Author: Sam

Story: Say it With Music: 2 of ?

Series: none

Summary: Eric's finally home and living the life he's always wanted... isn't he?

Setting: Earth

Song Note: Someone Else's Dream by Michael Ball and Brian Kennedy, performed at Michael Ball's Royal Albert Hall Celebration Concert in England.

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.oocities.org/samwise_baggins/index.html

"And at three forty-five the president of Paxton will be waiting in the lobby."

"Of course, father." Eric methodically manipulated the cloth of his silk tie, forming a perfect knot, as had been drilled into him before he could properly appreciate the subtleties of sharp dressing. He stepped back, barely glancing over his reflection, knowing he'd see calm, cool perfection, as always. It was, after all, expected of Eric Montgomery, son and future heir to the founder of the Montgomery estates and businesses. Turning, the tall, dark-haired young man lifted an eyebrow at his secretary.

The woman shifted slightly, still not used to having her boss's son present at these functions. It wasn't long ago the boy was failing algebra and whining about not enough allowance. She cleared her throat and continued with the reading of the day's schedule, no bothered that the younger man kept commenting as if his father were reading the words, not the elder Montgomery's secretary of twenty years. It was expected of young Eric not to acknowledge that there were underlings all around him, after all. He could easily be cultivated into as big a snob as his father.

Finally, the itinerary exhausted, the pair of dark-haired males turned to leave the oak-paneled study. To the untrained eye, they were identical, Eric a replica of his stern, powerful father. But, to those who knew the pair as intimately as Janice Geronti, the secretary, did, there were differences beginning to appear. Oh, true, a year ago, even she couldn't have seen anything to separate the pair. But, that had been a year ago.

Then, Eric had run away from home for three months.

No one had figured out just why the sixteen-year-old had done it. Still, to this day, even his father couldn't get Eric to explain where he'd been or even what had made him come back exhausted and with such tired old eyes. Of course, Eric's father, who could have easily, without argument from the masses, claimed to know the teen best, didn't notice those haunted eyes... but Janice had. Now, the seventeen-year-old walked with a gate reminiscent of a caged tiger. He seemed more certain of himself, more powerful... as if he'd discovered the greatness within and barely kept it leashed. In those three months something momentous had happened to the boy to make him a man.

The biggest difference happened just as Eric was about to slip into the hall behind the self-made millionaire. He turned and winked at Janice. He smiled. The teen disappeared before the secretary could respond, as he always did these days, but still she couldn't help smile in return. Four months ago, the boy had run away. One month ago, he'd returned, on the day of his seventeenth birthday. And now... he was more of a man than his father was.

Eric naturally didn't know her thoughts, too busy keeping up with his successful father to look back.

Bored to death. That's what Eric was. He'd come home from the Realm a month ago and been bored ever since. That day had been sheer... exhaustion. His seventeenth birthday, which he'd already celebrated in the Realm three years previously, had been spent filling out police reports about his three-month disappearance. That had probably been the most exciting day he'd had since returning to Earth, and no one could possibly ever understand that.

After all, whom could he tell? Once they'd returned, the small group of six children had realized immediately that they were again the young teens that had been ripped from their world to save another. Three years in the Realm had taken three months at home. The children had been questions, poked, prodded, scolded, punished, and thrown into counseling. For Eric the realization had been immediate that he could never, ever tell a living soul about his time in the Realm. He'd be ripped out of counseling and thrown into an asylum so quick, it'd make Uni's teleportation spell look like a snail's pace.

Refusing to show any weakness by shifting in the stiff chair, Eric continued to stare blankly between Mr. Paxton's eyes. It was a trick he'd picked up in algebra, actually. Stare at the teacher between the eyes and he thought you were paying attention. Then you could daydream your life away, and if anyone asked you questions, you could easily reword it and throw it right back... causing them to answer it for you. Yeah, his dad's game of big business wasn't too hard once you figured out the secret of manipulation.

The meeting was identical to every meeting Eric had attended since his return. He'd get dressed a spiffy as his father, follow the man around like a well-trained pooch, and sit stiff and obedient while the adults hashed out the details of business merges he never cared the slightest about. When he'd first gotten home, he'd tried to listen and participate, but had gotten a firm dressing down after the very first meeting. He was basically there to impress the clients, not show off and act silly. Thus, Eric spent the meetings daydreaming about life in the Realm.

If anyone had ever asked him if he'd miss that god-forsaken place, he'd have laughed in his face and called the funny farm for free delivery. But now, he found he truly did wish he could go back there... for a little while... for just a day... In the Realm, after all, the others actually listened to him, if he felt like spouting anything important. If he felt like joining in and trying to help, they welcomed the efforts. He wasn't told to shut up and go sit at the kiddy table for trying to be a grown up.

An audio trigger sent Eric gracefully to his feet. He'd learned by the end of the month what words would mean the end of a meeting. Smiling in that same cold manner his father always used, Eric dutifully shook hands with the Paxton man and his associate. They commented on how much like his father he was, how truly impressive he was... how he would follow in his father's well-worn footsteps and become another Montgomery Millionaire running the lives of thousands of people in hundreds of companies he didn't even care to know the names of. Eric merely smiled and let them think he was delighted and proud to be compared to such a man.

There had been a time, before the Realm, when Eric Montgomery had wanted to be just like his father. The man was rich, powerful, and sought after. Everyone catered to the senior Montgomery's every whim, and the man took it as his due. Eric had wanted that... that petting and cosseting and admiration and respect. That had been before the Realm, though, before he'd risked his life as an equal part of a team of six human children trying to save a world. That was before he'd found out that his father's money and influence meant diddly-squat when one was faced with a party of enraged Orcs bent on tearing one limb from limb. That was before he'd come home to find out just what his father was really like.

With the same cold smile he'd donned on Paxton, Eric turned to his father. "That went well." He really had no idea how it went, but his father was still smiling even after the other man was gone, and that always meant a good deal for the Montgomery business.

"Yes." That was it. A one word, sterile affirmative. No explanation of how it would help their business, no tearing apart the subtleties of the meeting and negotiations, not even an acknowledgement that it was the man's one and only child who'd been with him there. Just the same response his secretary would get when asking if he wanted coffee with lunch.

Eric ruthlessly held back the sigh of disappointment he felt. What had he expected? Dress nice and attend a few meetings and he'd earn his father's love? The man didn't know how to love; it had been drilled out of him at age five, just as it had Eric. Eric, however, had been saved. Before the tiny flicker of emotion had completely withered, five other people had stoked it back to life.

Five other people he had been permitted to see since his seventeeth birthday.

"Doctor Phillips is waiting to see you, Sir." The secretary stepped forward, a thick engagement book in her thin arms. She gave him a functional smile, one reserved for business superiors, and stepped back once more.

The teen again repressed his emotions. He nodded to Janice, this time not even glancing in her direction. His father would see, and he'd get another lecture about encouraging relationships with the underlings. How could thanking someone be encouraging relationships, Eric still hadn't figured out. All he knew was that Janice had nearly been fired that day; Eric had never again let his father see him show anything near humanity to the staff again.

It was barely five minutes later when Eric walked into the private office, which had been set aside for him. His father naturally never assigned him any work or meetings that required a private office... except the daily sessions with Doctor Phillips, private counselor specializing in rich runaways. That's what Eric had been delegated to, a group of kids who roamed because they were rebelling against their rich, powerful parents.

Doctor Phillips was a balding man in his late fifties. He had a no-nonsense air about him and presented the perfect stereotypical picture of a professional therapist. He was dedicated to his job... or at least the money it raked in... and so took his work seriously. The man even had the gall to make Eric lie down on the leather couch he'd ordered put in the office for their meetings. It was over-dramatic in Eric's estimation and certainly never helped him relax and open up to the twit his father had hired.

"Hello, Erica."

Eric gritted his teeth. His name was not Erica, and the man knew it. But, unfortunately, in a fit of absurd humor, when they had met and the man had asked him how to spell his name, Eric had responded "E-R-I-C-A, my father wanted a girl, don't you know." Ever since, the man had insisted on calling him Erica in private, thankfully using the title Young Montgomery in public settings. The seventeen-year-old was heartily convinced that Doctor Phillips was doing this to get Eric to whine to his father, thus proving the theory that he was a bored teen with no direction and too much pampering. Eric refused to give the counselor that kind of satisfaction.

"Good afternoon, Doctor." Eric got a small, very petty, satisfaction by not granting the man a name in any setting. He had determined to act as if the man was merely a tool or servant, and that the doctor's initial "Call me Phillips, if you'd like," had never been uttered. As always, the doctor's annoyance of this treatment flash through his green eyes, but quickly was hidden once more. The flash was enough every time, and Eric felt a little better.

"We are going to try a new technique today, Erica." There was a ring of smugness in the doctor's tone. These meetings had long since ceased being therapy sessions, instead becoming a battle of wills to see just who would crumble and go running to the elder Montgomery first. The doctor was just as determined as his patient to come out the victor. "We will try a little technique I invented, called Inner-self Gazing."

Eric turned an extremely puppyish, bright smile on the quack. "Oh, could we, please? I'd oh-so-love to try out one of *your* special therapies, Doctor." The false happy tones were liberally mixed with equally false awe. It grated on the man's nerves every time Eric so obviously acted like an eager kid who respected this powerful clever man... especially as in the second session Eric had told Doctor Phillips to his face what a stupid little nobody he was.

The therapist shifted in his comfortable leather chair, having claimed the one behind Eric's desk. He grinned like a shark about to strike and nodded, choosing, once more, to ignore Eric's obvious disrespect. "Well, it involves looking into a mirror and telling me what you see."

Oh... this was too easy. Eric stood and walked over to the gilded mirror over the side-table. It had been put there to look nice, as Eric was expected never to need touching up between meetings. The teen gazed into the mirror and tilted his head, letting his brown eyes go wide as if utterly shocked. "Oh! I see... a spoiled rich brat who has his head so far up his backside he'll never see the light of day! Golly gee! This is the bestest therapy session ever, Doctor. I feel all better now." He turned, stalked to his seat, and let himself sink onto the uncomfortable couch once more.

Busily nodding, the doctor made no move to interfere with Eric's sarcastic performance. On the desk, apparently placed there after Eric had gotten up, was a small tape-recorder, capturing every word the teen said for later review. Eric privately felt the recording wasn't for medical reasons; his father probably confiscated the tapes to listen to later. Eric was careful never to say anything derogatory during these stupid meetings.

"Well, I am glad you have started seeing some sense, Erica. It is a very important first step in full recovery to acknowledge the trials one faces. Yes, this is going along very nicely."

Eric rolled his eyes then closed them, settled back into the leather, and folded his hands over his lean abdomen. That was the same bull the man spouted every session, probably for his father's listening benefit. They never got past this dance of snide pecking. They never got to what Eric needed to discuss. But then again, Eric didn't trust the man to handle it like a real professional. He'd most likely just claim Eric was making up stories for his father's attention... something Eric had given up when he was eight.

Now came the next move. This was almost a pre-arranged dialogue, in fact. The barely hostile greetings, followed by the over-solicitous insults, to be concluded with Eric coming up with the wildest lie he could imagine and getting a boring lecture by the doctor about responsibility and self-worth. Eric was looking forward to the day when this man quit out of annoyance.

As the teen lay there quietly, trying to come up with a good story he hadn't used yet, the doctor silently sat and watched. That wasn't anything new. The man was paid by the hour and was paid well enough not to need to rush off to another patient. They could sit like this for three days and the doctor would merely let that stupid tape record empty air.

Finally, an idea came to Eric. He smiled slightly and figured, "Why not. What have I got to lose?" He'd do it. He'd tell this guy the truth about those three months. Might as well. He wouldn't be believed anyway, and it would be just one more day of lectures and boredom after this, so it wasn't as if the Earth would come to a standstill.

He started talking. The boy began with the roller coaster and continued all the way until the end, when the group had found themselves standing back in their own world. It had taken well until after dark for Eric to finish his tale. He'd missed dinner as well as his curfew. He'd talked longer than all of the other sessions put together. Normally his stories lasted all of ten minutes, tops. This time, however, he'd let himself get swept up in the telling. He'd taken about seven hours to tell the bare basics of three years in the Realm.

A click shocked Eric into opening his eyes. He twisted his head around to look at the balding little man. The doctor's hand was on the tape-recorder, the machine stopped now that Eric was done. The pair stared at each other for a long time as Eric tried to shake off the relief of the telling, to regain his hatred and sulleness towards his father and this man he'd hired.

"Well, Eric. I can see you've been through quite a lot."

Eric blinked, then blinked again. Had that man just called him by his real name? Had that tone really been understanding and sorrowful... not supercilious and demeaning? The teen and the adult stared at each other for another long moment, until finally Eric licked his lips and hesitantly whispered, "You believe me? You... don't think I'm crazy?"

Doctor Phillips stood up and started putting his stuff away into a tooled-leather briefcase. He worked quickly, efficiently, the same as always. But something about him struck Eric as different. What could it be? With a soft snap, the little man closed his bag and straightened up, looking Eric directly in the eye.

"You've taken the first step to become your own man, Eric." He moved quickly towards the office door, leaving a puzzled teenager on the leather sofa. As he stepped into the hall, he paused long enough to say "It is about time you opened up to yourself. That's the most important thing any of us can do... look at one's self and recognize what one is really like... how we came here, where we're going. You have made that step."

Eric shot off of the couch in a heartbeat, feeling a sudden urge to keep the normally annoying man in the room. For once the doctor had sounded sincere... like he really could help. "But what about all that crazy stuff I just told you? I mean, teleporting roller coasters? Come on!"

An enigmatic smile flitted across Doctor Phillips face and he moved completely into the hall. He started letting the door drift shut. As Eric's heart sank, the faint voice of the little doctor floated back. "I believe every word of it; but do you, Young One?"

"Young... one?" Eric gasped and darted from the room. "Hey! Doctor Phillips!" He looked around, but there was no sign of the counselor... not even a departing elevator. Eric shook his head in wonder... and disbelief then started on his way home to the Montgomery Mansion.

When the teen got inside, he found his father in a towering rage. The man was livid that he'd stayed out so long, and no explanation about a very long session with his therapist was accepted. His father was apparently convinced he'd gone out to visit the rest of the gang... strictly against the orders his father had laid down one month ago.

Their argument was loud, long, and hateful. Both parties shouted things they probably never should have, even if they had meant every word. Montgomery senior should never have called his son a useless, lazy, spoiled kid who'd never grow up and never amount to anything worth calling a Montgomery or that he wished Eric had died at birth. Eric should never have said he'd rather die than be a Montgomery or that he despised his father more with each passing day.

In his room, having escaped there mere moments before, Eric stood, trying to catch his breath. He was disheveled and exhausted, panting from his argument and subsequent run. Something, some tiny inborn hope he'd cherished all these years, had finally died. His father would never love him. He hadn't lied completely to Doctor Phillips that first day, after all; he'd been told by any number of people that his father had wanted a girl... that he'd been so disappointed at his only child being a male. Those people often either were horrified at their own admissions or went on, stumbling, trying to cover their mistake by exclaiming that Eric must surely have changed his father's mind and made him proud.

He hated his life.

Walked towards the dresser, Eric loosened his tie and tossed it on the floor, for the first time since he'd returned uncaring that a servant would have to clean up after him. He tossed the jacket after it, followed by his cufflinks. With a savage viciousness, the teen ripped off his shirt, though the sounds of buttons hitting the floor didn't even register. He tore his shoes, trousers, and socks off next, tossing them savagely in that now untidy corner. Then Eric turned towards the full-length mirror, studying the trim body, the good-looking features. Reaching up, he gently placed a hand against his reflection, the sadness and pain he felt mirrored in his eyes.

He really hated his life.