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Sweet Dreams Are Made of These - 11
by Innuendo (keepsake411@yahoo.com)

***

The last eleven months of Jahn's life have been like a 
dream, with a future that promises the same. Dreams 
have little place in the waking world, however, and a 
failure to recognize those realities can lead to 
nightmares. A heart attack, swift and sudden, 
following terrible news regarding his wives-to-be has 
put him in the hospital, and his future in question. 
(FFM, rom, fantasy)

***

Chapter: December: "Don't Dream, It's Over"

Losing someone you love is a devastating experience, 
and even after decades of weathering life's travails, 
the human body is a terribly fragile creation. Grief 
is the embodiment of stress, emotional strain, and the 
body reacts adversely. The immune system may be 
compromised, a heart condition exacerbated. Couple 
overwhelming grief with a physical weakness and 
suddenly "dying of grief" doesn't seem like a cheesy 
plot from a Hollywood release anymore. Perhaps it's 
truly the side effects of grief and not the grief 
itself that kill, but the root cause and end result 
are the same.

Heartbreak was what had killed Jahn's father, no 
matter what medical mumbo jumbo and 'real' diagnosis 
the doctors gave. Both of his sons knew this; it stood 
to reason for them because their mother had passed 
away abruptly a month before. One day as healthy as 
any man of advanced age, the next crippled by the loss 
of his wife of forty years. Robert Halvers had 
followed Renatta Halvers into the dark, because he 
simply couldn't bear to be without her. Neither son 
faulted him for it, as the man's devotion to their 
mother had always been a cornerstone of family life.

Between bouts of unconsciousness, Jahn stared at the 
blank tiles of the ceiling with far less than half-
interest. Thoughts of his father continued to hound 
him, a surety that his old man's fate would be his 
own. Did it matter? The lights had gone out. There was 
nothing left but bleakness and waiting. A pall had 
descended over his world and painted it black, that 
which was left cast in shadows.

Faces swam and out of existence, talking to him in 
conversations he didn't really remember. Roger, and 
surprisingly, his wife. Mary Reed. His boss, a few 
friends from work. Greg and Amy. Andrea. His... 
fiancées... friends and co-workers, people he'd met 
maybe once and barely knew. What were they doing here? 
Every pair of eyes seemed to bore into him, full of 
concern and understanding, silently assuring him that 
they were there for him, that he could take as much 
time as needed to get better and come back, safe and 
whole

Safe and whole. He'd lost two-thirds of himself, and 
the remainder was a heart attack victim in a hospital 
bed. Safe. He'd paint the word in sarcasm if he could 
muster anything more than dull apathy. Roger's visits 
were the only real light, the one thing he felt like 
staying awake for, though the cheery pep-talks he 
offered didn't infuse him with strength. "Rest, bro. 
All you need is time."

Jahn hadn't been able to help his response, his 
bleakness spilling over into the room around him. "Why 
bother? Dad had it right."

Shocked into silence by the suicidal overtones of his 
brother's response, Roger only stared at him, 
horrified. Strange, thought Jahn as his brother 
stalked out of the room, I don't think I've ever seen 
him cry before. Voices from the hallway told him that 
his brother hadn't gone far, was talking with a woman 
there. A nurse? No, Jahn recognized the voice – Mary 
Reed. Angry about something, but didn't she have a 
right to be? Both of her daughters, who she'd raised 
to become lovely, talented young women, were dead in a 
traffic wreck, of all things. Her grandchild, his 
child. There were specifics, but the only words he 
recalled were 'car' and 'accident'. The woman's voice 
was rising. Incredulity? Rage? Something else? 
(doesn't) (know) Words come to him like chunks through 
a straw.

Mary moved into the room with dread purpose, his 
brother close on her heels, but Jahn couldn't muster 
the enthusiasm anymore, and simply stared at the 
ceiling.

When she reached the bed, she leaned down, fists 
burrowing into the mattress and hissed, "Jahn." She 
was angry at him. That's right, he'd failed to protect 
her girls. Maybe she'd cut his balls off now.

A light slap to the side of his face got his attention 
and he turned his head to her reproachfully. Was that 
really the best she could do? He deserved worse.

"Listen to me. Jen and Fiona are _alive_."

Click.

All those friends and co-workers aren't here for 
_you_, they're here for _them_.

Just stopping by for a friendly word and well-wishing, 
that's all they were doing in your room. Realization 
hit him like an enervating electrical current.

Light that he couldn't recall being on the ceiling 
before seemed to burst with radiance, blinding him 
with intensity as the shock of realization washed over 
him like a hose full of cold water.

Alive? Alive. Alive. Alive-alive-alive-alive-alive... 
Breath expelled itself from him in ragged measure, but 
there was no pain like before. Only darkness.

***

"I want to see them," he insisted angrily to the 
pretty, young nurse, who looked anxiously in turn at 
the doctor. "Either give me a goddamn reason why not, 
or get Mary Reed and explain it to her. Bullshit on my 
heart, I'm only still here because I _thought_ they 
were dead."	
	
"You really need to res-" The nurse says, but the 
doctor... Standish? Stanton? cuts her off. "I can 
arrange that, but you need to talk to Mrs. Reed 
first."

Mary was pushed a wheelchair into his room within 
minutes of being called on, but she intercepted him 
before he could get up. Not a difficult task – a week 
of immobility seemed to have atrophied his legs and 
there was a weakness in him.

Concern in her brown eyes, she touched her silver hair 
in a gesture of nervousness. "Jahn, they _are_ alive, 
but you need to understand that it's bad. The car was 
totaled, and both girls were terribly hurt. They're... 
stable... but they are comatose."

At the widening of his eyes, she gave him a curt wave 
that was probably meant to forestall his fear. "The 
doctors have every expectation that they'll recover 
and that the comas will be temporary. Still... the 
damage. Can you stand it? Your heart, I mean?"

With grim determination, he assured her that his heart 
was not a problem... because Jen and Fiona were alive, 
and that made all the difference.

Mary was right about the damage. 

Fiona had been driving, and was on the side that was 
first struck by the passing vehicle. Her left arm and 
leg had been broken, and she'd nearly lost that eye as 
well when the driver's side window had collapsed. She 
wouldn't lose it, but it had been a close thing, and 
she'd taken extensive damage from shards. These wounds 
would heal, her beautiful brunette locks would grow 
back despite the necessary shaving for stitches, but 
she would never get the last two fingers on her left 
hand back. His heart ached for her, and the loss of 
that ring finger felt like an omen.

Jen... "The baby?" he asked, terribly afraid for the 
blonde. Despite her initial fears, she'd begun to 
enjoy the pregnancy, looking eagerly to the day their 
child would be born. Jahn knew she'd make a wonderful 
mother, and the loss could hurt her far more badly 
than any physical injury.

"As far as the doctors can tell, alive and whole, but 
an extended coma could change that."

That was... something. A chance. Those physical hurts 
she'd suffered had been smaller in scale than Fiona's. 
No permanent damage, though she'd taken similar breaks 
on her right arm and leg from the roll of the car, and 
retained a number of scars from the broken glass.

All of this could heal.

The two women had been given separate rooms at first, 
but the hospital had honored Mary's request to give 
them a shared room once their conditions had become 
more stable. Their mother had taken up her own watch 
between the girls when visiting hours allowed, and 
with only a little reluctance, gave up her spot to 
him. He needed this, and so did they, she felt.

As Jahn sat, he slipped one hand into Jen's, the other 
into Fiona's, and thought about what the future held 
for them now. He didn't know; nothing seemed quite as 
certain as when the trio had sat down together on that 
November day and told each other what they wanted to 
do with the rest of their lives. Talking aloud anyway, 
he spoke to his fiancées (so vulnerable, so helpless, 
so hurt) (I couldn't do anything for them). 

Talking about the future and how this didn't change 
anything, that they'd still have each other and the 
rest of their lives together. As much love-making as 
Jen could possibly want, as many long walks and deep 
conversations as Fiona desired, if only they'd wake, 
and come back to him. He probably sounded like a 
pervert, but didn't care.

On one level, he was aware just how pitiful, how 
pathetic and melodramatic he must sound to the nurses 
and others present, bargaining with higher powers for 
the lives of his lovers, begging them to come back to 
him, but on the other, he was simply apathetic to 
outsiders. Jahn wasn't sure he believed in any god, 
didn't know if recovery really meant a miracle, but he 
would do anything, be anyone he needed do, be as good 
a person as he needed to be, if only to ensure they 
came back to him from whatever purgatory they were now 
in. Religious dogma, hell. He'd be righteous.

Burdened with a heavy heart, but no longer the weight 
of two worlds, he left with Mary the next day, 
pronounced healthy by his doctor, given all the proper 
counseling and discharged. Assurances were made that 
he could visit any time he liked, within reason.

***

It was odd, but the first thing he noticed when he got 
home was the darkened house across the street, no car 
in the driveway. That was unusual, because the 
occupant always seemed to be home, pottering in his 
garage or working in his yard, a light always on to 
signal that there was someone in. Perhaps the 
recession was the cause, out of work.

A suspicion of something tugged at his mind all night, 
and when he noticed that same emptiness across the 
street while getting into the car the next day, he 
stared over his shoulder at it for a moment then 
turned to Mary.

"What was the name of the driver who ran Fiona and Jen 
off the road?"

Mrs. Reed shrugged the question off dismissively. "It 
was some worthless drunk who was killed when they went 
over into the ditch. I never thought to ask. Didn't 
seem important, with you three in the hospital." Quick 
to intuit the source of his curiosity, she widened her 
eyes in recognition. "You don't think..."

"I don't know, it's just a suspicion."

With trembling hands, Mary dialed the hospital, 
waiting to be connected to his fiancées' doctor, 
waiting even longer to be connected to someone who 
could actually answer the question. As she listened, 
her skin turned an unhealthy, blotchy shade of white. 
With a mumbled 'thank you,' she hung up.

Turning to him, she said hoarsely. "Joseph Margrave." 
Jahn's hands clenched on the steering wheel, and the 
world shuddered around him slightly. It was a long 
while before they drove anywhere. 

***

Whatever problems his heart might have, a little 
righteous outrage was the least of them, but Mary 
wouldn't hear of him leaving without her once she 
found out he was going to confront Donovan. Their ride 
was one of deathly silence.

A cold, sterile line of phone booths waited for Jahn, 
and he sat at one under the guard's direction, 
impotent rage boiling over. Donovan strode in, bearing 
that characteristic cold visage, but this time Jahn 
simply did... not... care... Must have shown on his 
face, because Donovan seemed taken aback by his 
expression, and the huge man's confidence shook even 
further when he saw Mary standing behind his 
daughter's fiancée looking every bit a woman of 
compassionless iron.

Demands for information spilled out of his mouth the 
moment he picked up the handset. "The hell are you 
doing here, and why's Mary with you? Where's Jenny?"

"Why'd you do it, Donovan?" Jahn asked, willing 
himself to be as cold as Mary. "Did you decide she'd 
just get over losing Fiona? Oops, a little accident to 
ensure she had the _right_ future?"

Anger showed on the man's face, and he said, a touch 
of hysteria in his words, "Where's my daughter, you 
little prick?"

"Shut the fuck up. Was it because Jen was pregnant, 
and you decided to make sure that wouldn't happen with 
her sister?" Donovan flinched, as if slapped, and it 
occurred to him that the only way Donovan might have 
known her pregnancy is if one of his former watchers 
had told him. It was on their 'to do' list, but 
November had been such a busy month...

"Jenny's pregnant?" There was a touch of warmth for 
his little girl in the words, but it was overshadowed 
by the increasing fear on the man's huge face. 

"It's up in the air," Jahn said, biting off his words 
bitterly. "Your buddy Margrave ran her sister off the 
road. Jen happened to be in the car."

Donovan's eyes went wide with horror, and he looked to 
Mary for confirmation. No pity in her dark brown eyes, 
she simply nodded curtly, cold and passionless. Jahn 
had never seen a man breaking down, wouldn't have 
counted his own heart attack as such, and knew as it 
happened to the behemoth in front of him that he never 
wanted to see it again. Like crumbling stone, the 
anger and fear slid off the bullish man's face, 
leaving behind a tableau of abject grief and what Jahn 
was sure was self-hatred. The sobbing noise that came 
through the phone, followed by a lost voice that 
reminded him painfully of Jen.

"Ish she d-dead? T-tell me she ain't!" 

He could have left the man hanging like that, left him 
to dwell on his panic and fear, wondering whether his 
beloved little girl was alive or dead. Jen might never 
forgive him for that, though, and he wasn't sure he 
could forgive himself either. There were some lines... 
still, he had to know.

"I'll tell you, but you have to talk to me first. 
Why'd you do it?"

A flicker of something like anger shone briefly in 
Donovan's bright blue eyes, but it was gone in a 
flash, overwhelmed by whatever demons lurked in his 
head. "Y-yer wrong. I didn' have nothing-"

"Don't give me that," Jahn spat out, righteous rage 
renewed. "I did what you said, got a paper. You went 
to prison for your friends, right? They were watching 
the girls for _you_, and wouldn't have done anything 
without your say-so. Fuck, Margrave has even been 
watching them since they were children."

"Ish... Thass Joe M-margrave. Not Bill. S'in 
Destinashun Pure-ty, 'n famly, but he's not one'a us."

Time seemed to stop in Jahn's head for a moment, and 
he recalled something Fiona had once said about 
Margrave. 
	 
He used to run off kids that gave Jen a hard time. Not 
Fiona, just Jen. Donovan's daughter was the only one 
Joseph Margrave had been watching out for, because he 
didn't really _owe_ Donovan anything like an extended 
understanding of the idea that hurting Jen's half-
sister might hurt her as badly in an emotional way as 
any physical damage. A favor for family, the friend of 
a family member who happened to be in the same Purity 
group. Was that the reason for his perpetually sour 
disposition? The little half-breed girl across the 
street? What had set him off? Second hand news of a 
polygamous wedding with a white man's girl and that 
little mixed blood number? Fucking outrageous, right? 

Or maybe it was none of the above. Maybe he'd just 
seen Fiona driving past, hadn't noticed Jen with her, 
and in an alcohol-induced fit of anger, tried to run 
her off the road. Jahn had no idea. Margrave was dead, 
and had taken his secrets to the grave. Margrave-
grave, he thought disjointedly.

Jahn had made a mistake, a critical one. Other than 
Jake Edwards, Donovan's 'neighborhood watch' buddies 
weren't the real problem. It was Destination Purity. 
There was overlap, close friends who were members of 
both, but then... family and friends changed the 
parameters. Where did one end, and the other begin? 
Was it a snake chewing its own tail, a danger to 
anyone that wandered near its coils?

Staring numbly at the surface of the table in front of 
him, Donovan didn't look up when Jahn spoke. "It never 
ends, until you put a stop to it. Jen's alive, the 
doctors say she'll probably be fine, but this... 
organization, may cost our baby's life." The bullish 
man looked up, tears glistening on his face. "There's 
too much going on here. I don't understand how your 
people work, what drives them. I don't know which, if 
any, might try to kill Fiona again if they get through 
this intact. You have to make this right," Jahn told 
him.

"I ... don't know if I c-can."

"Those men owe you their lives. Their families owe you 
for their freedom. You fucking well can tell them that 
Destination Purity, whatever you think it stands for, 
nearly killed the only thing you had left. Whatever 
they stand for, they need to rein in the hate, before 
someone else who doesn't deserve it gets killed. End 
it here."

Jahn set down the phone and walked away. Too caught up 
in his own anger and anxiety, he didn't catch the 
speech between Donovan and the man's diminutive ex-
wife, but whatever she said, it was not an even 
exchange. The man's posture stiffened, his features 
shifting from a grief-stricken mess to stark fear. 
Whatever she'd said, it was enough.

***

The week passed in a haze, daily visits to the 
hospital, time spent but not wasted in the only 
company that mattered. Mary had convinced him to start 
working again, and he found some comfort in that. 
Crunching data helped relieve the crushing sense of 
loneliness and worry that came when he wasn't with his 
fiancées, his two best friends, the women who would 
someday be the mothers of his children.

Thunderous knocking sounded on the door of the Reed 
house that night, and when Jahn looked through the 
window, he knew the mess wasn't quite over. Several 
cars had rolled up, and rather than continuing on 
past, they had stopped here, a small crowd of maybe a 
dozen people assembling outside his door. Thank you 
for being here, Mary, he thought. Having a witness 
might give them pause. There was nothing to do, but 
open the door. Mary rose up behind him, but only stood 
in silence, troubled recognition in her eyes.

"Jahn Halvers?" A wiry little man with a heavy 
moustache and cap was the first to speak, and he 
couldn't help but be reminded of Mario, sans potbelly. 

Steeling his resolve, Jahn nodded, eyeing the crowd. 
Mostly men were in the group, and surprisingly a few 
women. There was a strange sense of recognition for a 
few of the faces, as if he'd regularly seen them in 
passing and immediately forgotten them. "That's me. Am 
I looking at Donovan's ... Watch buddies, or 
Destination Purity?"

"Some of both," said Mario, who promptly destroyed the 
gamer mystique by introducing himself as Walter 
Declan, and offering a hand. Jahn wanted nothing less 
than to shake hands with the man, but took it anyway.

"You all here to give me some of what Greg got? Should 
I make arrangements with the hospital?" 

A burly fellow behind Declan spoke up angrily, "He 
fucking had it coming, putting his hands on my boy." 
No point in antagonizing the man with all his friends 
around, but Jahn gave him a withering stare anyway, 
and to his surprise, some of the men and women around 
him did as well. Friends and family came first, but 
they knew about Amy, thought he should have raised his 
boy better than that. Randall Edwards shut up, face 
flushing.

"That's not what we're about, kid. It never was." A 
tall man, somewhat heavy-set, to Declan's right, 
spoke. He looked familiar, and Jahn would bet that he 
was William Margrave. "My brother knew better than 
that, knew we aren't the goddamn KKK. We look out for 
our friends, but we don't go burning crosses and 
intimidating folks, and we sure as _hell_ don't go 
killing or even hurting little girls. That's the old 
ways, wrong ways. Certain other ... incidents 
notwithstanding. Drinking and the stupidity of youth 
is a bad mix."

"Hate's just fine, though, right?" Jahn said, voice 
thick with sarcasm. "Filled him up with plenty of 
that, until it spilled right over. Consequences be 
damned. What happens next? Who goes off half-cocked 
and tries to kill us when I marry the Reeds?"

There was a little angry muttering from one of the 
women about that, but Declan, another skinny guy 
behind him, and William Margrave were clearly running 
the show, most of the men nodding agreement when they 
spoke. Margrave had been the only one mentioned by 
name, but he'd bet the other two were involved in the 
murder. Did they actually regret what they'd done? Had 
it really just been some stupid, drunken incident 
triggered by uninhibited, uncontrolled bigotry? 

"Like I said, that's not how we operate. We find ways 
to work within the law now. My brother was wrong, and 
he paid for it with his life. Donovan paid for 
everybody. We have no quarrel with you, or his 
daughter, or the girl's half-sister. We came here to 
tell you that, so that you know it ends here. 
Donovan's Watch is done, and Destination Purity is 
too, until we straighten out our priorities. What you 
see is who we are. We're not your enemies. I've done 
things I'm not proud of, but you have my oath for 
whatever it's worth to you, that it ends here. They're 
here to say it too."

Edwards spoke. "Randall Edwards. You got my word for 
me an' my boy Jake." Scuttling back into place, he 
looked abashed as the same woman who had muttered 
about Jahn marrying Jen and Fiona shot Edwards a black 
look. At least wife-beaters rated lower in her books 
than polygamists did, he thought.

"I'm Elise Decker: Polygamy's wrong and I'll see you 
in court if you try and sneak anything past the legal 
system." She said, voice imposing judgment, dripping 
condemnation. "But it's your life. Right now, I got no 
fight with you."

The skinny guy, last of Donovan's posse, was Jason 
Anthony. He too made the statement, then nervously 
stepped back.

Marcus Decker. Christopher Sanders. Julia Declan. 
Victor Jameson. Dale Farland. Rodney Orley. Frank 
Bertram. Louis Cross. Louis Gregory. All made that odd 
little prepared speech with varying degrees of 
sincerity, and though he didn't trust their values for 
a minute, it seemed like they were sincere about it. 
Names he was unlikely to remember, people he would 
probably never see again.

How pointless, he thought. I guess their god-sworn 
oath means something to them, but do they think it's 
going to make me believe them? What kind of fucked up 
gesture of goodwill is this?

Margrave spoke again, seeming to read his thoughts. 
"Might not mean much to you, but it means something to 
us... and that display was about us." Incredulity must 
have shown on Jahn's face because he continued, 
pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket "This, on 
the other hand, is about you." He handed the paper to 
Jahn, a card stapled to it.

Frowning, he examined it. Seemed to be some kind of 
document, the copy of a title. To a home? What the 
hell? The card had Margrave's number and address on 
it.

"Way I see it, those hospital bills are gonna be a 
right bastard even when you and your ladies are 
working again. My brother can't make that right, but 
his estate can. No contest, I'm all the family he had 
left to will it to, and when everything clears, it's 
yours to do what you like with. If there's any costs 
beyond that, we'll do what we can to help, all of us."

Stunned, Jahn could only stare at them as most of the 
group nodded agreement with Margrave's statement. 
"I... thank you."

"You don't owe us any thanks for this; my brother owes 
you for what he did, and he's paying it. We owe 
Donovan, and we're paying down that debt as well." 
Margrave shifted uncomfortably for a moment, and 
Declan nodded to him, signaling that they were ready 
to leave.

As the crowd dispersed, filing into their vehicles and 
returning to whatever lives they lead elsewhere. The 
hatred remains, though, doesn't it? Jahn mused, 
considering the paper as the group left. Will 
reexamining your priorities really fix anything? Who 
pays the price for your kids?

***

Sitting between the sisters, he talked to them, 
painting his words with every bit of optimism he could 
give, because they needed whatever light he could give 
them, just as they had done for him. We sustain each 
other, he understood. He told them about the strange 
offer that Donovan's people had made, and about the 
spring wedding, how they would walk with their mother 
down the aisle to find their places at his side. They 
would make their vows to him, and he to them, sealing 
them together in a spiritual union more powerful than 
anything a government could offer.

"The honeymoons..." he reflected, a smile on his face.

"You loved that jacket, Jen, and Roger told me where I 
can get a replica. We'll watch that movie again 
together, and I might be clumsy at it, but I'll be the 
sexy pilot for you, you know it. I'll sing to you, all 
those great love songs, and we'll make love under the 
palm trees. Your body all over mine, mine within 
yours. I told you I'd love you as often as you needed 
me to, so remember it. Just say the word. Our child is 
going to come into a world where he knows his parents 
love each other, and love him."

"Don't ever think for a second that I've forgotten 
you, Fiona. We'll have our time together, you know we 
will. A candlelit dinner had in a quiet place where 
the dishes, glasses and wine sparkle. Maybe we'll 
visit a hospital after, and you can show me how to 
sing Threshold; because there's something special in 
that, something spiritual. When we're done, I'll take 
you out under the stars, and we'll take in the night 
together, and then I'll simply take you, show you just 
how beautiful you are to me."

"We'll have to do something together as a trio, 
because it's the three of us in it for the long haul, 
you know. Did you know that your sister likes to dance 
too, Jen? I can't imagine anything better than 
rhythmic dancing under colored lights with both of my 
wives." Closing his eyes, he hummed another old tune, 
one he always seemed to mix up with the first.

// sweet dreams are taking over, sweet dreams of 
dancing through the night, I wanna get into motion, a 
better devotion//

"Hers. _Her_ parents," a voice rasping with disuse 
corrected him, interrupting the soothing thoughts.. 

"...holding you to that, Jahn..." came another 
strained voice, less than a hearbeat after the first 
had spoken..

When his own lids flared open, he found two pairs of 
eyes staring back at him, one pair a sparkling blue, 
the other lustrous brown. The lips below them curved 
in gentle smiles, all the more lovely for the 
understanding that their owners had come back from 
their dreams to find him.

Awake.
 
~ End ~

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 72