Chapter Eleven

"Dad! Stop!!"

Tank's cries echoed in the darkness, yet when Buzz's mind's eye opened, it viewed an entirely different scene. A woman was on the floor, and waves from a crimson ocean lapped gently against the grain of the wood, forming little streams along the slits in the floorboards. The light from the sun outside caught the reflective surface of a small metal object nearby, and there was a man by her side, his hands clutching his face.

His eyes blinked just once, yet the woman was now a young man - his battered son - while the man's hands lowered to reveal his own face.

The man's face turned sharply towards him, his eyes narrowing as deadly intent sparkled in his eyes.

"No!!"

The sound of his own voice was enough to pull him from the nightmare, frantically looking about himself as he sat up in his bed. He stayed there for a moment as he mopped beads of sweat from his upper lip and rubbed at his eyes. He rose from his bed, turning on the light bulb, and allowing a moment to grow used to the fierce glow now illuminating the room, before making for the bathroom to splash some water onto his face. After dabbing a towel across his features, he straightened up as he gazed curiously into the mirror.

His eyes wandered down his body to study the old scar upon his left breastbone. Fingers ran along its length as he pondered, like he had done so many times before, how it had gotten there. A voice in the back of his head suggested a connection between the scar and the dream he had just suffered, and it also reminded him of the confrontation with Tank a good few hours before. He hadn't meant to lash out at the boy, only doing so when he noticed the glint of a blade. An illusionary knife, no doubt… perhaps that was the object by the fallen body in his dream… was it the same blade that cut into the thin flesh at his chest? Who wielded the weapon? That was the biggest question of all, one he wished so badly that he could answer.

Jenny groaned as the alarm clock signalled the start of another working day. An arm swooped upon the device, swatting the button on its head to shut off the grating noise, as she pulled herself wearily from the cocoon warmth of the bedclothes, reluctantly allowing the aged green arm draped across her side to slither off her as she rose. Giving a sleepy yawn, she changed into her casual attire in the semi-darkness before leaving the bedroom, her eyes blinking as they met with the light beyond.

She frowned as she realised the light was already illuminating the lounge, and decided to follow the scuffling sounds emanating from the kitchen. She traced them to a familiar youthful, bulky form by the coffee machine, and watched with intrigue as he operated it - what reason did he have for waking so early?

"Morning!"

Tank jumped at the greeting, nearly spilling his steaming drink as her voice reached with an icy hand to touch his shoulder.

"Hi," he uttered upon turning round.

"Wasn't expecting you up so early," she remarked.

Tank smiled awkwardly as he blew upon the surface of the liquid, before taking a sip from his mug.

"Bad night," he mumbled.

"I can imagine," she replied, "Wanna talk about it?"

Tank was taken aback by the offer, unsure now of what to say.

"Um," he began, "Well… I never been asked that before… Well I have, back when I were tryin' to punch it outta me instead o' talkin'…"

Jenny smiled a sad, knowing smile as she studied him, briefly eyeing her watch. She always allowed herself plenty of time to get ready, so she could afford to give some where it was needed.

"Tell you what," she proposed, "You go take a seat while I get a coffee, then we'll have a chat, huh?"

Tank smiled as he made for the sofa, tears beginning to prick at his eyes. It was so long since there had been a remotely motherly figure in his life. The yearning for his mother panged at his heart without warning, as he realised that now he had no parents to speak of, at least not until his father got over himself and began to act like one.

"Only other time I had a talk like this was with Ripp, and that was only when I started to listen," Tank explained as she sat by him.

"What about your Mom?" she asked, "I gather from Ripp she left while you were still little?"

"Yeah," he agreed, not fighting the sadness as it crept over him, "I was nine an' he was eight. Was too young to understand all that was goin' on at the time, but I remember there bein' this big fight…"

"What's happened to you, Buzz?" she demanded, "You've changed since we met, and what's worse is, you're changing Tank too! He was such a good boy before, him and Ripp used to get on so well…"
"Tank shows promise," Buzz grinned, "He'll make one hell of a soldier…"
"If that's what he wants!" she reminded sharply, "You're letting this new power get to your head - you're turning this place into a boot-camp, and you're taking him with you!"
"Is that all this is?" Buzz countered, "You're scared of losing him?"
"I am losing him!!" she yelled, her patience now exhausted, "And I'm losing you too!"
"Oh yeah, and what of Ripp?!" he challenged, "What did you do to him?! There's no strength in the boy, all he does lately is cry…"
"I didn't do anything to him," she snorted in reply, "Except maybe remind him someone still loves him… and how many times do I have to say this? Crying is not a sign of weakness! It's a sign he's unhappy; he's lost a good brother! All Tank does these days is pick on him!"
"If he weren't so damn lazy…"
"We all have our quirks," she retaliated, "You've got one hell of a temper on you… what did that alien man ever do to you? Apart from put you in your place, that is…"
"What was that...?!" he challenged, his fists clenching.

Recognising the signs by now, Lyla didn't push the issue. She had only narrowly escaped taking the place of his punch-bag before, and didn't fancy that changing any time soon.
"Bag," she commanded.
Buzz straightened up, indignantly folding his arms.
"Who are you to…?"
"Now!" she yelled, "Punch out whatever shit's eatin' at you this time if you won't cry it out, and then maybe we can talk…"
"I give the orders around here!"
"At work, Buzz, at work! This is home! We're your family, not soldiers! Ripp needs love, not 'whipping into shape'…!"
"He's not the only one, it would seem," Buzz observed, his eyes narrowing.
Lyla's face dropped as she backed away.
"Don't even think about it," she told him, trying to still her quavering voice.
"What's happened around here?!" he asked no one in particular as he advanced, his tone cold, "Everyone's dropping like flies!"
"Get to your fuckin' bag!!" she screamed.

Dazed and hurt, Lyla was left nursing her throbbing eye as she gazed back at the man who resembled her husband. She slowly picked herself up from the floor, staring defiantly at him as she felt her blood simmering in her veins.

"Do that again," she dared him quietly.
Buzz's fist loosened as he realised what had happened. He swallowed hard as for a moment he saw a different face before him.

"Mom…" he whimpered, a hand clutching at his quivering jaw.

Lyla's expression softened as it dawned on her there was more to their problems than she had first thought… but then, that's what happens when the man doesn't confide in his wife.
"Cry, Buzz," she urged, "I can see you need to, please…"
"Don't be so soft, Buzz!"
Buzz briskly shook his head as he found himself caught in the middle of his own war, between his emotions and his teachings.
"Get out of here," he uttered.
Lyla straightened up in surprise at his remark.
"Buzz…"
"Go!!" he yelled, "Before it happens again!"
She watched in despair as he ran off to his punch-bag, not stopping to take note of anyone else who may have witnessed the scene. Lyla's already crumbling heart lost another part as she was only too aware of their audience.

Her head lowered, all she could do was admit defeat. She peered helplessly down at the two pairs of immature blue eyes that stared back at her, the expressions upon their faces so different from one another. Tears trickled from her eyes as they played upon the seemingly emotionless features of her oldest son.
"Don't be afraid to cry, Tank," she pleaded, "Don't let yourself change into the beast your father has become."

The memories of that last conversation filtered through his mind, mixing with the vivid images of what had happened at their house earlier on, and the resulting concoction was the most agonising rush of emotion Tank had ever experienced. One thing he could never remember, was the last time he'd cried beyond the mere trickling of waters from his eyes, and now as the floodgates opened, it quickly became apparent why it was so necessary to one's sanity. With every sob released from his body, more pain was flushed from his system, and with so much to purge from his heart he lost any control he may have once had.

Jenny's heart broke as she watched him, moving closer so she could take him into her arms.

"Let it go," she coaxed gently, mostly to reassure him it was safe for him to do so, "It's okay."

Her gaze wavered only a little as she noticed movement, realising that the light was changing outside. On recognising the approaching figure, her expression became one of significance.

"Oh, Tank," Peter acknowledged in despair as he too went to his side.

Tank's tears finally began to subside as Jenny caught sight of her watch.

"It's okay, I got him," Peter told her, "You get to work." So saying, he took hold of his shoulder as she stroked his hair in a parting gesture.

"Better out than in, as they say," Peter remarked as he took Jenny's seat, "Feeling any better?"

Tank's head slowly dipped as he started to nod.

"I know this much," he replied, the mixture of past and present still jumbled in his tormented mind, "No way am I joinin' the army."

"Oh, I don't know," Peter remarked, "You'd make a better General than your father."

"I don't want anythin' more to do with 'im!" he snapped, "All 'e ever wanted from me was to be just like 'im… well I've had enough! I only asked what the damn bag was for, I didn't ask 'im to strip my personality from me!"

"Look," Peter advised, "You're finding your own way in life, that's great. You need to follow your heart, don't think that a certain path will make you like him, or anyone else."

Tank scoffed silently at his remark and the muses that joined it.

"Follow my heart," he echoed softly, "I used to think it led to the army."

"It may still do," Peter said, "Don't think it's just down to your father."

Tank shook his head, however.

"I found a better outlet than the punch-bag," he explained, "It's not fightin' I wanna do for a living… it's writin'."

"Really?" Peter grinned in admiration.

Tank nodded, beginning to smile. "Couldn't sleep, so I turned on that computer upstairs and just started writing," he explained, "The words just flowed, like a waterfall…"

"Wow, you're even talking like one now," Peter chuckled.

Tank's smile broadened as he slipped into a different style of talking, his mind wandering as he spoke.

"The first victory has been won," he reflected, "Picking myself up from the dusty ground, I nurse my wounds for a while as I gaze across at the paradise that beckons beyond this barren wilderness. A stream nearby glistens with the light of the morning sun, inviting me to take a sip of its cleansing waters and taste the new life that I have begun."

His eyes then widened as he bolted from his seat, Peter watching in wonder as Tank made for the stairs with his parting cry hanging in the air.

"Where's a notepad when you need one?!"

"Mornin'," Johnny greeted dryly as he watched him tear into the spare room, slowly shaking his head with a smile as he continued to descend.

"Hey Dad," he greeted, before glancing back at the stairs, "That guy got a rocket up his ass or what?"

Peter chuckled a little at his remark, before clearing away the cups and opening the fridge door.

"Don't disturb the budding author," he mused with a smile.

"Oooh, right!" Johnny acknowledged, "Fancies 'imself as a writer now?"

"He certainly has it there," Peter told him, "If what he's working on is anything like this random statement he just came out with, I think he'll do very well."

Johnny arched an eyebrow as he poured himself a coffee.

"Wow," he remarked simply, "That guy's full o' surprises."