D.R.E.A.M.

I'm mostly putting this on here just for copyright purposes. That and this makes it easy for me to share with those I want to see. I'm not exactly looking for constructive criticism on it at this time. This is just the first chapter, so don't get too upset that it sucks. Basic plot is a man meets a woman, falls in Love, finds out shes already dead, so he kills himself to be with her. Romantic, huh? The way I'm writing this makes it hard to post on here simply because its "illustrated" with photographs thoughout the text, which makes it hard to put more than words on here. Anyone seriously interested in reading it the way it was meant to be read can email me. Thus, it begins.
Also, just FYI for anyone reading this. yeah, i know there's weird paragraph spacing. As I said, its originally written with lots of photographs inserted. For every weird space, that's where a photo goes. This is far from finished, so if you rate it, please keep that in mind. just rate the basic story, not how well its written at this time. Thanks, Rachel D'Angell

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4



Chapter 1:




Thunder sounded. In the distance lightening flashed, barely noticeable unless one was looking.
Draven sighed and ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. He looked out over the parking lot of the aging Berkins Factory, a small town factory left over from decades ago that specialized in the manufacturing of air conditioning motors.
Another Friday had come at last and had faded into the dusky twilight hours of Saturday morning. Dawn was just beginning to blossom to the east, though was barely visible through the dark clouds plaguing the southernmost region of Draven’s sight. Once promising golden rays of sun were quickly becoming inferiour points of dull light paramount to gray boulders huddled together in the purple sky.
It was the time of year when Persephone once again her annual descent into the welcoming underworld of the dead. Humid misery began to give way to a lesser, gentler atmosphere that allowed however brief glimpses of what could be Heaven. Sweet bliss leaked forth to the world of mortals, whispering by in gentle breezes both sensual and soothing.
Draven sighed again.
His green eyes roamed the sky as tucked his free hair once again behind his ear. A promise of autumn rain only hours away seemed an eternity to him. The summer come and gone had taken its toll and had rendered September to be just as harsh. Lingering sweetgrass and pumpkins thirsted for drenching in liquid blessings. Children daydreamed not of sugar snow or fairies, but only of splashing in puddles and making mud pies. And the very soul of a man once looking for Love craved only the bittersweet euphony of cold, hard rain. This first day of early October held the only comfort to look forward to.
“Hey, Drac’s back to work!” Draven was just reaching for the keys to his black Mustang when the voice rang out next to him. “Haven’t seen much of you lately since I moved back to dayshift.” The voice could belong to only one person.
Draven turned around to face a tall, skinny man with short hair and an oversized smile. Draven smiled back, a rarity it seemed anymore. “What’s up, Danny? Work sucks since you left me.”
“Ah, well, at least you’re still here. I figured since I went and moved up to work in the office, you’d leave, too. You can still always back go over to Regalin’s and do some masonry again.” Dan pulled a cigarette from a box before offering one to Draven, which he gladly accepted.
“Thanks, I just smoked my lucky about an hour ago. My first stop was to the store before heading on home.”
“No problem.”
Draven reached in his pocket for his lighter and lit up, taking in a deep breath of smoke and nicotine. “So, how’s Maria and the kids doing with you gone all day now?”
Danny smiled at the thought. “We’re all doing good. So, how ‘bout that masonry job? I saw Old Man Regalin himself the other day and he said he could use you.”
“No,” was all the response Draven could utter. “It isn’t so great here now with you gone, along with Mark and Josh, but it’s still work. I’ve been here too long now to just leave. Hell, anymore this place seems just as much a part of me as home.”
“Know the feeling well. And I hated this place all the more for it. But suit yourself. I didn’t come to argue work with you. Maria wanted me to come and thank you again. And Tylor wants to know when Mr. Drac’s gonna come over and play again.”
Draven smiled again at the mention of Danny’s six year old son, Tylor, and the nickname that he had so lovely given his hero. Tylor had, it seemed to Draven, always had an unhealthy obsession anything Dracula, especially the late Christopher Lee. Draven’s long black hair and often melancholy disposition appealed to Tylor, thus the nickname “Drac” appeared when Tylor was only three. At first Danny and Maria tried desperately to dissuade their son from going about the house shouting the name whenever Draven came to visit. Their nerves were only soothed when Draven admitted that he was rather fond of the name. He had never had anyone compliment him so before by comparing him to an actor of great ability. Naturally Draven was lying, although, though time his nickname soon grew on him. After much thought Draven could see little distinction between himself and any Dracula stereotype, at least through the eyes of a child.

Draven took one last drag from his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and crushing it with his boot. “Soon, hopefully. Don’t know exactly when though. I’ve got some stuff to finish up with this weekend, so maybe I’ll shoot for sometime earlier next week before I go to work.”
“Just tell me a day and I’ll have my Maria cook some dinner before you stop by.”
Draven laughed. He knew that was Danny’s way of saying not to stop by too late; Taylor had to get up early for school. “Don’t worry. I won’t be able to stay long anyway, what with this, uh, project I’ve got going.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was indeed getting closer as tiny raindrops, far and few between, began to plummet earthward and crash onto the windshield of Draven’s car.
“And here,” Danny said. “Before it starts raining, or getting too late ‘cause I’ve got to get into work.” His hand reached in his pocket and then slipped over into Draven’s unclenched fist.
He didn’t even look at it before casually shoving it back into Danny’s palm. “Don’t worry about it, Dan. You need it more than I do. I know you and Maria are still having a little trouble getting by.”
“It’s not all of it, just fifty. We made it through the week, and today’s payday. It was going to be more, but this was all that’s left. Maria’s been a little sick lately, and being in the daycare business now and all. . . ”
Draven had known Danny Miller since junior high. The two of them used to run off together to skip school and smoke cheap cigarettes. They remained close even when Danny began dating Maria when he was 16 and she was 15. They remained close when Maria’s father made Danny marry her three months later when it was discovered that she was pregnant. They remained close when the first set of twins were born, followed by a boy, a girl, and another set of twins: a girl and boy. And now, even still Draven and Danny remained close friends.
“How’s that been treating you? What with six of your own, and then all the neighborhood brats running in and out of the house all day?”
“Hell, I ain’t home when they’re there. All that’s left when I get home are my own little demons.”
Draven turned his head to the side and eyed Danny. “I said don’t worry about it. Save it. Tylor’s birthday is coming up sometime, soon, I know.”
“Not until March. This is only the first of October. Janie’s birthday’s this month.”
“Well, shit, I can’t remember exactly when the each of your kids were born. Maybe if you didn’t have so damn many of them. But like I said, keep the money. That’s final.”
Those two little words “that’s final” meant more to Danny than anyone else could possibly have ever known. Coming from Draven those words were more than final. They were permanent and forever. He really meant it, Danny knew, so he just smiled and looked to the ground. “Where you always get all this extra money of yours anyway, Drac?”
Draven smiled once again. He counted that as three times that day. Surely that was a new record for this past year. “You complaining again, Danny boy?”
“Oh, no, not complaining at all. Just what with the way you seem to just pass it around. I mean, I can see how the eight bucks an hour from here pays for that piece of shit house and all the bills. . . But the car, that new land you say you’re purchasing over in Lincoln that you won’t tell anyone the details of. . .”
Draven acted as if he never heard a word. He just leaned against his car and stared off at the clouds. “Know what, Dan?”
“What,” Danny said.
“It’s gonna rain,” Draven replied.
“Rain?” Danny laughed. “What the hell’s that got to do with anything?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just thought I’d mention it. Why?
Danny shook his head. I’m just glad to have a friend like you, I will admit that.”
“Well, someone’s gotta feed those fourteen kids of yours. You can’t seem to do it by yourself.”
“Six kids, dammit, and don’t count any higher. Despite what Maria wants, we don’t need any more!
“And thanks, that’s all I’m saying. That and maybe I am just a little curious.”
Draven once again acted as if he never heard a word coming from his long time friends mouth. “Just my little secret.”
“Some secret. I know about a million people who would kill to be the holder of that secret.”
Draven smiled again. Four times, for certain a record.







Chapter 2:


Draven McAllister was, at times, a man of few words. He seldom spoke to strangers, and even less often did he go out of his way to be near them. He much preferred the quaint solitude of his own company compared to that of any common stranger. He lived alone, slept alone, ate alone, and most of the time he spent working alone.
However to say that Draven McAllister was an uncaring, detestable man would be by far the most mistaken case of identity ever to grace humankind. For his real disposition was by far the opposite of what most people guessed it to be. Draven, although somewhat shy and naïve in his own sense, was in a class very much my himself. He lacked none of sophistication, or charm, that is to say if there was every anyone around to notice him. And certainly not did he lack any sort of intelligence. In every way, he was the mark of a rare soul.


As a child Draven was special, to say that least. Quiet and reserved, he was a soul who belonged solely to his mother.
Delphine Demminos Levisque was born in a remote part of Russia. Her own father was a doctor who sought his fortune in America during the 1970’s. There he met a man named Reginald Parker McAllister, also a doctor. Mr. Levinsque, also a businessman by nature, saw the prospect of a marriage united the younger doctor to the young, beautiful, teenage Delphine.
Reginald McAllister at the age of 30 years had fallen in Love at first sight. The very second his eyes laid upon Delphine he knew it was meant to be. Her long brown hair. Her dark eyes. Her curvasous body. Her very presence and soul. . . and the way that it seeped into the world around her and transformed it into perfection. Yes, Reginald was in Love and knew that somehow he had to marry the young woman. When her father suggested the marriage Reginald was overjoyed. There were not words enough to describe how he felt at the moment the arrangement was made.
Three weeks after first meeting him, she changed her name to Delphine Demminos Levisque McAllister. She spoke no English. He spoke no Russian. Communication only existed through kind looks, loving guestures, and sensual physical touch. The marriage was perfect in every way. He healed the sick, delivered newbourne lives, assisted the elderly, and made the world in general a better place. She tidied the house, sewed the baby quilt and clothes, created delicious meals for two and a half, and in all ways kept her husband’s bed warm.
One month after the two were united in matrimony little Draven was conceived. Born three months premature and named after Delphine’s grandfather, Draven was in every way a good child. He cried little, yet was healthy as odds allowed him to be. Draven was never weak from the beginning. He grew rapidly and steadily. His mother, on the other hand, after the birth of her son, grew steadily worse. Her health failed little by little leading, eventually, to death when Draven was but a boy.
He was four days shy of his sixth birthday when his mother passed from this world into the next. The funeral took place instead of a party: no cake, no ice cream, no balloons, only pain, tears, and total misunderstanding. The woman had failed to make many friends in her few short years that she had resided in America. All the better to fool what people she came into contact with, for at least there were few to miss her. The brilliant and always loving Dr. Reginald McAllister would not even attend his own wife’s passage into the eternal pocket of earth where she would forever rot, decay, and become little more than dust. Including the reverend, only five living souls attended the funeral.




After the death of his mother, Draven looked toward his father for guidance, however sparce it seemed. Although he and his wife had failed to learn to speak in any mutual spoken language, the couple had still connected in such a way that it created a bond to which the sudden loss saddened the man near to the point of insanity, close to even death itself. The doctor blamed himself. Even the loving and ever attentive husband had not diagnosed the cancer in time. It was not until after her death that they even determined the cause of death. The doctor in turn, began working longer hours to try to compensate for his misery. If he could cure more people, if he worked with more zealousness, if he could only discover a cure and the possibility of reanimation. By age nine, little Draven, over the loss of his mother, then grieved for the loss of his father, although he was still quite alive.


Schoolwork was always easy for Draven, too easy in fact. A straight ‘A’ student until he was 13, soon he became known more for his trouble in school than for his intelligence. Draven was fourteen when Danny Journer moved in next door. They met on Danny’s first day of school when Danny accused Draven of being the spoiled rich son of a doctor who was pampered with every opportunity in life. Draven, naturally, being the boy that he was kicked Danny’s ass, leaving the boy two black eyes and a broken wrist from when he was slammed into the brick wall of the school building. The two boys had been best friends ever since.

By the age of fourteen, Draven, had also built himself quite the reputation. He had been suspended from school multiple times for fighting, vandalism, and theft. Each time the offense was similar: it always involved one of the lesser, weaker kids Draven knew. Whether he liked them or not, he felt inside of him a determination to stand up for them. When the underdog kids were always picked on, Draven would become unnerved. He refused to back down. Many times he was beat up for fights that were not his own, yet many times he won them. He learned to fight this way and soon excelled at it.
It was not until the next year at school that Draven and Danny were both suspended for drugs. Draven took the blame, claiming Danny had nothing to do with it at all, when it was obviously the other way around. One week later Danny Journer returned to class, leaving behind his sincere friend Draven.


Draven’s father, too kind and loving a man to stand by and watch his only son fail so much so early in life, finally relented and allowed Draven to quit school altogether. The doctor began taking Draven with him on home visits and business trips or doctors conventions far away in the city. Draven learned much about life from his father this way. He continued his studies in home school, excelling in them to the point that when he was finished at the age of 16, many colleges and universities were practically bragging Draven to attend. Draven, however, wanted no part in a society that had, in his eyes at least, so shunned him as a child. He yearned for a more eremitic, simple way to live.


Chapter 3


Danny needed money now, that was for sure. This was going to be baby number seven. As long as Draven had known his friend, not once did he ever ask for a loan. He would have struggled until the end with nothing in life before he ever was reduced to asking Draven for anything other than his friendship. Now, with Maria pregnant yet again. . .
There house was overcrowded as it was. There were just too many kids. And despite the fact that there was more than plenty of Love to go around, food was sometimes scarce if not for Draven’s concern for the family. This, too, Draven felt was partially his own responsibility. The family would need to add at least one more room onto the house. And another lifetime supply of diapers, food, clothes, and all else that went along that Draven could never even dream of. Some people just had too much Love in their hearts.
Draven pulled a Marlboro from the newly purchased box and lit the end. Inhaling deeply, his thoughts turned to his father. They always did whenever he smoked. It was his father, afterall, who began Draven’s bad habit. And it was out of his memory for his father, not just sheer addiction, that Draven kept on smoking.
Thinking briefly, Draven turned the key in the ignition of his jet black 2000 Mustang V-8 and rolled the window down to hear it purr. He really did Love this car; it was one of the few luxuries he allowed himself. He silently said a thank you to all the people who helped make it possible before backing out of the convenient store’s parking lot and began racing down the road.
Sitting on the black leather passenger seat a book rolled out of the box and onto the floorboard as Draven zipped around the corners. Entitled Silver and Crimson it was a modern day fairy tale. A new twist on the ancient tale of Romeo and Juliet, Ramero was a teenage gang leader and Jules a fourteen year old alcoholic and heroin addict. It was the follow up to Angels in the Midst, the modern version of Sleeping Beauty. “Beauty” was also an eighteen year old crack addict who almost O.D.ed one night during a party and slipped into a comma. “Hansom Prince” was an illiterate twenty year old mechanic with no future to look forward to as he had was HIV positive with no family, few friends, and absolutely no money for medical treatment. The story progressed when Prince collapses one day from his progressing disease and must be transported to the hospital. There he spies Beauty in a room in her own and immediately falls in Love with her. Day after day he walks down the hall to visit his Love. She is awakened on day with Prince whispers in her ear that she is pregnant, apparently from a date rape the night of the party she nearly overdosed. Crying too, Prince hushed her, telling her that he Loved her and would help take care of the baby. Eventually, Beauty goes into re-hab and Prince goes into remission. They marry to live happily ever after.
Written by the now infamous Jonathan Lucas Spencer, the new book was meant to be a gift to Draven’s neice, Cecille. Eleven years old, she seemed to be on the same road in her deep Love for fairy tales as Draven. He was sure she would “nearly die” as she always seemed to put it, for this pre-release of the new JLS book. Seeped in rich, beautiful artwork, every book by the man was perfect. At least claimed critics, publishers, and millions of fans worldwide, both young and old alike. Just the name “Jonathon Lucas Spencer” alone, when printed on the cover of any book was sure to sell millions. The author was beyond famous. Or, at least, could be if he chose. Perhaps just the mystery behind the man was as much a seller as the stories and artwork themselves.
No one knew the true identity of JLS, with the exception of himself and his publishers, Draven assumed. However, as far as the media was concerned, the man was a phantom. No one had ever seen him, spoke to him, or had any association with him at all. The written word and some sketches on paper were the only proof that the man even existed at all. There was a rumor a few years back about the old man in Northern California named Jon Spencer. The name, taken straight from the phone book by a reporter, was the only possible link at the time to the imaginary author. Naturally the old man was hounded and no doubt would have been driven to the point of insanity if not for the fact that the man had alzheimers disease and lived in an assisted living facility. Draven had always pitied the old man. It just didn’t seem fair to be harassed so just because of your name. And of course once the accussed Jon Spencer a few months later, the books kept on being published. Calanders with gorgeous artwork were printed. New material of all sorts were being mass produced.

There was also a middle aged woman that once claimed to be the person behind the infamous JLP profile. She managed to convince half of North America and all of Europe that she was the brilliant writer. These rumors, too, were put to rest not long after the fact that she was discovered to have been the same woman who also once lied to the world, saying she was having an affair with the Prime Minister of England. The poor woman was rioted and beaten by angry mobs of people until she died. And yet, new books still continued to arrive on the shelves.





Draven crushed his half smoked cigarette and leaned over to reach into the empty box. He pulled out an envelope with a check in it. He didn’t know what else to do. He, afterall, had enough money to survive on. Danny’s kids didn’t. What was one small check in the course of a man’s life compared to that of a child? Who would need it more?
Draven got out of the car and walked across the damp parking lot and into the bank. “I need this cashed please,” he told the teller.
“All of it, sir?”
“Yeah, all of it.”
“Sure. Just one second. Let me get clearance on this from my boss.” The short, bubbly girl walked away toward the back part where the president’s office was. Draven barely noticed her overly aerobosiced body. She was cute, but she tried just too hard. She was, Draven had always thought when he visited, the type of girl to marry the local leader of the Boyscouts and continue sleeping with the bank’s president as she already had begun. She was pretty, but her hair was too short and her teeth were too perfect. Never before had she even given a second look in Draven’s direction.
He looked around. An older woman with glasses, staring, smiled at him. He nodded his head and looked away. He still felt the eyes of the woman penetrating into his skin.
“Sir?”
Draven looked back up at the short, model-perfect teller. “Yeah?”
“You did want this all in large bills, right?” She flashed her white teeth and a stray wisp of hair behind an ear.
“Sure, whatever. Anything works.”
He looked behind him to see the older woman’s gaze still lingering, as though she had a questions she wanted to ask him and then forgot. He turned his attention back to the teller. He noticed her name tag spelled out “Shawnna” in all capital letters. She stood on her tip toes and leaned way over to hand him the white envelope containing the money. “Here, you go. All of it’s in there, Mr. McAllister.” She winked at him, still leaning way over. Draven noticed that two previously clasped buttons were opened up to reveal a good portion of her full breasts.
“Thanks,” was all he could manage to say.
Shawnna giggled, a deep, throaty giggle. “Anything for you, sweetie.” She winked again.
Draven only turned and walked away. He glanced once again at the older woman behind him. She watched him walk all the way to the door.
Outside a teenage girl sat waiting on the wall next to his car. She was holding a purple umbrella to keep herself safe from the lingering drizzle. At seeing him, she jumped off and ran toward him splashing through the puddles. “Hi. My name’s Aubrey. You’re Draven, aren’t you?”
Draven eyed her and stepped toward the car and gripped the door handle. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Draven McAllister. I think I’ve seen you around before at the café. You’re dating a girl named Isabelle, aren’t you? She’s about 37, 38? I’ve seen you with her before. She told me your name.”
“Sorry,” Draven lied. “You must have mistaken me with someone else. I don’t know who you’re even talking about.”
The girl sighed. “Dammit! And I thought I was so close. As soon as I saw your car pull in here, I ran over. I live in that house over there on the hill. You don’t know where I can find him do you?”
Draven sat down. “No,” was all he said before slamming the door in her face. He started the car and began backing out.
“Hey, wait a minute!” She raced after him. “I’m not done talking with you!”
Draven’s foot pushed down hard on the pedal. It couldn’t be possible, he thought. Not after all these years. It couldn’t be happening. He reached for another cigarette before turning the radio on.
“Ok, peeps of Silver Springs. I, DJ Sonya of WKPL, officially have some killer news for you all. News that you are NOT going to believe. He has been discovered after all this time. We know who he is! Jonathon Lucas Spencer’s true identity has finally been revealed. And guess what. This mystery artist and author resides right here in the small little Oklahoma town of Silver Springs.”
Draven nearly run off the road. He reached over and turned up the radio.
“We here at WKPL are further studying up on this little story. And as we, naturally, are the first to have wind of this news, feel that we have every right to shove it in your face and make you listen. Stay tuned and in ten minutes time we’ll reveal the name to this man of the century!”
‘No way,’ Draven thought to himself. ‘It’s going to turn out just like all the other times. It’s going to be some crazy fucker wanting money, fame, and all that. But it’s just not possible.’
Draven continued driving through town. He needed to get to Danny’s. It would be about time for him to be off work. Draven just needed a beer. He needed the comfort and friendship of someone just telling him to shut the hell up, things would be okay.
He turned the radio off as he pulled into Danny’s drive way. They had yet to reveal JLS’s apparent identity.
“Danny, are you home yet? Maria? Anyone home?” Just the fact that there were no children present in the yard gave Draven an unsettling feeling of uncertainty. What if things were really as they appeared?
“Danny-Boy, where the hell are you? Come on, don’t fuck with me right now! Where are you?” Draven slammed the car door shut and began walking across the yard. He began to climb the porch steps when he saw a shadow in the house.
“Draven?” It was Maria’s voice. In the distance Draven could hear Danny’s middle son, Tylor screaming with such excitement about his friend Dracula.
“Draven?” Danny’s slender figure appeared at the doorway. Maria was behind him. “Draven? It’s not true is it?”
“What? What do you know that I don’t?”
Danny pushed open the door. “Draven, you can’t be. I, I’ve known you since we were kids. You’re just a man. You’re just like me. You can’t. . .”
Danny began to open the door, when a woman dressed in blue ran out from behind the house. “Mr. Spencer! My name is Julia Brown, I’m a reporter from the Times.” Draven looked back at Danny.
“Draven,” Maria pleaded from behind her husband. “You never told us. Why did you not tell us? Why did you never tell my Danny?” There were tears in her eyes.
“Danny, Maria,” Draven began. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Mr. Spencer,” came from the woman in the short blue skirt, this time with more conviction. “Mr. Spencer, will you please comment!”
“Comment? What the hell? Comment on what?”
The reporter woman turned behind her to face a fat man with an oversized video camera. “John, are you getting this? You are getting this, aren’t you? America, here before you, this man you see is world famous Jonathon Lucas Spencer. You are getting these first glances compliments of Free News Network.” She turned once more to Draven. “Please, Mr. Spencer, will you affirm your identity? Afterall, you can’t disappoint your millions upon millions of fans worldwide.”
Draven was blinded by the bright flash as more cameras seemed to appear from nowhere. He had to get out of here. “Danny, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to you later. I can’t stay right now, though.” He looked one last time to see hurt in Danny’s eyes and wonderment in Maria’s. The half million dollars in the bank envelope never even crossed him mind as he drove off, chased and hounded by a fastly growing mob of reporters and photographers.
Draven drove across town to his own house. It was the same tiny house that he had grown up in. Even from a distance he could see the crowd of people, locals and media alike, surrounding his house and yard. They poured out into the street. As he drove by he could see two of the local teenage boys already tearing boards off the windows to get in. No one seemed to notice the man inside of the black car with tinted windows driving carelessly down the street, splashing through the deeper of the puddles and soaking everyone seemingly on purpose.




Chapter 4


Robb Martin was Draven McAllister’s cousin. Rob’s mother was the older sister to Draven’s father. During the time just following when Delphine McAllister’s burial and Reginald McAllister withdrew himself from the world and his son, there was but one person that Draven could turn to. Four years older than he, Draven looked up to Robb as the closest thing to a brother that he had ever known. Robb’s own family was very wealthy, at least they were considered so for an area such as Silver Springs, Oklahoma.
At first not really understanding the total and complete loss of his mother, Draven would sneak out alone at nights to visit her graveside. It was here that Robb would meet young Draven and comfort him. Always beyond his own years, Robb was a comfort, a companion, and creative influence. It was Robb who was the first to bring books into Draven’s life. It was during these late night cemetery visits that Robb would bring along a book or story to read aloud to Draven. Draven sopped up this information and made very useful work of it later when his father re-introduced him to the Love of literature in his early teen years.
For many months after Draven’s sixth birthday he would speak to no one except for his older cousin. Teachers at school and fellow nieghbourhood parents insisted that Reginald McAllister ground his feet back to earth and stop trying to reach so high into Heaven for his lost Love. It was only for Draven that he allowed himself to do this. At first, not knowing how, he asked his sister Katherine Martin to temporarily leave her house and husband to help care for young Draven. Katherine would go to any lengths for her little brother and quickly made the once dying family’s house a living home again.
Katherine Martin and her son Robb would go on to stay in the house for six years. Draven was twelve when Robb moved back to Dalton County, thirty miles away. It was so far that the boys could not walk to meet each other, but not so far that they could not meet up with each other on the weekends.
When Draven dropped out of school when he was fourteen he first went for a stay with Robb, who was 18. This was when Draven first became so drunk he passed out, first slept with a woman, and became involved in his first fight with knives. After a night of drinking Robb introduced Draven to eighteen year old Chantess, who easily slept with him. Chantess’s boyfriend was not too keen on the idea of her “breaking in” Draven and quickly showed up to the scene with a switchblade. Draven earned twin scars that night, deep along each cheek. They boyfriend, in return, earned a fractured jaw from Draven’s fist.
Draven’s monthlong stay with Robb was also when he was introduced to something far superiour to whiskey, sex, or wounds. He was showed the true depths of writing. Already more than a novice illustrator and painter, Robb showed Draven how to dig deep enough into the depths of his soul to spill it out onto paper in such a way to put words to the stories he drew.
“Just try it,” Robb encouraged him. “It’s painful and yet gives you the ultimate high. You’ll really enjoy it.”
“What do I write about?” Draven questioned. “I have no stories to tell.”
“Write about yourself. Write about what means anything at all to you. And put it in an abstract way to disguise it and lead everyone else to believe that its something other than what it is. But don’t be deceptive. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”
“Yes,” was all that Draven could utter. That moment in time Draven’s mind developed into anything far superiour than he ever could have imagined. That was the moment that he discovered himself and who he really was.
Robb was the only person to ever know about Draven’s secret writing. He was the only one who could have possibly told. It hurt to think that Robb could ever have betrayed him in such a way, and he desperately tried to put sense into any chain of thought to validate it.

Driving over ninety miles an hour the entire way, Draven prayed feverently that once he reached Robb all would in the ended. Robb would say that he had not really revealed Draven’s hidden identity and that he was just being foolish.
Robb lived in a huge, modern three story house just outside of Jordon Valley, a town of maybe 10,000. He was now a businessman of sorts and had taken up the president for a company and designed and constructed large buildings for retail stores. His wife was a professor at the community college who taught many prerequisites for nursing. Together they had one daughter, Cecille, and a little boy due any day.
Pulling into the drive way, Draven slammed on the brakes. The car was barely in park when he was out the door, slamming it behind him. As far as he could tell, no one was around. However, back at Danny’s no one appeared to be there at first either. Draven hoped against hope that the media could not track him here so easily and that maybe they still waited at his house, which no doubt had been plummeted by now.

Draven ran to the back door. It was locked. Every window on the ground floor was locked as well. “Dammit, Robb! Why the fuck do you always keep everything locked up so tight!” He went back to the door and began pounding. That now working, Draven fell to his knees and began to dig around the plants and flowers by the welcoming mat, looking for a spare key. Fumbling, he knocked over half the flower pots sitting on the patio table. Inside Sugar, the little rat terrier, set off an alarm.
“Yeah, just bark now, stupid dog,” Draven mumbled, still frantically searching.
Inside lights soon came on and soon Draven could see the silhouette of a body nearing the door, quietly shushing the little dog.
“Robb, is that you?”
A man in his early thirties opened the door just a crack. “Draven is that you?”
Draven pushed the door open the rest of the way and ran inside. He turned around, pushed the door shut before Robb even had the opportunity and locked and deadbolted it. “Robb, you’re not going to believe this.”
“Believe what? It’s 9:30 on a Saturday night that I’m actually not still at work. I’m quite busy trying to have a nice evening at home when suddenly I have a crazy man trying to break into my house? You’re right, Draven, I don’t believe it.”
Racing around the kitchen and dining area, Draven hurridly shut all the curtains. He grabbed Robb’s shoulders and pushed him into the dimly lit living room.
“Draven, what the hell are you doing?”
“What took you so long to answer the door? It’s raining out here. I’m getting wet.”
“What do you mean what took me so long? I was in bed.”
“I thought you said you were busy?”
“I was!”
“Busy sleeping at 9:30 on a Saturday night? I really don’t know you anymore, do I, Robb?”
Robb’s face went crimson. With rage or embarrassment Draven couldn’t tell. “Dammit, Draven, I was busy. I was having sex with my wife.”

Behind them a shadow appeared. “What’s going on, honey?”
Draven’s eyes looked up to see a very pregnant woman frantically trying to tie together the roped on a furry pink robe. “Hi, Sammie.”
“Draven, what are you doing here. Robb, what’s Draven doing here?”
“Hell if I know. He won’t tell me.”
Draven, finished now with closing all the blinds and curtains in the living room, began walking back toward the kitchen. “Robb, I really need to talk to you alone.”
“About what?”
Draven ran back into the living room and headed straight toward the bookcase. Scanning each volume until he finally found the one he wanted, he then grabbed it and tossed it toward Robb. “Look familiar?”
Robb caught the book before it could hit his pregnant wife.
“Sorry, Sammie.”
“It’s ok, Draven. Robbert caught it. You haven’t killed my unborn fetus yet.” Draven ignored the comment.
Robb looked down and read aloud, “Insanity of Autumn Dawn. I see.”
Draven ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I guess you haven’t heard the news.”
Robb cleared his throat and set the book down onto the coffee table. “Sammie, I’m sorry, but I really need to talk with Draven alone for a while.”
“Why? Over some book? What’s so special about it? Everyone here has already read it; it’s not like it contains some big secret to life.”
“I’m sorry Sammie. It’s important.”
The woman sighed and began to walk back toward the staircase. “Just hurry and come back to bed. Please? It’s lonely there without you.”
Robb never answered his wife. Instead he sat down in the nearest chair and put his hands in his face.
“Robb,” Draven began, still pacing around the room. “I know that you’ve changed a lot in these past few years. I know what you once held dear no longer matters quite as much as it used to. I’ve never questioned you or your new life. I’ve never complained about the fact that we just aren’t as close now as what we used to be.”
“My new life? So that’s what this is about? You come here because you miss old times? You just want us to go out and party like old times?” His voice now had an irritating ring to it as it always did when he was upset.
“I really have no idea why I’m here.” Draven threw his hands in the air, lowered them, ran his hands through his hair, and went back to pacing. “The only thing that I really know right now is that my life is no longer my own. I just want to know if you’re here to help me or here to hurt me.”
“Draven, what the hell are you talking about?” Robb’s expression suddenly went blank. His eyes turned to a vacant stare and his face into a blank mask. “Oh shit what have you done? You’re in trouble with the cops again aren’t you? Dammit I should have seen this coming. Draven, I told you that girl didn’t look old enough yet!”
“Girl, what! NO, Robb, it’s not like that. Remember that one time when we were still kids and I got my first book published. I showed it to you and told you not to tell anyone who really wrote it. You didn’t, did you? You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?” Draven dropped down onto the couch.
“No,” Robb replied. “I never told anyone. In all these years I haven’t even told Sammie. It’s the only secret that I have she doesn’t know. It’s the whole reason why she resents you. She doesn’t know what it is, just that it has something to do with you.”
“Really, Robb? Swear it to me. Swear to me that you’ve not told a soul about me.”
“I swear it.”
Draven laughed. Nervous and shaking, he acted as though he was a teenage boy unsure of what to do with his hands. “People know, Robb. I don’t know how they know, but they do. You should see my front yard right now. And Danny’s, too. They’re all over the place. I’m surprised that they aren’t here yet.”
“By them, exactly who do you mean?”
“You name it. All of them. Reporters, cameramen, journalists, hundreds of people I’ve never met. They know. All of them know and I don’t understand how they could.” Draven stood up and went to the window, peeked out, then went to the door to make sure it was locked. “And, yes, I’m quite sure, so don’t bother even asking.”
“Draven, what are you going to do?”
Upstairs there was a loud crash. “Uncle Draven!” Then came a skinny girl with long blonde hair bounding down the stairs. “Daddy, look! Uncle Draven’s car is outside. Is he here? Is he here? Oh, you are here!” She ran over to Draven and threw her arms around him.
“Hi, Cecille.” He put one arm around her. “I have something out in the car for you. You can go out and get it, just be careful. If you see anyone you don’t know and they try to talk to you, run back inside as fast as you can.”
The girl looked up at her uncle as if he were crazy. “I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Just do as he says, Cecille. Hurry and be right back.” Her father interrupted her. The girl, knowing better than to question her father, turned and ran toward the back door.
“She still loves them, Draven,” Robb said. “All of them. She refuses to go to sleep at night until I read her at least one chapter. Often I’ve tried something else. I’ve showed her stuff that I wrote years back when the two of us first began. Still, she wants your stories. Be happy, cousin, you have the magic touch.”
Draven didn’t respond. Alone and in the dark, they sat in silence until Cecille returned clutching a book to her chest. “Autograph this one, too, please.” She held out the book in her hands like an offering to the gods. “And please sign it in your real name this time.”
Draven grabbed a pen from the coffee table. “Sure.” Then reflecting just a moment he said, “What do you mean autograph it with my real name.”
“I want you to sign it ‘Love, Uncle Draven’. It makes it much more personal, I think. It’s better than signing them ‘To, Cecille. From, Jonathon Lucas Spencer.”
Draven grabbed the girl by her shoulders, nearly shaking her out of her skin. “How did you know! Cecille, tell me how you know!” The girl whimpered.
“You always sign them. I watch you. I watch when you write inside the covers and hand them to Daddy while he thinks I’m asleep in bed.”
“Dammit!” Draven let go of the girl and went back once again to pacing. “You told, didn’t you? Cecille, please tell me that you weren’t the one to tell on me.” His voice had a pleading quality.
Cecille’s eyes teared up. Slow trickles began to slide down her cheeks. “I. . . I didn’t think you’d mind. I only told some kids at school about how you wrote books for me.”
Robb joined in. “And I’m sure they told some kids who told some kids, and some parents were sure to find out along the way. They probably friends and family, and so forth. Dammit!”
“Did I do something wrong, Daddy? Please don’t be angry with me.”
Draven sighed and ran his fingers through his hair once more Robb began to speak, but Draven interrupted him. “Don’t Robb. It’s not going to do us any good now. The girl’s done what she’s done. She didn’t know, and I guess it’s just as much our fault as it is hers. Right now we just have to figure out what I’m going to do because I sure as hell don’t think I can deal with all of this
.”
“Go to your house.”
Draven just laughed. “My house? Why the hell would I want to go home right now? As we speak they’re invading it and pillaging everything that once ever meant anything to me. All my current writing, all my unfinished artwork. . . I’m sure they’re already done with that by now and are pilfering through my dresser drawers, looking at my clothes and wondering they the fuck is up with all the beer bottle lids I’ve got stored there. Now I’m now just an author, I’m also an alcoholic. Once they dig a little further and find what little stash I’ve got left, I’m a drug addict. Put it all together and I’m sure I’m suicidal, too. What the hell!”
Robb reached over and flickered on a lamp. “I meant your house. The new one. Remember last winter just before Christmas when we went for that ‘drive’. I went to Little Rock to find that necklace for Sammie. You drove me. On the way back we got lost and you fell in Love. You said that old house just seemed to be calling your name so you bought it last spring. Have you forgotten so soon?”
Draven’s head came up. “That house?” A spark inside of his eyes flared into a flame. “Nobody knows I bought it. It’s farther away than here, and if they haven’t tracked me here so far, why would they go there. At least it would give me a head start if nothing else. Couple of days alone and maybe I could figure out what to do.”
Still raining outside, lightning crashed and thunder boomed. For Draven, at least, it could have been interpreted as a good omen.