‘Take a walk. The worst thing you can do is stay home and spend time with your thoughts. That’s when people are at their weakest. That’s when things start to go wrong for them.’
So now, Ward found himself wandering along the city streets past midnight. It was a clear evening and there seemed to be even more stars out than usual. He moved at a solid pace, just wanting to burn off that restless energy, needing to be out in the open.
After about ten minutes though, he realized he had no idea where he was. Although he hadn’t taken any turns and had simply gone straight ahead, now he was in a part of the city he wasn’t so familiar with. The buildings around him were empty and trashed, and there were all kinds of shadows moving in the alleys and narrow spaces between structures.
He turned around to head back home but when he looked, the sidewalk was gone – replaced by a dirt path into some woods. His heart pounded.
What the hell was happening to him? Had he already done damage to himself with the pain pills? Was his grasp on reality slipping?
He started to run, then. No destination in mind. All he knew was he needed to keep going, needed to break free from whatever was invading his mind.
He was terrified.
He ran along the sidewalk ahead of him but that suddenly twisted down an alley and when he tried to stop, he couldn’t. His feet propelled him ahead and he shot all the way down, slamming into total darkness.
‘You’re a failure,’ came a voice – cold, dark, relentless. ‘You’re nothing. Your newfanswill soon find out that you’re weak andinsignificant. You’ll never be one of the great ones – and that means you’ll soon be forgotten. It’ll be as if you’d never existed.’
Something grabbed him, then. Something cold and filled with a hatred so powerful that Ward cried out in terror – before snapping awake in bed.
Nightmares were common when weaning from painkillers, Shelley had told him. The brain did all kinds of weird stuff.
‘Sometimes the dreams are so bad that people would rather take the drugs instead of dealing with whatever boogeymen their minds conjure up. You got to be on your guard all the time, Ward – because you might find yourself backsliding without even knowing it’s happening.’
He got out of bed, went into the bathroom and flicked on the light, staring at his reflection in the mirror for a moment. Then he splashed cold water on his face and towelled off, trying to gather his wits about him.
As he climbed back into bed, he thought again about what the voice had said and a wave of fear went through him.
They’ll soon find out that you’re weak and insignificant. You’ll never be one of the greats...
Ward burrowed beneath the covers, wishing he wasn’t so certain the voice was speaking the truth.
After he’d woken from the nightmare, he hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. He’d tried to distract himself by watching a middle-of-the-night marathon rerun session ofMurder She Wroteon the TV situated above his bed, but even J.B. Fletcher’s sharp-witted shenanigans hadn’t been enough to distract him from the memory of the dream.
You’ll never be one of the greats...
It was true, of course – Ward McKenzie would never be known as a truly great hockey player. He was a solid centre and a battler, for sure, but he’d always wanted to be more. In truth, his entire life was spent in pursuit of being better – more athletic, more popular, having more girlfriends. From his first week of college, all the way through his professional career, he’d made a point of trying to do what he thought people expected him to do.Be better.
Being regarded as a womaniser was something he used to take pride in because it gave him kudos. Of course, the girls he got with knew how to play the game too. They weren’t looking for anything serious – they were just in it for the fun and the clout of bagging a pro athlete. At one time, that was enough for Ward, too.
Now getting up, he groaned and reached for his phone to check the time. Pawing around for a bit and not finding the small flip device his hands were so accustomed to, he suddenly remembered the shiny new thing. And groaned again, realizing that his newfound influx of followers and associated attention must have been the trigger for the dream. Great. As if his ego wasn’t frail enough, now it was already falling into the validation-from-strangers trap too.
Or worse, performance anxiety stemming from his growing ease with Hannah?
Be better.
‘Shit.’ He had overslept, according to the phone it was almost ten – the exact time Shelley was scheduled for another training session.
Ward sat upright in bed and pulled on a t-shirt at the same moment he felt Pretzel brush against his leg. He shot her a dirty look. ‘And I suppose you want to be fed now, too? You could have at least woken me up.’
He quickly changed clothes and shuffled from his bedroom to the front door, the cat following in his wake.
‘Hold on, hold on, just a sec,’ he called before undoing the lock and throwing open the door. Sure enough, he found Shelley on the other side, tapping her foot impatiently.
‘Up late scrolling?’ she greeted, a sardonic smirk planted on her face.
Ward sighed and turned away from her, heading toward the kitchen.
‘I’d like to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he retorted. ‘But to answer your question, no, I was not doing that. And I don’t intend to any time soon.’
