Three weeks after London.

“Oh honey, you look so tired!”

“You don’t look so great yourself, Mom.”

“Well, I’m locked up. So what’s your excuse?”

Dylan looked through the screen at his mother, sat in her orange boiler suit, more gaunt that he remembered. But she was right. He was tired.

Since the events of London, the insomnia was hitting him hard. Sleep was a luxury and if he got any, it was filled with vivid recollections of the moment he was swallowed up by the ground and buried under rubble. He never feared the blackness but now the dark haunted him with the deep silence that joined the vacuum of sleep. Loud sudden noises would spook Dylan at any time, as his state of alertness was in hyperdrive.

“Yeah, I’m just tired Mom. Exams are coming up and it’s difficult to sleep with this arm.” She looked at him in the way that suggested she knew he was holding back.

“It’s unusual for it to be still sore,” she noted, recalling his previous knack for recovering quickly due to his accelerated muscle development.

“I suppose. It has been getting better though, just a bit slower.”

“Well I’m very proud of you though Dylan for what you did over there. You were very brave. All the girls in here were coming up to me and saying how amazing you all did in London.”

“Thanks ma.”

“No, I really am. It makes being here that whole lot easier knowing you are out there doing good and making something of yourself.”

“And how are you doing Mom? Not getting harassed by anyone?”

“Oh no no. None of that going on. But you know, I'm just keeping my head down, getting on with my jobs,” she smiled, which Dylan knew to be false.

He guessed that they were both holding back this visit. “That’s good, Mom. Keep it up.”

“I sure will do.”

Dylan waited to be let out of the prison gate and walked back to his car. He knew she found these visits difficult and put on a brave face for him. And he hated seeing her in there, hated what it was doing to her. At least she was clean though. There was one good thing to come out of it.

He checked his cell, mindlessly scrolling to decompress from his visit with his mom. The internet was still writing features on The Collective and its newest members. Give it a few more weeks and it should die down.

Politicians and bloggers were speculating about life in outer space, some scare mongering with clickbait articles and videos not helping things. Maybe I’ll get to go one day. He threw his phone on the passenger seat and got the car started. He just wanted his bed.

***

Dylan was sprawled out on the sofa watching re-runs of a sitcom in the middle of the afternoon when the noise of the key in the door made him jump. It had been another week since he had seen his mom and except for his arm not being in a sling anymore, he was still as skittish and sleep deprived as he was after London.

“Oh c’mon. Who else was it going to be?” Tyler mocked, sensing that he had startled his flatmate.

“Of course you. I just... wasn’t expecting you.”

“Have you been there all day? And going to the bathroom or the fridge doesn’t count as leaving the couch.”

“Well… then yeah. I have.”

“Oh Dylan, you need to sort it out bro. Get up, make an effort and go outside. Breathe in that fresh air.”

“Please don’t start, Ty,” Dylan snapped back, turning away from him and back to the TV.

“I can’t believe this show is still on. It’s ancient. How many times have you seen this episode?” Tyler asked, not really giving in. Dylan ignored him. “C’mon man, you’ve been like this since-”

“Since London. I know. You keep saying. Everyone keeps saying.”

“I know, but you need help. I get it Dyl, but sitting around missing classes and binging old TV isn’t going to do you any good.” Tyler paused. He hoped that someday he would get through to his friend. “I can help you if-”

“I’m fine. I don’t need any help,” Dylan cut in, not even looking at Tyler as he spoke.

Tyler sighed and left him to it, taking a water from the fridge and heading to his room.

A few more days had passed and Dylan was finishing up in the shower. Tyler had been staying out of his way and letting him get on with his Friends binging. He threw on some sweats and padded to the living area.

Sat on the sofa was Brad, sat back comfortably watching Chandler try to break up with Janice. The first time.

“How did you get in?” Dylan asked, skipping pleasantries.

“You left that window open,” replied Brad, pointing at the window opposite. Of course being on the fourth floor wasn’t going to be a problem for Brad, Dylan realised.

“Why are you here?”

“Yeah, it’s nice to see you too pal.” Brad turned the telly off but remained relaxed on the sofa. “I feel like I’ve neglected you lately so I thought I would come and check in on you.”

“It’s fine, I don’t feel neglected. You should have just texted and saved yourself a visit.”

“I have. Every day I have been sending you texts. And you don’t reply. So cut out the ungrateful act and tell me what’s been happening with you,” Brad said, his tone becoming sharper. “You missed Terri’s party for starters.”

“I wasn’t up to it.”

“But did you tell her that? You’ve not been up to much lately. No classes. No training. No replying to your friends.”

“Oh, I see what this is. You’ve been talking to Tyler, that nosey son of a bitch.”

“He’s concerned Dyl. Why can’t you see that? And seeing you like this, heck I can see why. I am too!”

“Just get off my back, Brad. I’m just…” but he stopped before finishing his sentence. Brad waited. “…Just dealing with stuff.”

“I know, man. This is after London, right?” Brad had softened his tone, and Dylan huffed and paced over to the other sofa, holding his head in his hands. Brad waited for Dylan to find his words.

“I’ve not been sleeping very well since… Or at all. And whenever I do, I just feel like I’m… I’m down that hole again buried under all that rubble. I’m just.. I’m just scared. And it tears me up because part of me feels like a wall flower for being so scared, but I just can't help it. I'm living it at the moment.”

“Oh Dylan. Why haven’t you said anything?”

Dylan didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t really sure why. A sign of weakness? Not recognising the problem was as bad? Thinking it would all just pass? Not wanting to bother anyone? Everyone else seemed to be going through their own problems since things had hotted up politically and with the media after London.

“I don’t know Brad. I- I guess…” and his words trailed off.

“We should get you to The Facility. Get you some help.”

“This is the thing, man. I don’t know if I want to go back to The Collective.”

“What do you mean?” Brad asked leaning forward now.

“I’m messed up because of The Collective.”

“No no no. Nah, come on, wait a minute there Dyl. First, you’re not messed up. You’ve just been finding things difficult lately. And I know you’re looking for something to blame, but it isn’t The Collective. It’s us who can pull you through this.” But Brad could see Dylan wasn’t convinced. “What happened in London was rare. Think of all the situations you’ve been in and got yourself out of. San Francisco and Mount Hogon, just recently. London rarely happens to the scale like that and you’re allowed to find it difficult to process. But believe me, you’ll work through it in time.”

Brad watched as Dylan got up and walked to the fridge. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just a soda if you have one. Do you want to go out and get something to eat, Dyl? Anything you want? It's on me.”

“Perhaps. It might be good to.”

“Yeah, definitely. Let’s give it an hour yeah? You need to shower, 'coz you stink.” Brad joked, lightening the mood.

He knew that despite the topic change, Dylan deep down had heard what he had said, but he wasn’t going to push him.

“Only if you don’t try to talk me out of leaving The Collective.”

Brad started to protest but Dylan put up his hand to stop him. “I want to quit Brad. It feels like the right thing to do.”

And how could Brad argue with that?

Next week in Sediment Terri #4, ‘A New World’...

we find out more about the ramifications of an event like London for The Collective, and a proposition marks the start of a new chapter for Terri.