Jason knew it was true, and yet he saw the darkness in Ben’s eyes. He thought again of Ben’s explanation of walking in and out of the shadow of madness. If Jason abandoned him now, he may as well turn off the sun.
That wasn’t going to happen. As long as Jason could keep Dylan from searching the house for the globe, they’d be back to their normal life in no time.
Or so Jason hoped.
He climbed back into bed and snuggled into the warm familiarity of his sheets, going over his lines in his head. Planning his scenes. Double-checking his pacing.
Somehow, he managed to sleep.
He woke shortly before nine, coming instantly awake in that way he always did when he had a scene to shoot. No cameras this time. No retakes. No counting on the editors to patch things up at the end. This would be just him and Dylan, and he had to make it count.
Jason’s formal training had been spotty, but he knew his own methods. He’d learned over the years that he relied on a combination of sense memory and substitution. Whatever the instructors and the purists called it, he thought of it only as swallowing himself whole. Letting “Jason” fall to some small, abandoned place to wait in the dark while a new person wore his skin.
What must he feel?
Shame.
Despair.
Embarrassment and self-reproach.
He sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. He concentrated on his breathing, keeping it ragged and uneven. He thought about all the failed acting jobs he’d had. All the roles he’d been denied. All the times he’d looked up at the checkout line to find his own face staring back at him from the tabloids. He thought of the lunacy they tried to pin on him, and he pulled it around himself and breathed it deep, letting it fill his lungs and work its way slowly through his veins until his fingers tingled with it. He thought of Ben’s loneliness in the globe while trying his best not to think about Ben. He thought of those weeks or months or years in the dark. He wallowed in the seeming eons of silence. In the surety of looming madness.
And finally, when tears burned behind his eyes, he dragged up Andrew’s death—not quite as it had actually been, all flashing lights and loud voices—but the way it had felt. The horror of his lover lying dead. The knowledge that he was on that same path. The shame of wondering whether he was the one who should have died. He doubled over, fighting the sob that burned in his chest.
This was his role.
He nurtured it, urging it to grow until it filled every inch of him. He messed up his hair as he fought to keep the darkness intact but contained. He rubbed at his eyes, needing them to be red and swollen. He glanced down at his hands and swallowed the satisfaction that rose up when he saw the way they shook. There’d be time for self-congratulation later. For now, there was only this. This emptiness. This sorrow. This memory of resounding silence and heartbreaking loneliness. There was only the certainty of loss and the fear of madness. He gathered it all, mentally pulling it in and wadding it up despite its bulk, cramming it into a space that was much too small to hold it for long.
He’d cut that all loose when the time came.
But not yet.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself in this dark mental place, feeling the power of that storm locked away inside, and he went slowly, painfully down the stairs.
He found Dylan in the dining room, his cell phone at his ear. “I don’t know,” Dylan said, his voice low and taut with frustration. “I’m not saying I won’t be there. I’m just asking, how tight is the timeline? Is there any chance of delaying it, even by a day?” Silence, while Dylan listened to the response, and then a sigh. “Okay. I understand.”
This was exactly what Jason needed, but he slammed the door on it. He didn’t allow any hope to enter the dark place he’d created for himself. He closed his eyes, focused on his unsteady breath and his aching heart. He examined the anguish and rage bottled up in his chest, sounding its depth like some ancient mariner, reaching in fear for the murky bottom of the sea.
It was enough.
“I’ll know more in a couple of hours,” Dylan said. “Don’t say anything quite yet.”
Dylan hung up and turned toward the door, and Jason knew instinctively that was his cue to step into the room.
“Hey.” Dylan spoke gently, as if to a terrified child. “How’re you feeling?”
Not yet. Don’t let it out yet. Let the pressure build. Feel it pushing higher up your throat. “I’m better,” Jason choked out, and the words tasted like a lie, exactly as he needed them to.
“Did you sleep?”
“I tried.” The storm rose higher, raging against his temples, and he put his face in his hands, trying to keep it in. Just a bit longer. Just a little bit more.
“Jason?”
“Dylan, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry for anything. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I’m so scared.”
“I know you are. I know how hard it’s been, but I can help you fix this. I swear to you, we can make it okay again.”
“Dylan, I . . .” It was close now, almost at the point where he couldn’t keep it back. Fighting it was an honest-to-God struggle. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Do you mean . . . do you mean Ben?”
Jason nodded, or shook his head. He couldn’t be sure which. He only knew that it felt like defeat. It felt like drowning.
It felt absolutely perfect.
“Jesus, Dylan, what’s happening to me?”
“You’ve been alone too long.”
“But he was real. Oh God, I swear he was real. He has to be real!”
“Jason, honey. No. He was only in your head.”
Jason took a deep breath, felt the walls crumbling under the weight of his grief, and he crumpled with them. He let the wave push him under. He fell forward, wrenched almost in half by the pain of admitting it, and was both relieved and gratified when Dylan caught him and pulled him into his arms. “Jason—”
“Oh God!” And now it was on him, the entire storm raging in his chest, battering at his throat, sending a torrent of liquid pain from his sore, swollen eyes, and he threw himself into it. He let the tempest have him. He clung to Dylan and let the sobs wrack through his body. “Oh God, Dylan, it felt so real! How could it feel so real?”
“It’s how we protect ourselves. It’s what you needed. But you have to let it go now. You see that, don’t you? You see that you have to let this fantasy go?”
“Yes,” Jason cried, nodding into Dylan’s shoulder. “Yes. Oh God, what’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. You need some time, that’s all.”
He let Dylan pull him down to the floor because Dylan could no longer hold his weight. Dylan held him tight, whispering reassurance, and Jason wallowed in it. He let the undertow pull him out to sea. Sometimes he fought it. Sometimes he didn’t. All the while, he huddled here in the comfort of his friend’s embrace, letting the storm abate. Not too fast, though. Not too soon. It had to run a natural course. He pictured the beach slowly coming closer. He struggled to shore and watched the waves wash out to sea, leaving wreckage behind on the sand.
Yes, this was the role. This was his character’s turning point. The despair and the loss would naturally ease out of the way, but they had to leave something new. He needed now to put those pieces of flotsam together. To build that slow bridge to embarrassment, and then to something that looked like recovery. “I feel like such a fool. I can’t believe—”
“Shh. Don’t, Jase. Don’t punish yourself on top of everything else.”
“I don’t know how it even started. I don’t know how I ever let it get so big.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t matter how it started. It only matters that it’s ended.”
Jason nodded. “It has,” he choked. “It was hard to admit, but I know now . . . I know it was all a dream.”
Dylan’s shoulders tensed beneath Jason’s cheek. Jason felt the sudden tension i
n the arms that held him and knew Dylan was working his way around to a new angle. “And the globe?” Dylan asked.
“I threw it away.”
“When?”
“In the night. I put it in the compactor—”
Dylan started to break away, and Jason knew he intended to see the globe for himself. He grabbed Dylan, not bothering to mask his panic and his desperation. “No! Please. I buried it on the bottom. I ran the compactor and I heard it break.” He shuddered, letting another ragged sob tear free, and Dylan sank back to his original spot, letting Jason nestle into his embrace. “I can’t see it,” Jason cried. “I don’t want to see it. Please. I’d rather pretend it never existed.”
“Okay, JayWalk. Okay.” Dylan rubbed his back and kissed the top of his head. “I’m so sorry it had to be like this. I know it hurts right now, but it’s for the best. You know that, right?”
Jason nodded. “I do.”
“In a month or two, you’ll have forgotten all about this.”
“Oh God,” Jason said, letting himself laugh through the tears. “I hope it doesn’t take that long.”
“Maybe it won’t. You’re doing the right thing though, I promise.”
“I wish it didn’t hurt so much. I don’t know how I let it get so out of control.”
“You were lonely.”
“I guess.” But this was where he had to push things. He had to turn Dylan away from the idea of this being about loneliness. Otherwise, how could he ever convince Dylan to leave and abandon him again to solitude? “I don’t know, Dylan. I think it was more about boredom, to be honest. And feeling like I wasn’t good enough for anything.”
“Being out here all by yourself isn’t helping, though. I think you should consider selling this house.”
Jason shook his head. “It’s not the house. I know you don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you. But I see it now. It’s more about me. About feeling like my life is over. I think . . . I need to stop being afraid to even go to the grocery store. I need to stop feeling like I’m useless.” And even though he’d thought of this as a role, he couldn’t help but wonder if it were true. “I need to trust that whatever path I’m on, it’ll work out in the end.”
“That all sounds good, Jason, but being out here by yourself—”
“I’ll check in with Natalie and tell her to send every script she can get her hands on. Maybe I can land a couple of parts, even if they’re shit. But in the meantime, maybe I just need to get outside. Like you said, a bit of sunshine would do me good. Maybe hiding like some kind of criminal is the problem rather than the solution.”
“That all makes perfect sense. I think you’re on the right track.”
“Me too.” Jason hesitated, feeling hopeful. He didn’t want to push his luck, but his instincts told him he should aim for laughter now. “Maybe I should take up sailing?”
“Why sailing?”
“It looks like fun.”
“In the Caribbean, maybe. But in Idaho, in the middle of winter? Brrr.”
“Hunting?” Jason suggested, letting a smile creep into his voice.
“You don’t even step on spiders. Now you’re gonna shoot Bambi?” Dylan shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I could start jogging again.”
“Again?” Dylan asked, incredulous. “Since when do you jog?”
“Always.”
“I’ve never seen you jog.”
“Shows how much attention you pay. I jog at least twice a year.”
Dylan’s laugh was bright and full of relief, and Jason knew they were on the right track. This was the way they’d bantered for years. Now he needed only to let this moment ease Dylan into a sense of normalcy.
“I figure at this rate, I’ll be ready for a 5k by the time I’m fifty.”
“Sounds like a foolproof plan.”
Jason wiped his cheeks and pulled away to meet Dylan’s gaze. This part was easy. This part was hardly a role at all. “Let’s go somewhere. Just for the day.”
“Okay. Where do you want to go?”
“Hmm . . .” Jason pretended to ponder, but really, he already had a plan. He’d thought about it the night before and come up with the perfect activity to take them out of the house, to get them moving and laughing, but without putting too much emphasis on conversation. “Well, we can go out for breakfast first, and then . . . Oh, I know! Let’s go skiing.”
“Skiing? Are you crazy?”
“Why not? Come on. It’ll be fun.”
“Do you have a hat and gloves I can borrow?”
“I’m sure we can find something.”
“What about ski pants?”
“We’ll buy some on the way.”
“Is there a ski resort anywhere in the area?”
“Several, actually.” He leaned a bit closer and lowered his eyelashes, pushing flirtatiously against him, falling back on what had always worked with Dylan. “Please?”
And Dylan smiled, exactly as Jason had expected. It was as if he’d read the script too. “I think skiing’s a great idea.”
They ate a quick breakfast at a local diner, hit a sporting goods store on the way out of town so Dylan could buy gear, then drove fifty-odd miles to Lookout Pass. Jason had worried that Dylan would want to talk about what had happened, or about the globe, or about taking Jason back to Hollywood, but they mostly discussed Summer Camp Nightmare 4, and the possibility of working together again. No, Dylan wouldn’t be playing Jason’s love interest as he had in Jason’s traitorous dream a few weeks earlier, but they’d be on set at the same time often, which Jason always enjoyed. He and Dylan made a good team on-camera, and they always managed to have fun, regardless of everything else. By the time they reached the resort, Jason was almost ready to accept the part without even reading the script.
The question was, what that would mean for Ben? Taking the globe with him now seemed impossible. But leaving Ben behind was even worse.
It was something he dared not ponder for long, lest he somehow betray himself to Dylan. He had to convince Dylan that he was back to his old self, and that meant not dwelling on magically imprisoned men.
They bought half-day passes. It was late in the day by skier standards, but it hardly mattered. In Jason’s opinion, it was perfect. The crowds were beginning to clear as the morning skiers quit for the day, leaving the lift lines far shorter than they might have been. It was cold, but not windy. The sun threw blinding reflections off the snow, and the invigorating spray of powder on his cheeks as he followed Dylan down the first small hill left him exhilarated.
“This was a good idea!” Dylan called to him as they reached the bottom of the slope.
“Told you.” In fact right at that moment, Jason wasn’t sure why he didn’t go skiing every single weekend. It was fun, it was good exercise, and bundled up in his coat and hat and sunglasses, nobody would ever recognize him.
They did one more easy run to get warmed up, then boarded the lift again, their skis dangling heavily beneath them, pulling them forward on the narrow seat as the lift took them to the summit. “I hate it when they don’t have bars,” Jason grumbled.
“Just don’t look down.”
Jason’s mother had once told him the same thing, when he’d been barely eight years old. He’d ridden every lift that day with his head tilted back, staring up at the sky. He’d ended up with a cramp in his neck and one hell of a sunburn on the exposed part of his face. “I think I’ll risk the vertigo.”
“Suit yourself.”
This time down the hill, Jason went first, leaving Dylan to catch up. The chilled air whistled in his ears, punctuated by the sshhh-sshh of his skis cutting the powder as he flew down the slope. He leaned heavily into the turns, pushing himself to go faster without losing control. His cheeks, nose, fingers, and toes burned with cold, but his heart was racing, his core warm and strong, and he finished the run laughing, feeling like he’d been born with boards strapped to his feet. He turned to find Dylan still midway up the sl
ope, and he laughed again.
If only he could bring Ben here. He could imagine Ben bumping down the bunny hill, laughing the whole way, his nose and cheeks rosy red from the cold.
If only.
Dylan waved at him, now only a few yards up the slope, and Jason crushed the thought of Ben, cramming it into that place inside where he dared not look while performing.
“You trying to lose me?” Dylan laughed as he finally banked to a stop two feet away. “You were flying.”
“It felt good.”
“You’re a lunatic. Everybody on the slope was backing away in fear.”
“You’re just jealous ’cause I kicked your ass.”
“Maybe.” Dylan’s right hand strayed toward his zippered coat pocket, where Jason knew he’d stashed his cell phone. Jason suspected he was thinking about his upcoming part, and about how if he was going to cancel, he needed to do it soon. Dylan glanced up into the blinding blue above them, the sun halfway down the dome of the sky, throwing long shadows off the lifts and trees onto the snow.
“One more,” Jason said. “Then we can stop for a drink and see how we feel.”
“Sounds good.”
Jason led the way to the lift line, and they shuffled in, side by side. Jason glanced sideways at Dylan, trying to judge the best time to broach the topic. It was clear the entire thing was eating at Dylan but he was afraid to bring it up. Jason decided it’d have to be up to him, and there was no point in waiting. “When’s the shoot?”
Dylan winced and took off his glove to rub the back of his neck. “Wednesday morning. Six a.m.”
“So you need to leave tomorrow?”
“My flight’s booked for four.” He shook his head. “I can cancel—”
“No, don’t be stupid. I know how hard it is to land roles at all. The last thing you want to do is get blacklisted by some casting agent.”
Dylan sighed as they scooted to the front of the line. “You’re right, but—”
“You’re up!” the lift operator yelled at them.
They fell silent as they moved into place. Jason waited until the chair had scooped them up from behind before readdressing the matter at hand. “It’s bad form to back out this late. We both know something like that could ruin you.” It sounded melodramatic, but it was true. It all depended on who was involved, and who those people knew. Piss off one director or one casting agent with serious pull, and you may as well hang it up and move to middle America to become a high school drama teacher. “I mean it. Don’t cancel. I’ll feel terrible if you lose the part because of me.”