't stop a small smile touching at the sides of his mouth. Putting it at a relaxing volume he walked over to the door to the bedroom and closed it most of the way so he could possibly hear the approach of anyone who might come home and find him. He lied down on the bed, turning to his side, enjoying the feeling of a quality, albeit old, mattress on his injured neck and back.

The time of day was one he always found captivating. It was an almost mystical interval between night and day that lasted for mere moments. Even though he couldn't see out the window from his bed, since it was on the same wall the bed was against, he could see how the light through the glass was changing hues, which in turn changed the room. As darkness slowly crept at the corners of the room he closed his eyes, listening to the familiar music as it traveled through the air into his mind. It made him imagine he was running freely through a lightly wooded glade, the trees white like birch and grass a fall shade of copper. The sky was a dark grey, almost like it was filled from one end of the world to the other with smoke clouds. It was raining water down, but only the slightest bit. He stopped running and looked all around him, searching for someone. Within seconds he saw her, at the crest of a wide sloping hill, solitary within this flat place. She was standing tall and resolute against light winds, her raven hair and all-encompassing red robes flowing in the wind behind her. She was waiting for him, he knew it. He went into a dead sprint towards the hill, with the rain starting to come down harder.

He was starting to gain ground but when he looked up at the hill it didn't seem to be getting any closer. With as much physical power as he had, he went faster than anyone should be able to go, trees rushing past him like a blur of white and orange. He was getting closer. He started to ascend only to have his prize turn and sprint away from him. Frustrated, he ran up the hill even faster, wind whipping in his ears. This only made her run faster, until suddenly she seemed to drop out of his sight. He arrived suddenly at the spot she had disappeared to find that the hill ended in a stark cliff face, hundreds of feet down where the roughest seas he had ever seen raged beneath. Wave after wave of water, the color of cold steel, crashed against the cliff face and he squinted his eyes, struggling to see her anywhere below. Suddenly, he saw a body, with raven hair, tangled in red robes, lying face down on a rock, continually being tugged closer to the edge by the steely water. He had to get to her, before she was dragged under, swept out to sea. With no other thought but a desperate, all consuming need like he'd never felt, he flung himself off the cliff, towards whatever awaited below.

CH. 2

Downstairs the front door suddenly swung open to a gabbing family coming home from a fun afternoon on the town.

"Well I don't understand what you mean, honey. I thought the story was very moving...and Cate Blanchett was so beautiful. Wasn't she Stella?"

"Oh God! No question, she just seems to get sexier with each year that passes. I wish I knew her secret."

"Oh Goodness Stella! Like you need anyone else's 'secret' sweetheart."

"Well The only place I was moved was to the bathroom," said the very large, burly 60-year-old man as he closed the door behind the group.

"George, I swear. Sometimes I wonder if you'd rather watch wood being stained then spend one evening with me."

The slight pain in her voice wasn't lost on George. He was being an ass.

"I'm sorry Martha. You know that deep stuff is wasted on me," he said, sneaking a warm peck on her cheek. "But I'll try to make it up to you," he said, with a smirk and a smack on her ass.

"GEORGE!" she scolded, more for show than anything else, "Remember to leave it unlocked honey, Paul and Tillie were right behind us."

Paul and Tillie showed up a few minutes later and soon the kitchen and family room were a bustle of conversations, laughing and sorting out dessert. The clinking of spoons, bowls, and wine glasses filled the house as the 5 of them wound down from a fun day filled with lunch, shopping, a movie, and then dinner.

"Oh Tillie, honey, leave those in the sink, I'll take care of those in the morning," Martha said, her eyes starting to get heavy.

"It's fine, Mom, just a few things, I got it," Tillie answered.

"Stella, are you staying over sweetie? It's getting late and I saw you drink that second glass," Martha said, trying to sound both sweet and authoritative at the same time. "You know I worry when you kids do that and try to drive home."

Stella rolled her eyes slightly and smirked as she stood up from the couch, "Yes mom, I'm staying. I'm actually about to grab my phone and call John to say goodnight, then head upstairs to turn in."

"Give him a smooch for grandma, I love him," she called as Stella left to the entryway where she left her purse. "I still don't know why he couldn't wait until tomorrow night to stay at his friends. Grandma and grandpa aren't going to be around forever you know, and he does have the rest of summer vacation to spend with his friends, and he is our only gran..."

Martha continued for another few minutes, more to herself than to anyone really in the house, but Stella was already in the guest half-bath next to the stairs on her phone.