Day 35 - Dot Dot Dash

Dot Dot Dash 

Matthew Ryan Fischer

 

Wyatt could tell he was near his breaking point. He could feel the wet on his cheeks and realized he was already crying. Somewhere deep in his mind, something was amiss. He couldn’t focus, but he couldn’t stop thinking. His attention span ruined, too many thoughts were forming all at once. He couldn’t sort them all. He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t process.

Dot Dot Dot. Dash  Dash Dash. Dot Dot Dot.

Over and over, the thought, the noise, the repetition. One more time. Focus. One more time. Repeat it.

Dot Dot Dot. Dash  Dash Dash. Dot Dot Dot.

Was anyone listening?

Somewhere. Arthur was an antenna. Certainly he could hear the cry. And he could tell Cassie. They could find him. Somewhere. Where they were. Whenever they were.

Barry. His name was Barry. Who was Arthur?

The tears streamed down his cheeks. His head hurt. His brain hurt. The fog was coming in. He couldn’t focus on anything.

Alex. Not what he expected. She was a million miles away, but he could feel the words being written into his head. Someone was writing a question mark. Someone was asking a question. It had to be Alex.

He tried to focus. Send the signal. Dots and Dashes. Dashes and Dots. He didn’t know his location. He couldn’t remember any more Morse code. But if she were anything like Cassie, Alex could track him. His head hurt. It hurt. Were those tears or was what blood? He was losing himself.

Someone was writing him a question. Deep down inside. He could feel it, asking. Somewhere else, something was trying to erase. Erase what? He wasn’t sure. Someone was editing and someone else was trying to create. What was she doing? And who was she fighting?

Wyatt cried and cried. He wept. Such sorrow. So sorry. She was risking her life. She was trying to find him. Help him. And he didn’t even know her. What could he say to her? How could he thank her? What could he possibly owe her, how could he repay her for saving his life? This woman. This woman he didn’t know. She risked everything because she thought she knew him. But he wasn’t her Wyatt and she wasn’t his Cassandra. Alexandra. How did she become Alexandra? What had the Historian done? What was this strange and powerful curse? She didn’t know. Didn’t know it wasn’t real. She was acting because of the strength of her conviction, her feelings and emotions and memories and all of them were an invention.

Or...

Or was he the invention? Was Cassie? What if Alex was the original and everything he knew was wrong? How could he ever know?

The Historian, that bastard. We are but his playthings and he’s a right bastard. Wyatt thought he’d kill him if he ever got the chance.

If he killed him, he knew he’d never have a chance to correct things.

Alex, I need you to find me, if you’re listening. Don’t go after the book. Don’t go after the Historian. Find me. Find me and let’s fix things together. But don’t kill him. If you kill him we’ll never have a chance to figure it out. We’ll never have a chance to fix things.

Wyatt tried to think a long and complex message, but all that came out was: Dot Dot Dot. Dash  Dash Dash. Dot Dot Dot. Simple shitty Morse code. I really should have learned the rest of the alphabet, thought Wyatt.

He hoped she was in his mind somewhere, able to read his thoughts. Alex, I need you to hear me. Alex. Alex. Alex.

Slowly a thought began to form. A word. A message. A mantra.

Jump.

Wyatt leapt and fell into the cosmic flow of thing. He was about to be swept away. But then someone caught him. Someone had heard his SOS and someone had coming looking.