11.
	
	Allison was beginning to worry.  She had not seen Stephen since the
lunch hour, and he was not waiting for her at the usual spot.  She ran her
fingers through her hair, brushing it out of her eyes, her brow furrowed
with worry.
	She stood outside of the school's front doors, the mob of students
brushing past her as they rushed out of the school.  She stopped one
student, who was in Stephen's history class.
	"Have you seen Stephen?  He usually meets me here after school, and I
can't find him." she asked.
	"No.  Sorry, Allison.  Haven't seen him since History."
	"Thanks anyway, Rob." she replied, as he walked past her -- anxious to
savor ever drop of his freedom.
	Allison walked around the school, stopping a few students along the way
to ask about Stephen's whereabouts.  One student said something about seeing
him walk towards the back of the school.  He also said Stephen was acting
very strangely, as if he was intensely nervous.
	This disturbed Allison, as she knew Stephen must be tearing himself up
inside after what she had told him.  A tiny pang of guilt made her stomach
feel queasy ©© she quickly rejected it knowing that he was the only person
she could really talk to about her situation.  She had to talk to someone...
why not a close personal friend?
	
	Some of Allison's earlier anxiety after speaking with the counselor had
dissipated, but she still felt the occasional spell of nausea as flashes of
her father had passed over her vision.  Her mind was in pain, as if it were
a newly-opened wound.
	The healing process was in its opening stages, the slow steady process
of dealing with the unthinkable just beginning.  Allison wondered why she
didn't end up with a fragmented personality -- like the girl she had read
about.
	The young girl, Trudi she believed her name was, had been subjected to
years and years of physical, mental, and sexual abuse by both parents.  As a
result, parts of her mind had separated themselves from the rest -- acting
almost like another person.  Apparently, the girl had developed nearly one
hundred distinct personalities.  Each one dealt with a separate facet of
the trauma, one "person" handling the beatings, another the rape, and so on. 
Allison handled her abuse differently -- she chose to avenge her father's
brutality in her dreams.
	In each of her dreams, Allison's father was a monster.  In some ways, he
was similar to the razor-fingered Freddy Krueger.  While asleep, Allison
would imagine cornering him, and slowly and painfully killing him.  In
Allison's dreamscape his threatening appearance was just for show, it
seemed, for at any sign of opposition he would crumble.  With an
understanding beyond her years, Allison realized the dreams were just her
mind's way of fragmenting her identity.  She had developed another,
stronger, personality to deal with her trauma.  The only problem was, it
would only make an appearance when she was asleep.
	
	Allison arrived at the rear of the school... the graffiti assaulting
her vision like a madman's art gallery.  She noticed something new upon the
wall, painted in a blood-red scrawl:
	"NOCS" it read.
	"NOCS? What the hell does that mean?" she thought.
	As she proceeded away from the building towards the schoolyard, she
spotted Stephen.  He was approximately fifty feet ahead of her, sitting by
the fence.  She yelled his name, and her heart sank as he failed to respond.
	She ran over to him, dreading what she would find.
	As she approached him, she noticed he was rocking slowly forward and
back, as if to comfort himself.  She gently touched his shoulder and he
jumped as if electrocuted.
	He turned to see who it was, his eyes brimming with fear.  He stared at
her for a few seconds, and whispered "hello" to her.  Allison also noticed
at that moment that he was holding his arm as if in pain.
	"Stephen?  Are you all right?" she asked.
	"Yeah... just a little shaken."
	"What happened to you, Stephen?  I was worried sick!"
	"Nothing much.  I just had a meeting with Kirk."
	Stephen's grip on his forearm tightened when he said those words,
covering what Allison saw to be blood-soaked bandage.  

	Stephen then let go of his arm for a split second to scratch his nose...
the bandage, insecurely taped, slipped off his arm -- revealing what lay
beneath.  Carved deep into Stephen's forearm was the same word she had just
seen painted on the school... blood the pigment rather than paint.  NOCS.
	Stephen smirked at Allison's look of horror, and spoke:
	"I am one of them now.  And forever..."
    
	
	
	12.

	Allison insisted that Stephen have his arm looked at by a doctor, and he
reluctantly agreed -- his macho side protesting slightly.  The hospital was
within walking distance of the school, but Allison convinced Stephen they
should call a cab -- as his loss of blood could be dangerous. 
	On the way there, the cab driver mumbled about how bad the traffic was
in some almost indistinguishable accent.  Allison ignored him, more
concerned with Stephen's well-being than the trials and tribulations of being
a cabbie.
	They arrived at the hospital -- its large automatic doors sliding apart
as they entered.  The smell of antiseptic wafted into Allison's nostrils as
she approached the waiting room, the constant flurry of activity all around
her.  Stephen walked over to the reception and gave the nurse the required
information, and then joined Allison in the waiting area.
	He scanned the table in front of him for anything to read.  He scoffed
at the five-year-old magazines...

	Allison just sat and stared at a person who she supposedly knew so well. 
He was sitting there, rocking back and forth, and holding his arm -- all the
while grinning at Allison like a lunatic.  What the hell was going through
his head?
	Allison was beginning to lose patience with him, as she had a lot to
worry about besides Stephen's curious condition.  She inhaled deeply,
feeling some of the hurt and anger leave her body.  She began:
	"Stephen, what happened to you?  What in hell have you gotten mixed up
in?" she asked.
	Stephen's smirk faded from his face when he realized how serious
Allison's tone was, his facial expression changing to one of guilt mixed
with a hint of sorrow.  He knew he had hurt her, and felt like shit about
it.  He owed her an explanation... after all, she would soon be directly
involved.
	"I think you better make yourself comfortable, Allison.  This could take
a while."

	Allison bit her lip as she sat next to Stephen, a small part of her not
quite ready for what he was about to say.  It was obvious it was not good
news -- judging by his new tattoo.
	"Earlier today, I overheard Kirk and some other guys discussing an
initiation.  The conversation piqued my curiosity, so I asked what he was
talking about.  Kirk said he was recruiting people for a gang he was
involved in." Stephen began.
	"A gang?  Kirk got you involved in a gang?" Allison accused.
	"Please.  Let me finish.  There's more... Kirk went on to tell me about
last year's initiation where some guy ended up in a wheelchair.  And then
this happened." he said, pointing towards his arm.
	"Wait a minute here, Stephen.  Kirk told you about how some guy ended up
in a wheelchair, and you still went along with him?  While we're here to get
your arm sewn up, maybe we should have your head examined too!"
	Stephen sighed at Allison, her sarcasm a little too true for his liking.
	He continued to tell her about the initiation... skipping the part about
her father hacking her to bits, knowing she would be upset.  He explained to
Allison that the cuts on his arm were a sort of brand, making him a lifelong
member of the Nocturnal Underground.  With a tinge of guilt, Stephen made up
the half-truth of Kirk hypnotizing him -- knowing the real truth about the
dream-curtain would be too difficult for her to accept.

	"And that's what happened."
	Allison thought about what Stephen had just said, the initiation making
a little more sense to her now.  One thing Stephen did not explain was why
he joined up in the first place.
	"Stephen, why do you want to get involved with these guys, anyway? 
What's in it for you... besides a new tattoo, that is." she asked.
	Stephen looked away from Allison for a few moments, searching for the
right words.  Finally, they came to him:
	"The Nocturnal Underground is a gang of lucid dreamers.  They have
mastered the technique of astral projection."
	"Astral projection?  You mean like spirit traveling?"  Allison asked,
her curiosity peaking.
	"Yes... Kirk told me about how he and the other gang members could
travel to other worlds while his body remained asleep... in a comatose
state."  Stephen answered, again leaving out the part about the
demonstration.
	"And you believed him?  Stephen, you think that just because Kirk
sliced your arm up a few times you can travel in your dreams?"
	"Allison... you're just going to have to trust me on this."
	"Stephen, please don't keep anything from me.  I'm your friend,
remember?"
	After a few moments of contemplation, Stephen finally gave in.  He
sighed with frustration, and began to fill in the blanks:
	"Kirk demonstrated the technique before he cut me.  I dreamed about you,
Allison, and your father..."
	"And you thought you were dream-traveling, Stephen?"
	"There's more... I dreamt you were being killed."
	"But I'm still here, aren't I?" Allison responded.
	"Yes.  Allison, I think I traveled to an alternate reality happening in
the future, one that will soon meld with our own..."


	
	13.

	"It's done." Kirk said to the tall man before him, bowing his head in
respect.
	The man rubbed his hands together, and a sly smile spread across his
lips.  The man watched the dark shadows build beneath his feet, the daylight
beginning to die.  Soon, the Night would be born.  It should be an
entertaining evening...
	"Tell me about this new recruit, young one.  Is he worthy of us?"
	Kirk licked his lips nervously before beginning, the ominous presence of
Kirk's master wreaking havoc with his usually calm manner:
	"I believe so, sir.  From what I've seen, he seems to have a very vivid
imagination.  He should be of much use."
	"That is for me to decide, young one.  You've done well so far -- I just
need to meet this boy in person.  That is your next task.  You will bring
him to me..."
	"Yes, master.  I will return when the wolves begin to howl."
	The dark man nodded at Kirk gracefully, and disappeared into the
shadows.

	Stephen decided that he should see the doctor alone, leaving Allison by
herself in the waiting area.  She reluctantly agreed, knowing that she had
already intruded enough on his macho side.  While Stephen was being sewn
back together like Frankenstein, Allison flipped through a few magazines
with little interest.  She was too preoccupied to register anything off the
pages, the pictures and words nothing but a blur.  She placed the magazine
back on the table, her mind a tumultuous sea of thought...
	Bits and pieces of Stephen's last conversation with her played through
her head like a spliced tape recording.  What Stephen had said disturbed her
deeply, the question was whether or not it was true.  Astral projection? 
Alternate realities?  Outside of a Shirley MacLaine novel, it didn't seem
possible.
	Allison's train of thought was derailed as she heard screaming coming
from the Emergency entrance.  A stretcher rushed past her, the man upon the
gurney thrashing about uncontrollably.  He seemed to be in indescribable
pain.  One of the paramedics tried to comfort him, but was violently punched
in the teeth for his efforts.  One of the head nurses, seeing the cause of
the commotion, rushed over to the stretcher with a sedative.  She grasped
the needle firmly in her right hand, anxious to calm the screaming man.  As
the needle broke his skin he screamed once more and then passed out.  The
nurse shook her head, and motioned for the medics to continue.
	The stretcher passed out of Allison's vision, as she overheard one of
the medics talking about the guy they had just wheeled in:
	"He was found with three of his fingers missing... Blood everywhere,
man.  He wouldn't stop screaming about seeing something.  He said it bit
him."
	"Probably drugs... I see it every day..."
	"Yeah."  his coworker responded.

	The voices drifted away, leaving Allison alone with her thoughts once
again.  She glanced at the magazines again, finding nothing to ease her
growing boredom.  She placed it back on the table...
	She decided to see Stephen after all, at least to hear the story he
would make up for the doctor.  Allison approached the nursing station, and
asked if she could check on Stephen.  The nurse reluctantly agreed, telling
Allison that he was in room 118.  Allison thanked the nurse, and began to
head down the hallway.
	She wrinkled her nose at the strong, ammonia-like smell of disinfectant
that pervades every hospital.  Suddenly, the coppery scent of blood wafted
into Allison's nostrils.  It increased in intensity as she proceeded down
the hallway...
	As she reached room 115, she heard screaming.  A loud scratching noise
could be heard as well... coming from inside the room.  Allison bit her lip
and peered inside.
	The man who was just brought in was thrashing about like a dying fish,
slapping his arm as if a venomous spider was crawling up it.  He was
screaming loudly, his eyes never leaving his arm.  Suddenly, a deep scratch
opened in his arm, leaving the man writhing in agony.  The cut widened,
tearing apart the flesh as if it where cheesecloth.
	Allison watched in horror as the cut ran up to the man's shoulder, blood
staining the sheets crimson.  He screamed one final time and then was still.

	Allison stormed out of the room, her mind flashing razor stills of the
man over her vision.  His eyes, pleading for mercy.  His flesh, tearing like
cardboard.  His mouth wide open in a loud, piercing scream.  Two doctors ran
past Allison, heading for room 115.  She watched as they opened the door...
	"Jesus.  What the hell happened here?" one doctor asked.
	"Looks like drug-induced psychosis.  Better call Psych."

	
	14.
	
	Allison arrived at room 118, the shock of what she had seen just
beginning to sink in.  The man wasn't psychotic, as the doctors believed, he
was just plain horrified.  Something was trying to rip his flesh open, and
the man was fighting for his life.  Allison shook her head at her next
thought, rejecting the gut feeling that the incident was somehow related to
the Nocturnal Underground.  She knocked on the door before entering,
anxious to comfort Stephen in his time of need -- as he had done for her.

	The doctor was in the process of anesthetizing Stephen's arm, as Stephen
grasped the arm of his chair in pain.  Allison quietly sat beside him,
substituting her hand for the chair.  Stephen looked over at her, his face a
mixture of gratitude and embarrassment.  It looked like his macho side was
beginning to crumble after all.
	Allison smiled at Stephen, happy to be there for him.  It was the least
she could have done.  The grip on Allison's hand tightened as the doctor
began to stitch Stephen's arm back together as if hemming a pair of pants. 
Some of the pain in Stephen's eyes disappeared as they met Allison's, and
she continued to smile at him.
	The needle plunged through Stephen's flesh, joining the separated
halves.  Stephen watched the process with a sort of morbid curiosity,
finding that watching the doctor work provided more comfort than looking
away.  
 	The doctor continued to thread the needle through the cuts, his
expression of curiosity about the letters plainly evident.  Stephen's
expression turned to one of guilt as he stared down at the scars, feeling
incredibly stupid for agreeing to the initiation.
	About fifty stitches later, the doctor applied a fresh bandage to
Stephen's wound.  After he was done carefully taping the gauze, he sat
across from Stephen -- staring into his eyes for some clue about what had
happened.
	"Stephen, what happened to you this afternoon?  Was it a suicide
attempt?" the doctor asked.
	Stephen's eyes fell to the floor in embarrassment, ashamed at what he
had done.  He sighed dejectedly, and responded:
	"No.  The cuts are a result of an initiation.  Something I should have
never gotten mixed up in."  
	As he said these words, Allison secretly smiled at him -- proud of his
honesty and courage.

	"I see.  For your own sake, Stephen, you should stay as far away from
these people as possible.  About the cuts, you should remove the bandage
tomorrow and carefully clean it with an antiseptic.  I'll write you a
prescription for that.  Let the wound air out for a few weeks, making sure
it is kept dry.  I'd like to see you in about three weeks to see if the
stitches can be removed."
  	The doctor quickly scrawled a prescription for the antiseptic, and
handed it to Stephen.

	Stephen nodded his head at the doctor, and then exited the room. 
Allison followed, anxious to tell him what the counselor had suggested
earlier.
	As they walked away from the hospital, she began:
	"Stephen, I know you've had a difficult day, but I need to ask you a
favor.  The counselor suggested I stay with a friend until my dad is
arrested.  Can I please stay with you for a while?"  she said, biting her
lip nervously.
	Stephen looked at her, surprised at himself for forgetting about her
problems while so worried about his own. 
	"Allison, I'm really sorry about what happened today.  I was so obsessed
with the initiation I forgot about your father.  You can come home with me
today, and stay over for supper.  I'll talk to my parents afterwards..."
	Allison's eyes lit up as she heard his words, and smiled at him.  She
felt a strange compulsion to kiss him, but stopped herself -- knowing that
she should wait until both of them were ready.
	"Not until I get rid of my father's shadow." she thought, smiling at
Stephen.

	
	
	15.
	
	As Stephen and Allison walked towards his house, not a word was passed
between the two.  In a sort of conspiracy of silence, the pair walked
quietly onward.  Occasionally, Stephen would stare at Allison -- feeling too
guilty about his actions to even strike up a casual conversation.  Allison
seemed to feel the almost palatable tension between them, as she would stare
at him occasionally as well -- biting her lower lip nervously.
	Stephen's eyes fell to the ground as they passed the school, his guilt
swirling like an oil spill through the sea of his mind.  He didn't know how
to explain why he had gone through with the initiation to himself -- much
less to Allison.  How was he supposed to tell her about his half-baked idea
of revenge on her father for his animalistic brutality?  Where would he
begin?  
	Allison finally was the one to break the silence, jarring Stephen out of
his absentminded reverie.
	"Stephen, I'm having a lot of difficulty dealing with what my father has
done to me.  I see flashes of him while I'm awake, I dream about him when
asleep.  Even while in jail, his spirit will haunt me.  What I'm trying to
say is... I'm scared, Stephen."  she said.
	Allison's bearcub eyes, adrift in a lake of acid-tears, pleaded with
Stephen for support.  Stephen wrapped his arms around Allison's shoulders,
feeling a combination of pride, pity, and love for her.
	She smiled at Stephen, grateful for his attention, and continued:
	"Stephen, have you ever wondered why our relationship has never gone
beyond 'just friends'?"
	Stephen's stomach back-flipped as he heard these words, his heart
beginning to feel like a machine gun in his chest.  He had been waiting for
this moment for the past three years.  In some ways, he had given up on it
ever happening.  
	"Allison, I have very strong feelings for you.  I'm sure you have known
that for some time now.  I had no idea you felt the same way about me."
	"Yes, Stephen, I do.  If it weren't for my father, I would have told you
long ago.  I guess being abused made it too difficult to admit my true
feelings before now..."  Tears rolled down Allison's cheeks as she spoke,
the relief of being able to finally open her heart to Stephen obviously
tremendous.
	"Allison, both of us are barely thirteen.  And you're saying we are in
love?"
	"Yes, I am.  Remember how old Romeo and Juliet were?"
	"Oh, great!  So now you're saying we're going to end up killing
ourselves in the name of love!"  Stephen laughed in response to Allison's
comparison.
	Allison smiled at Stephen's sarcasm.  She felt a weight being lifted
from her chest as she opened up to him, finally exposing her true feelings
after three years.
 
	Stephen smiled at his new girlfriend.  Allison smiled at her new
boyfriend.
	Three years of hidden feelings -- the insecurity and longing for each
other slowly changed into satisfaction and relief.
 
	
	
	16.
	
	The leather-jacketed young man followed Allison and Stephen as they
walked arm-in-arm.  Stalking them as a wolf stalking its prey...
	Since the two had left the hospital, the man had been behind them.  As
the night began to bleed shadows, he continued to follow.  Long blonde hair
fell artfully over his eyes, the black jacket and his dark Levi's providing
excellent camouflage undercover of darkness.  He rummaged inside his jacket
for a cigarette, found one, and cupped his hand over the lighter's flame --
not stopping for a second.
	The couple turned down an alleyway, and the man stealthily followed. 
He smiled as they approached a split©level home and entered.  The man cut
around the back, eager to find an appropriate hiding place.  An evergreen
tree provided good cover, allowing the man to blend with the shadows as if
he were invisible.  The fun was just beginning...

	As Allison entered Stephen's home, a feeling of reality drifted over
her.  She had been here many times before, but today it seemed strange. 
Everything looked the same.  Yet, it felt different.  During her previous
visits, Allison had been too busy to notice the feeling of safety and
security that pervaded the house.  Now, in light of her father's abuse, it
overwhelmed her.
	Stephen's home was modest, but Allison quickly realized it bore the
fingerprint of a happy family.  Pictures of relatives graced the
entranceway, the smiles not the painted grins of Allison's portraits, but
genuine.  Allison bit her lower lip as she stared at the photographs, the
contrast to her own painfully evident.
	Stephen led her into the living room. As she sat upon the couch,
Allison looked around the room.  The furniture was free of cigarette burns
or liquor©stains.  It was missing the rips and tears caused by a struggling
teenage girl.  The walls were unmarked -- nothing had been thrown violently
against them.  The television was in perfect working order -- its tube had
not been smashed in a fit of uncontrollable rage.
	The carpet was clean, no stains of liquor and vomit.  No family
mementos sat on shelves broken -- the battle-scarred victims of a daily
war.  None of the pictures upon the wall hung with scratched and dented
frames, the glass not shattered by flying drunken fists.  
	
	Stephen was in the middle of explaining when his parents would be home,
as he turned to see Allison shedding silent tears.  He watched her for a few
moments, and then wrapped his arm around her -- pulling her closer to him.
	She had closed her eyes at this point, beginning to tremble like a
whipped dog.  Stephen just sat and silently held her for about ten minutes,
looking at his surroundings as Allison had.  For a few moments he saw them
through her eyes...
	The picture perfect family.  The picture perfect home.  Daggers of pity
sliced through Stephen's heart as he realized what he took for granted was
something Allison must dream about every day.  All she wanted was to have a
good environment to grow up in.  Her father had turned her home into a
battlezone.  The first casualty was her childhood.


	17.
	
	As Stephen sat holding Allison, he tried to imagine how horrifying it
would be to come home to her father everyday.  No matter how hard he tried,
he couldn't.  It seemed his mind had betrayed him, faced with a nightmare
that could not be imagined.  The horror was Allison's alone, for only she
had experienced it.
	He wished he could do something, anything to ease her pain.  But no
painkiller could make her mind feel better.  Emotional wounds run deeper
than physical.  They never really heal completely.  The only medicine
Stephen could provide was to be Allison's shoulder to cry on.  It wasn't
much, but it was the best he could do.
	Stephen gently stroked her hair, his eyes speaking volumes while his
lips remained still.  While Stephen's silent voice never rose above a
whisper, Allison's seemed to be screaming with rage.
	Allison nervously brushed hair out her eyes, and looked around the room
again.  It seemed she was having a lot of trouble deciding where to begin. 
Stephen could see flashes of the abuse in her eyes, like a thundercloud
blocking out the sun.  The storm began...
	"Stephen, I think I owe you an explanation.  During the past two years,
I began to develop certain feelings for you.  But my mind was so... fucked
up.  I kept on imagining my father with your face.  He had colored how I
felt about everyone.  Especially myself... 
	It's like that song, 'Paint it Black'.  Everything was dark, Stephen,  I
couldn't see anything but what... he had done to me.  Every time I tried to
tell you how I felt memories of my father crept up on me.  Like a spider
crawling up a sink drain."
	Stephen stroked Allison's shoulder as she spoke, silently encouraging
her to go on.
	"I couldn't go to anyone for help.  I thought it was my fault.  My mom
dying, dad's drinking, the abuse.  All of it.  Like somehow, I caused it
all to happen.  I felt like shit, Stephen.  Now, it's tearing me apart...
	It seems like I can't think of anything else.  Sometimes I feel like
standing outside, looking up to God, and screaming 'WHY ME???'.  Do I
deserve this, Stephen?  Am I really such a terrible person?"
	Stephen sighed as he absorbed Allison's emotions, feeling a mixture of
rage, sadness, and desperation.  He thought about Allison's words for a few
moments, trying to find a response to make everything all right. 
Unfortunately, he could not.

	"Allison, what happened to you is not your fault.  Your father has a
mental illness, you are not to blame.  You don't deserve what has happened
to you -- no one does.  Just remember you are not in any way responsible for
what your father has done.  
	As a matter of fact, I'm very proud of you for coming to me about this. 
I know it must very difficult.  Allison, I really care about you, and I want
to help you through this."
	Allison suddenly reached forward and tenderly kissed Stephen, sending
his heart into his throat.  He looked at her, surprised by her directness.
	"What was that for?" he asked.
	Allison looked down bashfully for a few moments, and then locked eyes
with Stephen.
	"Just my way of saying 'thank you'.  I don't know what I would've done
without you, Stephen."

	
	
	18.
	
	As Stephen was recovering from the thrill of his first kiss with
Allison, he turned to see his parents walking in.  Stephen and Allison
stared at each other, as if sharing a conspiracy.  As Allison watched
Stephen's parents remove their jackets, her eyes fell to the floor. 
Memories of her mother surfaced in her mind like a bad aftertaste.  Before
she died, Allison's family was much like Stephen's.  Now, after her mother's 
passing and dozens of violations it was changed forever.  Allison stared at
Stephen's parents again, feeling more than slightly jealous of him.

	It had only been a few weeks since her last visit, but it seemed as
though she was meeting Stephen's parents for the first time.  She nervously
absorbed every detail about them -- as she had with the living room.  Robert
Bryson's large hands and huge frame, prominent cheekbones, and dark
features.  Carol's petite figure, her fine blonde hair like a wisp of a
horse's tail.  At first glance, they seemed to be a very odd couple.  But
Allison knew this not to be true.  Robert, for all his ominous appearance,
had eyes which exuded gentleness, and a calm intelligence.  Carol, despite
her delicate frame, could be as tough as nails if angry.  Robert and Carol
offset each other perfectly, fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw
puzzle.
	Allison felt more at ease as she thought about the subtle ways Mr. and
Mrs. Bryson had encouraged Stephen and Allison to go beyond friends.  Most
parents sheltered their offspring, trying to keep them under their wings as
long as possible.  Stephen's, fortunately, were different.  It seemed they
wanted Stephen to learn by his own mistakes, be it with girls or anything
else.  During the past few years, Stephen's parents had not interfered with
his budding relationship with Allison -- allowing it to slowly develop day
by day.  Of course, there were a few times when Allison and Stephen had
ended up in shit up to their knees.

	One time, Allison had the bright idea to sneak out of the house.  She
had climbed out of her bedroom window, nearly breaking her legs as she
jumped to the ground.  Allison then decided it would be a great night for a
walk.  As she proceeded down Maple, she wondered what Stephen was up to. 
Maybe he wanted to take a walk as well...
	A shit-eating grin spread across Allison's face as she marched up
Stephen's driveway.  She scanned the front of the house, looking for a way
to his bedroom window.  She found an ivy-infested trellis which looked
sturdy enough to climb on.  She rubbed her hands together, psyching herself
up for the task.  She took a deep breath, and began to ascend the trellis. 
About halfway up, Allison nearly screamed as a board gave way and fell to
the ground.  She quickly regained her footing and continued to climb, her
heart hammering jazz percussion in her chest.
	Allison caught her breath at the top, and stared into Stephen's window. 
He was sound asleep.  Allison smiled as she watched him snooze, admiring his
cuteness.  She just sat on the roof for a few minutes, continuing to spy on
him.
	Finally, Allison gently tapped on his bedroom window.  Stephen stirred
restlessly, but did not wake.  Allison tapped again, slightly harder this
time.  Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Stephen rose from his comfy bed.  He
walked over to his bedroom window -- his face a picture of surprise and
anger.
	Stephen opened the window, staring into Allison's grinning face.
	"What the hell are you doing here?  It's two in the morning." he
whispered.
	"Just kind of hanging around." she replied.
	Stephen rolled his eyes in frustration.  Apparently, it was far too late
for Allison's brand of humor.
	As Allison continued to joke with Stephen, she stretched out her legs. 
She accidentally hit the trellis, hearing a slight crack as the nails
attaching it to the house gave way.  In one swift motion, the trellis fell
to the ground.  Allison looked down longingly at her impromptu ladder, and
then looked at Stephen.
	"Now what do I do?" she asked.
	"Hmmm... ya got me there, Allison.  Well, gotta go.  I would like to get
some sleep before school tomorrow."
	With that, Stephen closed the window and crawled back into bed.  He was
grinning from ear-to-ear.

	Allison felt a strange sense of deja vu as she stared down at the
ground, the reasoning for Stephen's behavior hitting her like a load of
concrete.  Revenge.  He wanted to pay her back for stranding him at the
abandoned apartment building!
	Allison tapped on the window again, and was greeted with Stephen's
perma-smile as he opened the window.
	"The way I see it, I have two options.  I can either throw my mattress
out the window, or I can let you into my bedroom and then out the front
door.
	Let me think about this one."  Stephen whispered.
	Allison rolled her eyes in frustration, beginning to lose patience with
Stephen.
	Stephen finally gave in, laughing quietly as Allison crawled through the
window.  Allison smiled back...

	Allison's mind drifted back to the present, the remnants of her memory
dissolving back into her subconscious.  She reached for Stephen's hand,
forgetting that his parents were just across the room.
	As Stephen and Allison locked fingers, Robert and Carol smiled at the
happy couple -- seeing the seeds planted years ago finally begin to bear
fruit.

	
	
	19.

	As Allison listened to Stephen tell his parents how his day had been,
she began to feel slightly disoriented.  She tried to shake off the feeling,
but it was like getting a snake to release a mouse -- no can do.  She
watched as Stephen's eyes shifted downward while he was making up a story to
explain why his arm was bandaged.  Stephen looked strange, his features
slightly distorted as if viewed through a funhouse mirror.  His parents' as
well.  The room began to distort, the walls shimmering as if underwater. 
Allison rubbed her eyes frantically, and the vision disappeared.
	"Allison, are you all right?" Stephen asked.
	"I... don't know.  I suddenly feel very tired."
	She looked at Stephen's parents, and asked if it would be alright if she
could lie down for a while.  They agreed, brows furrowed with worry.
	Allison thanked them, and accepted Stephen's offer for help upstairs. 
She wrapped her arm around his shoulders, feeling patches of darkness drift
over her vision.  It felt as if all the strength had suddenly been sucked
out of her, and she found it quite difficult to navigate the stairs.  Even
with Stephen's aid, it was a good ten minutes before they reached the top. 
Stephen led her to his bedroom, and gently lay her down on his bed.
	She smiled weakly at him, her eyes washed-out and pale.  Allison nodded
at Stephen's offer to check on her in an hour, as her eyelids slowly closed. 
Stephen sighed, and closed the bedroom door.
	"Must be all the stress." he thought, surprised at all they had been
through today.

	Stephen walked back to the living room, and sat down on the couch.  He
absent-mindedly fidgeted with a coin he had picked up from the carpet,
examining it closely as if it were a precious artifact.  He glanced
self-consciously at his parents, licked his lips, and began:
	"Mom, Dad, Allison is in trouble.  She can't stay at home anymore."
	"In trouble?  What has she done?" his dad asked.
	Stephen sighed in frustration, understanding his father's rationale for
suggesting Allison had done something wrong.  Based on her past record, it
was a good guess.
	"It's not what she has done.  I found out today her father has been
sexually assaulting her since she was eleven."
	"Dear God." Carol whispered. Robert shook his head slowly in disbelief.
	"How is she handling it all, so far?" Carol carefully asked.
	Stephen sighed again, placing the coin he was holding on the coffee
table.  He sat further back in his seat, making himself more comfortable.
	"As you've seen this afternoon, she's very quiet.  When I found out this
afternoon, she was a mess.  She gradually began to improve slightly, and
hen began to get worse again.  It seems like some kind of cycle." Stephen
answered.
	Carol had been through the rape of her sister last August and her heart
shattered as she heard the news.  With mounting horror, she imagined what
the trauma must have done to Allison's fragile teenage psyche.  She offered
Stephen a few words of advice, speaking from experience:
	"Stephen, you are right.  It is a kind of cycle.  She will be fine one
minute, and then crying her heart out the next.  One moment she will be
clinging to you like a child, the next she could be pushing you away as if
you were somehow responsible."
	"Mom, I've been doing some thinking.  In the three years that I've known
Allison, she had never invited me over.  Every time I brought up her family,
she flinched as if slapped, and immediately changed the subject.  I should
have known something was wrong." 
	"There's really no way you could have known, Stephen.  My sister was the
same way -- it took her over a year to tell me what had happened.  From what
I've read and experienced, victims of rape or violence tend to blame
themselves for what happened."
	"Thank you, mom.  I'm beginning to understand what she's going through. 
Is there anything I can do to help her through this?" Stephen asked.
	"All I can suggest is not to smother her.  If she needs your support,
she will come to you.  If she wants to be alone to think, for God's sake,
let her.  It will be quite a while before the wounds even begin to heal, but
at least she is no longer alone."
	"Another thing.  The school counselor suggested she stay at a friend's
house for a while, until her dad is taken into custody.  I was wondering if
she could stay here."
	Carol smiled at Stephen's question, proud of her son's attempt to lend a
helping hand.  She glanced over at Robert, leaving him with the final
decision.
	"Of course.  I can see that you and Allison have become quite close. 
She may stay here as long as necessary.  I still can't believe this has
happened.  She seemed like such a happy, well-adjusted girl." he said.
	"Underneath the mask of sarcasm and good humor there is a very scared
young girl, dear.  Now, the mask has been removed, and she's like a knight
without armor.  Allison's battle has just begun..." Carol added.



	20.

	Allison's eyes fluttered as she sank into a deep sleep.  Her body began
to twitch slightly as she dreamed, her muscles contracting as her
subconscious presented tonight's mind-movie.
	In her dream, Allison opened her eyes.  She looked downward, expecting
to see her own body.  Instead, she saw nothing.  Allison looked around her,
again seeing nothing but darkness.  There was no sound here except the
perfect static of silence.  A complete vacuum -- the ultimate unworld.
	There were no stars.  There were no planets.  There was no sun. 
	Nothing, as if God decided to wipe the slate of the Universe clean.  
	
	Allison wondered what the hell was going on, confused by her non-dream. 
She decided to try moving around a bit, not knowing how exactly. 
	Apparently, she did not have any legs to walk.  Trying to flap her arms
would be futile as well, as she did not possess any.  
	Allison thought about her predicament for a few moments, thinking about
how to move without a body.  Suddenly, it hit her.
	With her mind.  The novelty of Allison's idea quickly wore off as she
realized she had no idea what she was doing.  Of course, that had never
stopped her before.
	First, Allison imagined being pushed from behind, as if a gale force
wind had suddenly blown up.  This worked to a limited extent, relocating her
to a vacuum with a slightly off-white color.  Allison found it quite curious
that she felt no wind as she floated, as if the air itself did not exist. 
If there was no air, how was she to breathe?  Then again the lack of air did
not really matter -- considering she did not have a functioning pair of
lungs.
	Next, Allison pictured a bird flapping its wings as it soared towards a
treetop.  This did not work at all.  Allison then imagined riding atop a
pterodactyl, its giant leathery wings rustling her hair as it flew upward. 
For a few moments, Allison felt a gentle wind rush past her, but little else
happened.  She was still stuck in beige space.
	Allison was becoming quite frustrated with her predicament, as every
idea was shot down in flames of failure.  She imagined she was a passenger
in a 747.  Nope -- this only brought the memory of the pungent odor of
diesel exhaust.  
	Other ideas were quickly rejected; including an imagined dive off a
cliff into the steel-blue waters of a Mexican sea.  
	
	Just as Allison was about to give up, she tried to imagine flying above
Stephen's house -- a kindred spirit to the bird she pictured.  Suddenly, the
darkness dissipated, and she found herself about one hundred feet above
Stephen's home.  She floated effortlessly over the backyard, having only to
think of her destination.  She could feel no wind resistance as she floated,
as she had no body to upset the air molecules.  Allison flew over the house,
and then down Maple Street -- marveling at the bird's eye view.  Homes
rushed past her as she flew back towards Stephen's modest house.
	She pictured herself back in bed, feeling a little weak after her
unexpected journey.  She knew it was a dream, and she was somehow in control
of it.  The giddy excitement of her new discovery was very unnerving as her
mind exploded with possibilities.
	Allison floated towards the bedroom window, wondering what would happen
when she tried flying through it.  Just as if she were an apparition,
Allison floated ghostlike through the glass --the shock of her new ability
disappearing as the giddiness returned.  Allison decided to try an
experiment.
	What would happen if she tried floating through a wall or door?  Would
her flight be as Casperesque as the experience with the window?  As Allison
floated towards the wall, she braced herself for the anticipated collision. 
But, just as with the window, Allison soared right through the wall --
ending up in Stephen's parents' bedroom.  Allison glided around the room
for a few minutes, enjoying the birdlike sensations.  She flew past the
mirror, and surprisingly, was greeted with a reflection of her floating
above the carpet.  Allison looked down, the mirror copying her, and
discovered she still did not have a body to speak of.  If this was true,
then why was she showing up in the mirror?
	Allison decided the only way to answer this question would be to float
into the mirror itself.  She paused for a few moments, psyching herself up
for the task.  She inhaled a deep dream-breath, and flew towards the mirror. 
As she approached the glass, it began to waver as if underwater.  She flew
into the mirror, and found herself back in the vacuum.  This time, it was a
pale green color.
	Allison suddenly felt extremely tired, the excitement gradually changing
into sleepiness.  She imagined she was back in her own body, and suddenly
found herself floating above the bed again.  As Allison melded with her body, 
she felt her eyes begin to open.
	Allison shook her head in wonder as she relived her dream.  The vacuum,
the mind-numbing thrill of flight, and of course the strange experience with
the mirror.  Perhaps it was some kind of portal.
	Allison resisted the urge to rush downstairs, and instead decided to lay
in bed for a while.  Stephen would be able to answer some of her questions;
but, for now at least, she would have to deal with more pressing matters. 
Like more sleep.
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