World's Apart

Living Nightmare

Water. It was all around him clawing at his throat as it rose higher and higher.

The weight of the water pressed heavy on his chest and panic crept in as he fumbled with the buckle on his harness.

Water. It was all around him clawing at his neck as it rose higher.

The buckle was jammed and Jack shook the harness with rage, pulling at the material to no avail. He was trapped.

Water. It was all around him clawing at his neck.

He stretched in his seat trying to keep his head above the rising water. He pushed his hand hard against the canopy but it too would not shift. Ragged breaths escape him as the water smothers his mouth.

Water. It was all around him, clawing.

Sucking in a deep breath just in time before the water engulfs him. The world around him now a cold blue and all sounds are muffled and slow. He yanks at the harness again and again and again. He stuck and he's sinking...

Water. It was all around him.

As the plane descended lower and lower into the deep blue the light from the surface began to fade. Jack let out a silent scream and a surge of bubbles escape his mouth. Crack! At that moment the top of the canopy breaks open. He blindly reaches his hand up and his fingers lace through someone else's. They try to pull him through but he's still trapped in his seat.

"Don't let go!" he tries to scream but the water strangles his words into a gargled cry, choking him.

The hand pulls back and disappears and Jack clutches as his chest as the water consumes his last breath and the plane sinks down, fading into blackness.

Water.

Jack bolts upright clutching at his chest. Sweat pours from his body and the slick white material of his t-shirt clings to his body. Clammy, his hair sticks flat against his forehead and he gasps long and hard to catch his breath. The room is black and only the faintest silhouettes are visible through the darkness.

A dream.

It was just a dream. Jack swings his legs off the side of the bed, the soles of his feet hitting the cold wooden floor with a thud. Resting his elbows on his knees he inhales slowly and deeply.

It was just a dream.

His knee bounces up and down as the terror of the dream courses through him like electricity. Every night since the day in the wildflower field with Ali the dreams had haunted him. Every night he reached out for the strangers hand and each night he willed himself to hold on, to not let go. But he could never hold on and each day he woke gasping for breath as though the icy depths truly had swallowed him whole.

As he regains his composure, his eyes adjust to the blackness around him. In front of him is the bed of Tom Farrier. Untouched and unchanging, it was just how it had been the morning they had left to patrol the Channel. Two men had left that morning and only one had returned. 

The thought tortured Jack and he had spent many a hours hoping and imagining that at any given moment the burly Londoner who was so full of wise cracks and smart mouth comments, would come barrelling through the door. Jack had played through the scenario again and again. Farrier would enter the room and Jack would stare at him in total disbelief, then Farrier would say something menial or condescending like "Nice of you to make my bed for me whilst I was gone!" or "Stop staring at me like that Collins, it's not like I've been missing or anything,"  Then he would laugh and the two men would embrace like old times. Farrier would clap Jack on the back before pulling away and sticking a toothpick between his teeth. He would slump down onto his unmade bed and grin "So, pub?"