Asshole

Date: August 29, 1997 | Friday

POV Oliver

"No..." someone screamed. Oliver could tell from the voice that it was a man, but he couldn't make out who it was. "Please..." he heard a moment later. But it wasn't the man's words that caught Oliver's attention. It was the way he said them.

The first scream sounded so desperate that a chill ran down Oliver's spine. But it was the pleading that followed that took his breath away. It felt as though someone were ripping his heart out and crushing it.

"Oh, thank God," he finally heard the voice say. The relief in it wasn't just something you could hear; you could almost feel it. Like someone had thrown the man a lifebuoy just as he was about to drown.

He heard the man muttering quietly to himself before finally losing control completely. His sobbing suddenly became clearly audible, and his voice, coming out only in broken fragments between heavy sobs, trembled and kept breaking.

Oliver couldn't see the person. It was as though his eyes were closed. But he couldn't open them, nor could he move to help the man.

Even his thoughts seemed shrouded in a haze. He couldn't make sense of what was happening. But the sounds this person was making frightened him. No—what he felt was so terrible that fear was no longer enough to describe it.

It was sheer terror! Pure horror—not a film, not a drama—REAL!

The man fell silent so suddenly that Oliver didn't know if he was even still alive. Then he heard him again, this time clear and distinct, with newfound strength.

"I'll get help!" he said, his voice still trembling. "Can you hear me? I'm not leaving you." This time, his words sounded far more determined.

"I promise you!"

HAAAH!

Oliver jolted awake with a sharp gasp, shooting up so abruptly that he almost ended up standing in his bed. He was breathing as heavily as if he'd just finished a sparring match with Frank.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!" he blurted out.

His T-shirt clung to his skin, soaked with sweat, and tears were still gathering in the corners of his eyes. Oliver ran a hand over his face and froze.

"I was crying?" he muttered to himself in surprise.

Knock, knock, knock. Someone knocked on his door.

"Is everything all right?" Sister Margaret asked through the slightly open door.

"Yeah, I'm fine! I just had a bad dream," Oliver said, switching on his bedside lamp.

Oliver glanced at the clock.

His train left in four hours.

"I'll get ready in a minute," he told Margaret. She hesitated briefly before closing the door again.

Oliver sat on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath. His heart was still pounding hard in his chest. Then he got up, walked over to his desk and opened the top drawer. His eyes fell on the gift Margaret had given him on his first Christmas.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

He hadn't actually planned on taking it with him.

**Flashback**

Impossible!

Oliver took the framed picture out of its wrapping and stared at the photograph inside.

It showed a young family. A beautiful young woman, a well-built young man, and a small child no older than three.

Sarah and Daniel Bennett. The parents of the boy whose name he carried.

Ever since arriving in this reality, he had deliberately kept his distance from Oliver Bennett's past. He couldn't reconcile it with his conscience that he had taken not only his name, but his body as well. So he had avoided anything connected to him.

He had never seen a picture of Sarah or Daniel before, and yet he recognised them.

Not from photographs or stories, but because he had been dreaming about them for months.

[IMAGE]

***

For years, he had been dreaming about the life Oliver Bennett had lived before him. Memories that weren't his. At first, they had just been dreams he'd never given much thought to.

"It's perfectly normal to dream about being a child when you spend all day pretending to be one," he'd told himself back then.

At least until he'd seen the photograph.

But he'd never had a dream like the one he'd had today. It had almost felt as though he'd lived through it himself.

Oliver took the picture frame out of the drawer and tucked it into his already packed suitcase, which stood open beside the bed. He hoped today's dream really had been nothing more than a dream.

He hoped so for the man in it, and for little Oliver Bennett.

That was horrible!

Oliver forced himself to stop thinking about it. He needed to get ready. His train to Oxford was leaving in a few hours, and he didn't want to worry Margaret during the little time he had left here.

He jumped into the shower and afterwards packed the last few things he needed to take with him. His room at Mill Grove would, of course, remain his. Margaret was still his guardian, after all, and he would be coming back during the holidays.

Oliver looked around his room one last time and paused. His gaze wandered from the empty desk to the packed bookshelf and finally to the small sideboard, where it settled on the Buddha statue he'd made out of clay.

Oliver laughed and said quietly:

"You stay here and keep Sister Margaret company."

***

"Have you got everything?" Margaret asked, looking at his suitcase.

Oliver stared at her in disbelief. In the past hour, she'd asked him at least three times whether he'd packed his toothbrush, his uniform, and even enough underwear.

"Margaret, are you sure I can leave?" he asked, looking at her with concern. "It seems like your memory is starting to go. You asked me that five minutes ago."

"That doesn't mean you haven't taken something back out since then," she said dryly.

He sighed before finally saying, "I'm going to miss you too, Grandmother."

She looked at him and paused for a moment. Then she gave him a small nod and glanced towards the train, which was already waiting to depart.

"The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore." Her gaze shifted from the train back to him. "Until Christmas!"

"Buddha says he'll look after you while I'm gone," he said, holding out his arms to hug Margaret. But before he could even take a step towards her, she tapped him on the head with the small Bible in her hand and ruffled his hair.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, pretending it hurt and jumping into her arms anyway. The old bat was simply too proud for soppy goodbyes.

Before she could give him another whack with the Bible, he let go of her, grabbed his suitcase, and ran towards the train.

"See you at Christmas!" he called back to her.

Oliver heaved his heavy suitcase up the small steps into the train. Once at the top, he turned to look at Margaret one last time. She was still standing in the same spot, slowly shaking her head.

Oliver stowed his suitcase and dropped into the window seat. A few minutes later, the train slowly began to move. He looked outside and watched as the station, and eventually the houses of London, passed by.

The steady clatter of the train and the passing countryside made the time go by faster than Oliver had expected.

"Ladies and gentlemen, next stop: Oxford."

He grabbed his suitcase and dragged it off the train. He had barely stepped onto the platform when he spotted a man waiting for him a few metres away.

In his hand was a sign.

OLIVER BENNETT

"Hello," he said, pointing at the sign. "That would be me!" Oliver gave him a friendly smile.

"So this is the genius who needs a personal escort," the man mocked.

Oliver's smile vanished.

"Excuse me?" he said indignantly. "I don't need an escort!"

He grabbed his suitcase and stomped past him.

Asshole!