“. . . doesn’t need to know tonight Dad.” The voice was low, angry, sad…..echoing with unshed tears…..and maybe rage. Lindsay’s voice. Dad’s voice.

“Tomorrow will be time enough Roger.” Dziadek’s stern voice. Weird dream……somehow he knew he was dreaming. He was dreaming right?

Focus. Relax. Let the thoughts flow.

“Take me to her, Dad.”

“Lindsay…..” His father sighed, a sigh similar to when he’d lose an argument to Mamo.

“I owe her that. We owe her that. I won’t let her be one more statistic.” For some reason in this dream world he could hear but not see, but he recognized the clip of a gun belt, the scratching rip of velcro being adjusted.

Flashing in the way of dreams……a little over two years later. Laughing as he sat next to Lindsay, Alani and Leilani on the other side of her. Laughing and cheering as the Broncos scored with less than two minutes to go before half time. Then the explosions came, the falling debris, some strange laser strike. Hand in Leilani’s as they ran, and he half carried her through falling debris, covering her with his body as he saw the beams shift towards them.

The dreamscape changed……much for the better. The windows of the massive Dodge RAM were steamy as they struggled to get a tux and dress back in some semblance of shape. The dress was far easier it seemed, at least this one.

“Hurry up Lukas, we’ll be late.”

He leaned over to kiss her again. “Your still coming out after your Mom’s asleep right?”

“Well, Dad expects all the ‘kids’ to go to the bluff. So….not even sure why Mom’s making me come home other than to change.”

He grinned, “So, this is just the warmup……huh?”

“Searching for a post game compliment huh? The screams during weren’t enough?”

He laughed. “Timing is everything.”

Again, a shift…….

He was walking along the small “beach” of the lake holding hands with Jeremiah. He turned at the scrape of rocks on the bank above, while at the same time, he heard a screamed “Lukas, watch…..and then the thud of flesh and grunt of explosive air. Then pain, lots of pain. Lots of screams as he and Jeremiah fought back at the surprise attack, and somehow he pushed back up the bank to see a shadow standing over Alaine kicking her on the ground as she tried to roll away. He charged through the small camp, tackling the attacker, and unknown memories flared as he recognized Alaine’s older brother, the community college dropout…..

More pain, the fingers on his throwing hand being stomped until they broke. The grunts of pain as the others were beaten………until the cool, clear night flashed with lightning, chains of lightning, pain so much pain. Screams…….and he laughed.

“Stop, Lukas, Stop!!!!” Her screams. “You’ll kill him.”

---

His eyes flashed open, awakening to the muted blue color of the ceiling overhead, and the moment of disorientation passed briefly, but the wave of nausea didn’t and he rolled to the side, grabbing the trash can just in time as the vomit pulsed out of him, bile really because he’d not eaten much since breakfast in preparation for this session. Gods, he hated this . . . . . but it had been his choice. More specifically, he hated the taste of bile.

Dr. Downs rose from the chair he sat in, and retrieved a box of tissues and a bottle of water before handing them to him.

“Are you ready to proceed?” the doctor asked him as he sat back down in his chair with a small, concerned smile.

After he nodded, he continued, “Well, then like the other two sessions, tell me what you saw and we will compare notes.”

Taking a long drink of water, a delaying tactic to measure his words, he did. Every detail, from the beginning of the beautiful beach party day to the last horrifying second, volunteering what was memory and what was dream, and the nausea seemed to have purged the depth of horror from him, because he spoke calmly, and if perhaps a bit hesitantly, nearly scientifically of the traumas that had been inflicted on the people in the dream. It was all past anyway.

After he finished, he waited patiently while Downs finished writing his notes. The scratch of the old style pencil into into a journal was comforting, if a bit strange in this day and age. He didn’t understand why, and he hadn’t even broached it to the doctor yet, but the hypnosis and purge of the bile tended to leave him . . . energized. As if he’d just spent hours lifting bails of hay into the barn lofts, but instead of being tired and rubbery, the weight was gone and he felt like he could go for hours more. The gods knew that a horse big enough to carry him regularly had to be large, and ate like it too. Lukas always took care of his horses, or he had . . . Liatris, Aster, Clover and Primrose had all treated him well, and they deserved to be treated with far more kindness.

“So……did I pass whatever test this was, Doc?”

The doctor smiled quietly, finishing the note before looking up and engaging him eye to eye. “In a way, Lukas, but you know there is no wrong answer. One last question though, “Do you still maintain contact with your friends back in Killdeer?”

“Sort of.”

At the quirked eyebrow and questioning look, the big teen sighed, “Occasionally. Over Snapchat, some texts. Given the……incident……its just…..different. They seem to be doing ok though, Alaine even seemed to give the finger to her brother, metaphorically of course since he’s in prison, by going to prom with Jeremiah and posting all over Instagram about it.”

“Does that bother you?”

“No, yes, I mean, I don’t know. At least they have each other right?” The loneliness in the teen’s voice made it very clear as to the real answer.

“You can go back to class now.”

He walked to the door, opening it for Lukas, who exited into the vacant waiting area.

It didn’t take long before doctor heard the door open again.

“Well?”

“It’s not an instruction manual. You won’t know until you run him through your battery of test and classes.”

The dark haired man just waited.

“Your glares don’t work on me but in the interests of moving on to the rest of the day. He’s very driven. Driven to succeed. Driven to protect others. A lot of it is for very obvious reasons. Past traumas, death. Its obvious that its a familial trait, but he’s struggling to find purpose here, specifically.”

“I don’t have all day.”

“He’s about as white knight as they come, Brant, but he’s also a teenager with lots of trauma in his background. You can’t predict how that evolves. He’s lonely. He doesn’t make friends easily. Behind the polite exterior, he’s actually terrified of opening up to others because he fears their true motivations. By everything I can discern, he was actually extremely popular back in his home town, and yet at the same time he felt very isolated, at least with kids his own age, taking aside the two very obvious exceptions of which you are aware.”

“Yes or no, Downs.”

“I think, emphasis on think, that it could be very beneficial for him, but he has to earn it. He has to feel like he earned it. Extra classes, extra work, extra whatever it is you want to teach him and call it leadership training, but you can’t just give it to him.”

The other man nodded, and walked out the door.