Torn from Normal

PROLOGUE
7:46 a.m., April 3rd

Wind gusted through the half-open window and blew Danny's homework all over the room. Navy cotton curtains floated over his desk like the dark sails of a ghost ship. He tugged the blanket over his face, hiding from the day. Warm breath heated the space between the pillow and blanket, dampening his face. A Coldplay song crept into his head and drew him back into the dream.

Half asleep, he sensed Andy speaking to him; face wet, twisted...glaring. Danny couldn't hear and traveled nearer, desperate to understand. The closer he got, the further away and more silent Andy became. The dark place closed in, shimmering onyx walls pulsing as they squeezed and separated them. He gasped.

The rumble of a dump truck up the block stole the dream away. Sweating, catching his breath, he waited for his brain to understand.

Tuesday.

Did he put the trash out? He tossed the blanket aside and bounded blearily to the window. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he squinted at the end of the driveway. The cans were there, where he'd set them the night before. He slumped and turned to the bed, the blankets twisted. He gave up on sleep and fled downstairs.

The automated coffee maker burped and gurgled, dripping black liquid and filling the house with the scent of morning. Normally, his dad would be the first one up, zombie-walking to his caffeine, but Danny beat him today. He turned on the television, settling on the couch and switching to MTV. Bright sunlight painted window reflections onto the plasma screen, blocking much of a reality show rerun.

Annoyed, he flipped off the tube. Footsteps overhead; his father was awake. He really didn't want to explain why he was up so early. There had been enough of that lately, that concerned, 'how are you holding up' sort of thing. He returned to his room and tossed on a tank and shorts. Another hot day. Muggy from the coming storm. Like the day it all started.

He gathered his papers from the floor and returned them to the desk. A crow tortured him with a caw loud and brash enough to set his teeth on edge. Though night had been cool enough to keep the window open, he happily closed it now. The big black feathered bird sat on the eaves of the house next door, its dark head cocked as it studied him, judged him as a human gone wrong, mutated into something less.

That Coldplay song returned. Andy's pain and anger returned.

Danny flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. He saw Andy as he searched his house for someone, anyone. He heard him call out, his voice echoed through the single family home. Why wouldn't they answer his desperate shout? Upset, very upset, he threw a chair out of his way. With a curse, he swept the sideboard in the hall clean. The porcelain vase shattered into a thousand pieces on the hardwood floor. He raced upstairs, to his bedroom, breathing hard. His gaze fell instantly on the picture on the nightstand.

He lunged for the frame, ripped the photograph free, and brushed the image with one trembling finger. He wept and wiped the tears with his sleeve. He folded the picture into his back pocket and ran down the stairs. The images wavered, splintered.

Tears blurred Danny's vision. I should have been a better friend.

All his stuff in his room, all of it just stuff. The pipes in the walls came alive with the sound of rushing water as his dad got in the shower. Even that noise didn't kill the silence they'd wandered under all fall and winter. Months of thinking and thinking, imagining and re-imagining.

His computer was on and opened to a fresh document. The blinking cursor called him, demanding Andy's story be told.