~ * ~

'Don't tell me . . .'

Excerpt from Rhiannon Mary Lougher's diary

'What be it that is always by our side, but only in light? Our constant companion, in life and death, but not in this realm. Our shadow. They exist like a fractured fairy-tale, known but never acknowledged. A bastard child, clinging to us in infantile adoration and hero-worship. A blackbird, trying to fly, its broken wings keeping its soul from soaring. Do shadows have souls? Do shadows have feelings? Are they hurting because we step on their toes? Or because they remain in the dark, unacknowledged, unobserved, unheeded.
There are those who live in another person's shadow. How does the shadow feel; hiding one who is dying to be noticed? Do they have ears? Can a shadow feel the compassion its hero cannot upon hearing the tears of one crouching in the dark, banished to the middle world between the spotlight and the wings? . . .'

~ * ~
July 31st, 1998
Chicago, Illinios
New World Music Theatre

The second the black curtain of the wings hid him, Taylor fell to the floor.
'Breathe . . . breathe . . . breathe damn you' his brain screamed at his rebelling lungs.
He couldn't - or didn't want to - remember the last time he'd freaked out like this. Granted he hadn't exactly been looking forward to this concert, but still. Every face had been hers, every pair of eyes staring at him had been hers. The whole audience had been Rhiannon. Every person he'd so much as glanced at had been her. What was happening to him?
'Stress' he thought, desperately trying to convince himself, 'Just too much stress. BREATHE DAMMIT!!'
"Tay?!" a voice close to panic was assaulting his ear-drums. Hands were on his arm, pulling him up. "STOP!!" he shouted and pushed the hands away. Gulping in the oxygen, the tightness in his ribs eased. But he didn't get up. He was so tired . . . he closed his eyes.
"Tay?" Zac asked again
"What?" the voice was soft, an automatic response.
"Tay?!"
"What?"
"Tay?!?"
"What?!" but Zac was already out the stage-door, panic having taken over, "Christ," was all Taylor managed to mumble before the comforting darkness covered him.

"Tay?"
'Go away! I'm trying to sleep!'
"Tay?"
'Get lost, whoever it is!'
"Tay?"
"Hmph! What now?"
"Oh thank Heavens you're awake!"
"Mmmm," he groaned and looked around. Hotel room. Bed. Mother.
'How could I possibly stay asleep with you here Mom?'
"You passed out right after the show,"
"Mmmm," he groaned again, in protest at being woken up.
'Tell me something I don't know!'
"The Doctor said you had a panic attack,"
"Mmmm," the protesting became louder and a little more articulate as Tay was unwillingly brought out of the half-conscious state between sleep and awake.
"I called Doctor Jones -"
"What?!" he bolted upright, all thoughts of sleep forgotten. She had his full attention now.
"- And she said that as soon as you woke up, you should call her,"
"You think I'm going crazy Mom? You do! Don't yo-"
"Taylor, please don't start all that again," the million protests that had suddenly rushed to his throat died without a whisper. Diana sounded weary, and totally exhausted. Concern drove away the accusations.
"Mom?" she didn't say anything, "You're the one who sounds like you need a doctor, not me,"
"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just tired. Nothing that a little extra sleep tonight won't fix," she made an effort to perk up. It didn't work. "What would make me feel a bit better is if you called Doctor Jones," Oh great! Here came the guilt trip!
'And next you'll put a gun to your head right Mom?'
He was being unfair. Doctor Jones wasn't too bad he supposed. She'd stopped the memories . . . for a while. Now they were coming back. Maybe she could help. 'And maybe I'll wake up in Siberia in a straight jacket!'. Diana, seeing his indecision, put a hand to her forehead and sighed, massaging her temples. A little melodramatics never went astray in this family!
"Listen Mom, I'll call the shrink -" she didn't miss the curl of his lip in distaste, "- if you promise you'll take it easy the next couple of days,"
"Gladly, but who's going to do all the work looking after your brother and sisters?" Lesson number one; never sound too eager.
"Um . . . Jason?"
"And who's going to organise you three and get you out of bed and make sure you're ready to go on time?"
"Um . . . Dad?"
"And who's going to get dinner and make sure you're all fed?"
"Um . . . uh . . . Ike?"
"While you sit back and watch everyone else work?"
"Well, I can't very well do anything while I'm sick can I Mom?"
"Sick?"
"Yeah, I'm (cough) I think I'm (cough) I'm really coming down (cough) with something,"
"I'm sure. Can I trust you not to hang up?" the incredulous amusement in Diana's voice put a tiny smile on his face.
"Yes mother, you can go to bed now. Do you think the Doc'd be upset with me calling her this late?"
"Taylor!"
"I'm kidding Mom! Go to bed! You promised to take it easy!"
"I'm going, I'm going. But I'm checking the phone bill tomorrow, and if there's not a long call to New York on there, you're in big trouble!"
"Mom! Bed!"
"Yes Father," she chuckled and impulsively tucked his hair behind one ear.
"Mom!!"
"I've got a terrible habit of doing that don't I?" and she walked out.

The phone was answered on the third ring.
"Hello?"
"Um . . . hi. This is -"
"Taylor," silence. Doctor Jones laughed, "I'd know your voice anywhere,"
"Um, yeah," he was hesitant and edgy. Obviously nervous. It'd only been two months since she'd seen him last. God forbid the poor boy end up like a few other 'superstars' she could name, who had several shrinks along both coasts of the US! Teenagers hated admitting they had problems, that they couldn't handle things on their own; having more than one shrink would be like committing social suicide!
"Your mother told me what happened -"
"I was just really tired!" Tay interrupted, then immediately regretted it. He could almost hear her scribbling on that little note-pad that all shrinks had; 'Answered too quickly. Is obviously hiding something. Make note; get secretary to inspect openings on flights to Siberia'.
"I don't think the doctor would be mistaken as well. He was convinced that you'd suffered a panic attack,"
"You talked t-"
"Yes I did," The bitch! The stupid bitch! There went all his carefully planned excuses!
"Well what would he know? He doesn't know me!"
"No he doesn't, but a doctor knows a panic attack when he sees one,"
"He didn't even see it!"
"Your brother did though,"
'Zac, you are DEAD!'
"Zac was having a panic attack himself! How could he possibly see what was happening to me!!"
"Well, what was happening to you?"
"I was dead tired, I tripped over my own feet and the fall knocked the breath from me,"
"If you were that tired, then how come you were wound up tighter than a spring before the show?"
'Damn you to hell Zac!'
"Don't you try to act hyper when you're dead-tired?"
"Me? No. And I suspect if you were that tired, you'd be asleep for a lot longer than forty-five minutes,"
'Even Time has something against me!'
"Well, I guess I'm just a freak that way!"
"Taylor will you listen to yourself? You don't want people to call you crazy, but you're committing yourself ten times over!" even against his stubborn insisting that nothing was wrong, Doctor Jones still didn't lose her cool calmness. She had infinite patience.
"What?"
"The way you're talking Taylor, you might as well go and commit yourself into an institution. I'm here to try and keep you out of one, but if you're so set on going to one, I won't try to stop you,"
"I'm beginning to wonder which one of us is supposed to be losing it here," all he got was more chuckles.
"That's one thing you haven't lost, your sense of humour," this was going absolutely nowhere at lightening speed. Two options; admit what had happened back in Tulsa, or hang up.
The receiver was halfway to the cradle when Doctor Jones said the one word he didn't want to hear. Ever.
"It's your best friend isn't it? Rhiannon?" and it all came back to him. Everything he'd told her back in May; Christmas, the hug, the Voices, Polanski . . . Why was it whenever he thought of Polanski, furious tears would choke his throat? Because of what the bastard had done to Rhiannon? Because he, Taylor, had done nothing? Because he'd felt so helpless?

~ * ~
June, 1996
Tulsa, Oklahoma

Taylor:

Rhee come on! It's a beautiful day outside, and you just wanna sit and do nothing?

Taylor's coaxing voice on the phone was scaling Rhiannon's defensive walls, and there wasn't a single thing she could do about it!

Rhiannon:	Tay please? I just wanna -
Taylor:	You've just wanted to do nothing for a whole month! You've gotta come!

The wheedling, pathetic tone was getting to her. She could just picture those baby blue eyes, looking at her like a sad, little puppy dog.

Rhiannon:	Just quit sounding like a little kid! I'll come if you want me to so badly! Jeez! Anybody'd think I'm the only friend you've got!
Taylor:	That's better.

She could hear the smile on his lips.

Rhiannon:	Where do you wanna go?
Taylor:	You know, I was thinking yesterday -
Rhiannon:	(murmur) Beginner's luck.

She grinned; she wouldn't have dared even think it too loud with anyone else. Why was Tay the only person she could tease?

Taylor:	Pardon?
Rhiannon:	Nothing, keep going.
Taylor:	Yeah, well in the whole year that we've known each other -

(Had it only been a year? Why did it feel like more? Almost a life-time)

Taylor:	- We've never once been to the mall -
Rhiannon:	And I don't intend to start now! I hate the mall! The only time I go there is to buy for Christmas and birthdays.
Taylor:	I hate it too. It's so crowded and just, ugh!

It wasn't an exact lie; he did hate big crowds.

Rhiannon:	I guess that means it's Rhododendron again?
Taylor:	No, I've got a better idea. Do you have basketball shoes?

An hour-and-a-half later, Taylor was sitting on a bench near Auberach Hall Elementary School courts, absently bouncing a basketball. The bus had gone past almost twenty minutes ago, what the hell was taking her so long?
"Bored already? I knew I should have stayed home!" he turned. The basketball bounced, unnoticed, and rolled a few feet away. This was a side of Rhiannon he hadn't seen before. Used to a whole year of hippie styles and earthy clothes, she came now looking like an Olympic contender! Black and white Nikes, black bike tights, a white under-shirt and a Chicago Bulls top. Her long hair was pulled back in a long braid. She must have been the only person he knew who could work up a sweat and still look cool as lemonade.
"Rhee -?"
"What's the matter? Can't stand a little competition?" the tone was cocky; was it teasing or serious? She picked up the ball and dribbled to the net, stepped once, twice . . . the ball sailed over the back-board.
"I . . . err . . ." she blushed. Taylor just laughed.
"Is that your Bulls shirt?"
"No way! You think I'd waste money on a basketball shirt? It's Carlton's; got it for a birthday present a couple of years back, never worn it. I didn't think he'd mind," Tay just chuckled and ran after the ball.

Collapsing onto the grass, in the shade of a willow tree, Taylor gasped for breath. He was exhausted!
"Tay? Tay? You alright?" her voice was quiet, almost shy. That or she was tired too; she didn't look it.
"Fine," he managed between oxygen intakes. From the corner of his eye, he saw her sit down beside her; he didn't notice her smile, didn't hear her chuckle.
"My whole family's always been amazed by that,"
"What?" it was little more than a wheeze.
"How I don't get tired," he didn't bother answering. What was there to answer? Rhiannon just smiled a little and stared up silently at the clouds.

"Tay?"
"Mmm?" leaning against the trunk, they watched the afternoon sun's light play through the hanging willow branches dancing in the breeze.
"Do you ever wonder?"
"About what?"
"About what's up there?" she gestured to the sky, "About religion; whether there's one God, or many Gods, or no God at all? About whether we've been on this earth before, whether our destinies are preordained?"
"I . . . um . . . well Rhee, I'm Christian so . . . uh . . ." he shifted uncomfortably, "But, well . . . yeah, I have wondered about it a few times," why was it, things that made him uneasy didn't seem to bother her one bit?
"I wonder about it all the time. It scares me sometimes," his questioning expression urged her to continue, "I'm afraid that maybe everyone's wrong, that there's nothing after this. That when we die, that's it. No second chance, we're finished. No heaven, no hell, no nothing,"
"You don't believe in God?"
"Not in the way you do," she chuckled bitterly, "I suppose you're gonna think I'm a filthy pagan and run away as far as you can," his reaction surprised her. He looked genuinely shocked.
"You think I'd do something like that to you? Just because you believe something different to me?" she nodded hesitantly. It had happened before. "Hell Rhee, who am I to judge you?!" there was a long pause. For a second, she let the guard down, and he saw raw emotion in her eyes. The anger, the confusion and frustration, the fear. And the pain. Everything she held inside, for an instant, he glimpsed at, before the steel doors slammed shut and the portcullis dropped. She turned back to the sky; the shadows played across her face.
"Promise me you won't ever leave me," the whispered was anguished.
"Of course I won't leave you Rhee! You're my best friend," she'd just asked him to do the impossible, but he hadn't hesitated to concede. Because if he had, she'd be alone. Again.
"That's what they all said," there was doubt along with mist shining in her eyes.
"Is there any way I can make you believe me?"
"Do you have a pocket-knife?"

He winced as the tip of the blade sank into his finger. The cut wasn't deep, but it bled all the same. She handed him the knife. As gently as he could, he pricked her finger. She didn't flinch. Hesitantly, he looked at the drop of blood seeping from the cut. Like a tiny ruby, deep red, glittering in the afternoon sunlight.
In ritual silence, two rubies - identical in appearance, and yet so different - met and were crushed by the flesh that they ran from.
Neither boy nor girl said a word for a long time. The Power of the ancient ceremony had lost none of its strength, as it wound itself around the two that had invoked it.
"We're now brother and sister, joined by blood," Rhiannon spoke, softly, but gravely.
"Yeah," Taylor didn't have the faintest idea what else to say.
"Bound by a promise,"
"Yeah,"
"Do you swear that you will break neither the bonds of blood or promise?"
"I swear,"
"Now say it to me,"
"Um . . ." How had it started again?
"We're now brother and sister," she prompted
"We're now brother and sister, joined by blood,"
"Yes,"
"Uh . . . bound by . . . err . . . promise! Bound by a promise,"
"Yes," her words were heavy with intonation.
"Do you swear that you . . . um -"
"Will break neither,"
"Will break neither the . . . bonds of blood or promise,"
"I swear,"

A pregnant silence.

"What now?" with those two words, the ritual shattered. It was over.
"Now, we go home," she eased her cut finger away from his. She wasn't sure whether or not you could put a Band-Aid on the cut, or if you were supposed to let it heal itself. Surely it wouldn't make a difference, would it? She stood up and dug around in her bag, stuck the Band-Aid on the cut, then handed the spare to Taylor, who wasted no time putting it on. Rhiannon looked at her watch. The bus wasn't going to come for ages, and she didn't feel like running home.
"Do you mind if I come over for a while?" she asked
"No. I can ask Mom to drive you home,"
"Thanks," she smiled.

The walk through Rhododendron Park was pleasant, the streets were quiet, the sun was gently setting. It was an afternoon that belonged in August, when the summer gave her final days of warmth as a parting gift; those were the most beautiful days of all.
Rhiannon couldn't help the soft smile of contentment that graced her lips. The Celtic music she knew so well lilted in her mind's ear. Why couldn't Time just stand still right at this moment? It was so beautiful. That was part of the magic in days like these; the slightly bittersweet knowing that they never lasted, that they had to be enjoyed now, then fondly remembered tomorrow. How come everything seemed so perfect in the warm glow of these rare golden afternoons?

Walking up the driveway, Taylor wasn't surprised at the noise. With eight people together in the one house, all that was missing was Macauley Culkin and plates smashing on the kitch- SMASH! - okay discount the last one - and they'd have enough to make their own Home Alone movie. Pack up the family and leave for . . . uh . . . wherever ('Add "holiday" to the list of things missing!') and leave Macauley behind. He could just imagine the house sighing in relief! A flurry at the front door caught his attention.
"Jess! Jessie!! Jessica!!! You let me back in this door NOW!" fists pounding on the door, Zac shouted to be let inside. Trying not to laugh, Tay shouted back,
"Hey Prozac!" startled, Zac jumped and turned, ready to fight. That just brought more laughter.
"Who? Wha-? Oh! Hi Tay!," and he saw Rhee, "RHIANNON!" he ran and gave her an enormous bear-hug. Staggering a little under the dead-weight of a ten-year-old clinging to her like a leech, Rhiannon chuckled. The kid was such an extrovert.
"Whoa Zac! What's got you all excited?"
"They're gonna sign us!" he said, loudly, with a huge grin.
"What? Who?"
"Mercury,"
"Huh?"
"We're getting signed. Us, Hanson,"
"Oh," she still didn't have the faintest idea what the kid was talking about. Taylor seemed to though.
"Zac, if this is a joke -"
"It's true! You even ask Mom," he started jumping around like a lunatic, shouting, "We're gonna be famous! We're gonna be famous! We're gonna be famous!"
"Zac! Zac!!" Tay was trying to get his little brother's attention, totally forgetting about his best friend standing in the driveway, who was feeling more like an outsider.
"Guess what! We get to go to CALIFORNIA!" Zac shrieked excitedly and raced around the back. That stopped Taylor dead in his tracks.
"California?" he looked back at Rhiannon, but she'd already turned away.

She'd always known he'd break his promise. She hadn't expected it to be so soon.

~ * ~
July 31st, 1998
Chicago, Illinios

Doctor Jones was talking, he answered any of her questions. He wasn't really listening to her. Absently, he stared at the tiny scar on his left pointer finger. It ached whenever it was going to rain. Almost like an old battle scar. His lips stretched in a grim smile.
She'd just walked away. She hadn't said a word, there'd been no tears in her eyes, no sadness on her face. Just blank acknowledgment. He would leave, despite a promise made that very same day, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She hadn't even said goodbye.
" . . .you said you felt like everything was under control before this tour started?" Doctor Jones' voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Yeah,"
"I'd say then that's what's getting to you. Have you been tired?"
"Yeah,"
"Stressed?" he chuckled mirthlessly.
"Like you wouldn't believe,"
"Have you had any panic attacks previously?"
"No, this is the first one,"
"What caused it, do you think?"
"I . . ." should he tell her? Could he tell her? "I . . . I saw her,"
"Who?"
"Her,"
"You're best friend?" he nodded, then called himself twelve variations of an idiot.
'She can really see a nod over the phone Tay!'
She took his silence as a yes,
"Where?"
"In Tulsa,"
"What happened?"
"She . . . I saw her,"
"And?"
"I called out for her to stop, but she just started running,"
"Did you run after her?"
"Yeah,"
"And what then?"
"She . . . she was too fast for me to catch her. She ran up to the roof of this building . . ."
"And she stepped off," it was a statement, not question.
"Yeah,"
"What happened then?"
"Nothing,"
"What do you mean?"
"There . . . there was nothing . . . there. Nothing,"
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. She disappeared, like she'd never existed in the first place,"
"Has this ever happened before?"
"No,"
"Has it happened since?"
"Today,"
"Mmm?"
"When we were performing. She . . . she was . . . everyone. Every face. They were staring at me. And they were screaming, so loud! They were hurting, and it was my fault! My fault!!"
"Taylor, take a deep breath. Okay? Breathe in, and out. In, and out. In, and out. In, and out," he breathed deeply, calming down, "Are you alright now?"
"Yeah,"
"Okay. I think the stress is really getting to you,"
"But what if it's not stress?"
"Under the circumstances, stress is the most likely cause. What else do you think it might be?"
"Um . . ." he really didn't want to admit this! "Maybe . . . fear?"
"And how have you coped with other fears?"
"Well, I guess I got over my fear of big crowds pretty quickly,"
"How?"
"By being with them,"
"Do you think that might work with this, if it is a fear?"
"I can try,"
"If you must, but I would recommend you just take it easy for a while and see if that helps. I've found that writing down everything you're thinking does help a lot of people to understand just what's going on in their thoughts," he chuckled.
"I thought you were gonna send the Men-In-White over here to waste me with Prozac and ship me off to Siberia in a padded box,"
"Where do you keep coming up with Siberia?" Doctor Jones laughed. Was it just his imagination, or did it sound . . . forced? Nah, it was his imagination.
"Don't worry about it. In-joke,"
"Alright then. Remember Taylor, I'm always here if you need someone to talk to,"
"Okay. Thanks Doc,"
"No problem," as Doctor Jones hung up the phone, the forced calmness left her. She rested her head in her hands and sighed. The boy was hallucinating and delusionary, his mother had said she'd noticed mood swings that seemed to be getting more frequent. This was worse than she'd thought. Either the stress upon this kid was enormous, or, from the sounds of things . . . She hoped to God it was stress.

Putting down the phone, Taylor lay back against the pillows. It was nearly midnight, he really should just go to sleep. It must've been awful late for Doc Jones to have stayed up waiting for him. What did she care about him? Why did she stay up heaps late just to talk to him?
'Oh who cares?'.
He'd never get to sleep tonight, it was too hot. So he grabbed his laptop and went out onto the balcony.

What I'm Thinking Now
by J.T. Hanson
What now?

Right now I'm thinking that
No, that was stupid.
'You're just rewording the title! Think of something just a tad more original!'

I'm a thinker, unlike my brother Zac
A tiny smile. Humorous, but no.

I don't know what to write to start this thing off
Yes! Make it narrative!

I don't know what to write to start this thing off, but I'm just gonna write down whatever tiny morsel of thought pops into my mind.
Like right now, I'm thinking this is really weird because I've never done anything like this before. I've never tried to write my thoughts down.
I'm writing this like I'm actually gonna give it to someone else to read. No way! Nobody is ever going to see this thing! Not even the Doc. She'll probably just try to psycho-analyse me with it.
Maybe I'm writing it to myself?
Hmmm . . .
What can I write about now?
What am I thinking about now?
Need I ask?
What am I thinking about all the time?
Her
Maybe I'm writing this to her?
Can she see me writing this?
Of course she can see you writing this you idiot! She's standing right over there!
WHAT?!
He whirled around and stared into the hotel room.

She stared back.

He drew breath to shout.

She shook her head.

He didn't shout.

She looked over his shoulder.

He turned to see what she was looking at.

She didn't make a sound.

He didn't see anything.

She was silent.

He turned back.

She was gone.

God help me!
I think I'm having delusions!
I think my imagination is working overtime!
I think this stress is really getting to me!
I think we need to end this stupid tour soon!
I think I need to get some rest!
I think I want her to come back.
I think I'm not scared.
I think I need to see her again.
I think I see something by the TV.
He turned around.

Two children sat on the floor, eagerly staring up at the TV.

A girl and a boy.

Each held a Nintendo controller in their hands.

The blue-green light shone on their upturned faces.

The girl's hair was waist-long and dark brown.

She wore a tie-dyed slip dress and faux ballet slippers.

The boy's hair was shoulder-length and sunny blond.

He wore baggy jeans and an old T-shirt.

They concentrated on the TV screen.

Taylor blinked.

The TV was off.

The children were gone.

I think I'm in a nightmare.
I think I'm not having delusions.
I think I'm stuck here.
I think this is not real.
I think what I'm seeing is real.
I think what I'm living is not.
I think I'm stuck in a nightmare.
I think I'm trying to wake up.
I think I'll turn off this computer.
(I think it's not real)
I think I'll go to bed.
(I think that's not real)
I think I'll try and sleep.
(I think I might wake up from this nightmare)
I think I don't know what to think.

* * * *

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