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Chapter 2: Living In A Nightmare

If ever there were a word for Nick to sum up the way he was feeling at that very moment it would be 'numb'. And even so, that word was almost an understatement. Aside from the throbbing taking place in each temple, his body was completely numb to all emotions. He felt nothing, subconciously building a wall between a fantasy in his mind where all was well and the nightmarish reality he now found himself living in. He couldn't cry. His eyes were dry and bloodshot from the emotional breakdown he had experienced during the twenty minute drive home from the hospital. They itched and the skin beneath his eyes stung where the salty tears had soaked. He vaguely remembered planting himself unstably on his two feet and leaving the hospital, only to collapse inside his truck moments later where he spent the better part of an hour sobbing painfully against the steering wheel. It all just seemed too surreal. Never in his entire existence did he imagine it would end this way. Yet there he was, living out one of his worst fears.

Now Nick found himself locked away in the comforting sanctuary of his basement-made-into-a-den, where he often spent much of his time sorting through his thoughts and problems. It had always served as a great place to retreat away from every day life. It's natural hues of browns and greens served well at calming Nick's often stormy soul. That day it failed in giving any sort of comfort, but he still managed to find himself perched in its solitude. Soft Blues music emitted somewhere in the background as Nick sat atop a dark mahogany stool beside his worktable, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. His brows were creased in concentration as he used a skilled hand to apply intricate detail with a thin paint brush in pastel yellow along the inside walls of the cedar wood dollhouse constructed in front of him.

It definitely was a work of art, a project he had begun nearly a year prior, not too long after everything had started. Nearly complete, it consisted of three levels: the main floor, second landing, and an attic where Nick had stowed miniature cardboard boxes and other miscellaneous objects. Each level had its own set of rooms and hand made furniture that Nick created himself, giving the dollhouse an almost story book feeling. Savannah was going to love it as her love for playing with dolls grew each day. For a second, Nick smiled, an image of his six year old granddaughter slipping its way into his mind. If anything could push the dark clouds away and let the sun shine brightly into Nick's life, without a doubt, Savannah could. The way she would burst through the door everytime she came to visit and immediately run to her grandfather's awaiting arms with innocent questions of curiosity, it never failed to make Nick's heart swell.

He sat back for a second, studying the structure in front of him. It amazed him in a way, being able to create something that was so simple, yet so complex at the same time. But he had indeed created it, built it from scratch while remembering how his grandaughter had insisted over the phone that since she was six years old, she deserved a real doll house to play with. "One that is made of real wood, Papa. Not like the plastics that come from the toy store. Those ones are for babies, and I'm not a baby. I'm a big girl!" The doll house was meant as a surprise and Nick had planned on presenting it to his granddaughter on Christmas morning, should he find a way of getting it to her, considering the holiday was only a mere two weeks away. Now more so then ever, he found it imparative that he get it finished quickly.

The pitter patter of the rain falling outside seemed to come down in an angry torrent of pellets, mimicking the very tears of sadness that had cascaded his cheeks. Nick found himself staring out the window above his work table at the dreary weathered landscape. It had grabbed ahold of his mood and succeeded in slowly darkening his atmosphere, allowing the depression to move in. He grimaced at the pounding in his temples as it gradually grew worse, dropping the paint brush and pressing a wrinkled hand against his forehead in concentration of passing the pain by.

Suddenly the numbness in his body had disappeared and all emotions came tumbling back at full force, leaving him in a fitful mess and on the verge of total despair. He was angry, frustrated with what was happening to him. He desperately wanted to find someone, anyone, to place the blame on, as if it would lift the heaviness from his chest and make him feel the least bit better. He wanted answers. He wanted a cure, a clean diagnosis. Something that would tell him, "Mr. Carter, you are perfectly healthy and you have many happy years to come." None of that would happen though, because it just wasn't possible. Nick wasn't young by no means, not at the age of sixty three. But that didn't mean he was prepared to die. No one ever is. And he sure as Hell didn't deserve to.

Looking away from the rain splattered window and removing the thin-rimmed glasses from his tired eyes, he slammed a shaking hand against the wooden table top. Nick cursed, scowling at the over turned bottle of modeling paint that oozed from its bottle pathetically. In one swift motion, Nick's hand sent the whole of the bottles of paint plunging to the ground where they shattered mercilessly against the hardwood floor. An array of colors sprayed in all directions, mixing into one ugly mess and it did nothing but add fuel to the fire that was Nick's temper. Finally he stood up, abandoning his perch and gaining a few paces away from the stool.

Maggie wouldn't be thrilled about the mess he had created, but Nick couldn't have possibly cared less at that very moment. He wanted to see things lying in a pile of broken shards, like that of his tattered soul. Things deserved to be hurting as much as he was hurting. Nick growled in frustration as he reached for the reading lamp next to the beige leather couch, gripping the rose printed base in the palm of his hands before slamming it hatefully into the floor. The porcelain shattered upon impact, littering the ground around his feet. He stared down, unfazed by the racket and even more unfazed by the tears that were once again streaming down his wan cheeks. Nick crossed the room, striding towards the mantle above the fireplace. Each step sent surges of tension up his unstable legs, but he chose ignorance as opposed to the feeling.

Gold-framed pictures loomed in front of him upon the mantle, decorated with candles of various shapes and sizes that always produced a soft warm scent when lit. Maggie had always had a liking for candles, admiring the different colors, scents, and shapes. Thus led Nick's house to being littered decoratively with them since the moment he'd met his wife. He even remembered the first time he'd ventured over to her apartment when they first began to date. The moment he walked through the door, his nostrils were filled with the light smell of lavender and roses, a smell that seemed to describe Maggie's personality perfectly. Nick commented her good taste in air freshners, only to find out by walking into the living-room that it was littered with the wax fixtures. The next day, Maggie showed up on his door step with a box-full of her favorites, preaching that not only would it make his place smell better, but would add some much needed color to his life. Now some thirty one years later, every room he entered was elegantly decorated with the finest candles Maggie could find.

Nick grimaced as he reached for a light sapphire candle, bringing it up to his nose and inhaling slowly. The scent made his stomach turn for the worse and he dropped the candle without a care, kicking it effortlessly into the fire place. Before he realized it, a pile of mutilated wax lay admist burnt ashes and small burning logs. Overturned pictures lay dangerously close to the edge of the mantle, threatening to fall to the floor without a second notice. Nick reached for the one closest and studied it carefully, his vision blurred by the oncoming of tears that ceased to relent. Maggie's usually calming smile beamed out at him from behind the glass. Her skin, although wrinkled slightly from age, still seemed rather flawless and only added to the beauty that had caught Nick's interest in the first place. A strangled sob escaped from his lips as he gazed longingly, realizing Maggie had no idea of her husband's death verdict. Guilt hit him hard in the chest as he knew she was due to arrive home any minute from her day's outing. 'Some "Welcome Home!"' he thought bitterly, almost cruely.

Anger gripped his heart and he sent the collection of pictures sailing to the floor, crying out in despair at the loud racket before sinking to his knees in the middle of the mess. He sobbed hopelessly into his hands, his back heaving pathetically. 'God! Why?!' his mind screamed for the answer. How the Hell was he supposed to break the news to Maggie when she had been the most optimistic one for the both of them? She would be crushed and it would be Nick's fault for having to break it to her. 'No, God, please no. Not now...I'm not ready to die!'

Soft hands came from nowhere and pulled him into a warm embrace. Nick continued to sob pathetically within the safety of his wife's arms, clinging tightly to her thin cotton sweater with all he had. Maggie's voice drifted soothingly into his ears as she rocked his frail body back and forth. But Nick recognized the tinge of panic that coated her tone and the guilt overrid him once more. She must have arrived home during his torrent of destruction, only to run down the stairs and throw the door open to the broken sight that lay before her. "Oh God, Nicky, talk to me!" Maggie begged in a strained voice. Confusion nipped at the very depths of her soul, tantilizing fear tagging right along. She guided her hands carefully along her husband's shaking back, but failed in offering any sort of comfort. He was unconsolable.

Nick attempted to pull away, only to find his body not wanting to cooperate with his mind. All four limbs had resorted to jello, leaving him almost paralyzed as he cried out incoherent sentences. His heart hammered threateningly against his ribcage, the air around him became thick and stuffy. "N-n-no! N-no!" Nick stammered through a series of hiccups. He felt like he was drowning, being dragged deeper and deeper below the surface. His lungs burned as if from lack of oxygen and the room seemed to spin. It had to be one horrible carnival ride...this had to be one terrible nightmare that he would wake up from any moment...

Maggie's fingers ran soothingly through his tangled and sweat coated grey locks, her heart running its own marathon. "Baby, what is it?!" she demanded in a choked voice, fearing the absolute worse. She had learned as of lately that the worse case scenario was more plausible with anything and all points of optimism were slowly washing away. Knowing Nick was usually a master at hiding his true feelings towards things that bothered him, but sitting there witnessing him in the state he was, sobbing like a new born baby...it sent chills along the entire length of her spine. She didn't even want to begin to imagine... "Sweetheart, whatever it is, you can tell me-"

"I don't have any time!" Nick finally cried out, hatefully shoving himself from Maggie's loving embrace. He felt the coldness of the room immediately envelop him as he stumbled back onto jagged pieces of glass and metal scattered on the hard floor. Invisble hands clutched at his already knotted stomach, and rung it like a sopping wet towel causing his eyes to nearly bug out in disgust as a shaking hand shot up to cover his mouth. He choked back several heart wrenching sobs, disoriented from every emotion that racked his soul. He could taste the sour bile rising at the back of his throat and he wanted nothing more at that moment then to just black out and be free from all the pain, all of the impending heartache, all of the sadness Nick saw etched in his wife's beautiful brown eyes...

Nick clumsily climbed halfway onto his unstable feet before stumbling in the direction of the downstairs bathroom. His vision blurred, darkening around the edges and clearing before darkening around the edges once more. He didn't even bother with the light switch, unable to prefer between a dark or light bathroom. He collapsed upon his knees infront of the porcelain bowl, leaning over just in time to release a powerful collection of sour projectile. 'God, just make it stop!' his mind screamed with pure agony as he continued to release the contents of his stomach. Nick's head protested against each heave, worsening the rising of his aching stomach.

Then just as quickly as it began, the throwing up halted and left Nick dry heaving until finally his energy drained away and he rested his heated forehead against the cool edge of the porcelain bowl. He kept his eyes tightly shut, stubbornly refusing to open them and once again face his situation. A slight scuffle in the doorway announced his wife's arrival into the bathroom but he made no move. Maggie was at his side in seconds, whispering words that Nick just wasn't able to focus on. He just couldn't keep himself from wallowing in his deep pit of depression. Life as he knew it was coming to end, and the worst part about it was he didn't even know how soon that end would be.

A cool, soft compress was carefully applied to the back of Nick's neck and he sighed almost inaudibly. He felt bouts of cold and hot flashes run the course of his entire body, definitely signaling that his body temperature was not right. Beads of sweat dripped down his throbbing temples as he succumbed to the relief the cold wash cloth produced. Nick folded an arm across the circumference of the toilet and allowed his forehead to rest on top his arm. The salty tears staining his cheeks were slowly coming to halt, but somehow he knew they would never completely cease. The feeling of helplessness was overpowering...

Maggie sat close to her husband, unable to produce the right words that would convey her exact concern. All she could do was sit there and watch every subtle change of emotion Nick expressed, fear taking its place over her heart. She removed the wash cloth from Nick's neck, already feeling the heat radiating, flipped it over, and once again pressed it gently against his skin. She bit down on her bottom lip, cringing at every weak whimper that emitted from her husband's throat, brushing back identical tears that were threatening the very corners of her eyes. Maggie watched as Nick slowly turned his head, not once lifting it, and gazed up at her. For the first time since she had arrived home that day, she noticed the terrible bags residing under his eyes, the way his usually pristine white eyes with their azure orbs were now red and irritated. The skin upon his wan cheeks was blotched away from perfection and stinging by its apparent redness. The sixty-three year old man hunched before her, of whom she was married to, looked as if he had been reduced to a helpless and scared three year old that wanted nothing more then to be comforted and told that everything was alright. It completely shattered her heart.

Nick shuttered, grasping hold of his bearings. His chest rattled with each breath he inhaled, not to mention the fact that it felt heavy and weighed down. Exhaustion lay over him like a heavy winter blanket and for a moment he had quite the difficulty of keeping his eyes open. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from Maggie's. He just kept staring, his dry lips parted for words. "I...I-I'm so s-sorry," Nick apologized hoarsely.

"For what?" Maggie whispered, drawing the wash cloth away from Nick's neck as he sat up.

"For failing," Nick answered. He looked away before lying down and resting his head carefully in his wife's lap. Just the simple gesture seemed to rest the storm Nick was feeling as he folded his arms to his chest, rubbing his arms for warmth.

"I don't understand...Nick, what have you failed at?"

"The results..." Nick trailed, once again clenching his eyes tightly together to stop the on rush of tears.

Maggie's eyebrows furled in confusion as she brushed the matted hair away from his forehead. "The results?" she questioned, racking her brain for clarification. Slowly her heart began to sink as Nick scooted closer to her. "W-what did Dr. Garner say?"

Nick didn't answer. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to get the words past his lips.

Nick's silence brought everything to a complete halt. It was funny how the silence draping the bathroom could be so loud at times like this. It was also at that moment that Maggie finally realized the true meaning behind her husband's emotional break down she had just witnessed, even despite the fact that her mind went into overdrive trying to deny what was the inevitable truth. She clasped a hand onto Nick's shaking shoulder, desperately trying to ignore the blurring tears that glazed over her chocolate eyes as her composure melted right in front of her. "Nick-"

"It's not working anymore," Nick interrupted feebly. "The treatments, the medications...it's not doing a damn thing. It's been a waste of time."

"That's not true, maybe the tests were wrong, not accurate," Maggie suggested, but the words were a lie and only meant for temporary comfort. She and Nick both knew that much.

"Mags, the cancer is spreading even further," Nick forced the words from his mouth.

Maggie shook her head, unbelieving. "You don't honestly believe that. We can get a second opinion, Nick!"

"Dr. Garner already did get that second opinion. And he also got a third, but the results were all the same, all identical," Nick explained, his voice beginning to falter. He forced himself into a sitting position, immediately reaching to clutch his wife's trembling hands in his. The tears were already trailing Maggie's cheeks, stirring the remainder of his own. "They all said the same thing. I'm dying, Maggie, and there's not a damn thing they can do about it. Oh God, I'm dying..."

"Don't say that!" Maggie whispered harshly.

"The results-"

"Don't say it!" Maggie cried, shaking her head vehemently as the tears streamed down her cheeks. "No, Nick, no! Don't say it! Don't you dare! You're not--you're not dying!" Her words became broken, gripping her husband's hands with all the energy she could possibly muster, even though she felt as if her body would give out on her and she would slump into a crumbled heap.

"Mag-"

"The tests are wrong!"

"No-"

"They have to be!"

Nick drew Maggie into his arms, suddenly finding the roles reversed with him in the position of comforting his wife, which only made the task all the more difficult when he right then more then anything needed and had noone to possibly comfort himself. "I want the tests to be wrong! God I do!" he whispered frantically into her ear as she sobbed into his shoulder. He could already feel her warm tears soaking the light material of his shirt. The damns of emotion burst open again, letting loose the flood gates to all of Nick's pent up pain and misery. "I don't want to die! I don't want it to be like this!"

"You aren't dying!" Maggie all but screamed, the sobs racking her chest violently. "Not like this!"

"I don't want to!" But there was no answer to recieve. He'd manage to push his wife into a terrible bout of denial and Nick knew he was going right along with her. So he did the only thing he could think of and manage to do. He continued to let the tears roll, refusing the effort to stop them.