Chapter Text
It wasn’t that Dennis was afraid of the dark, because he most definitely was not; still, there was a certain kind of darkness that never ceased to seize his heart in fear. It was the sudden kind, like the pitch blackness that came with an unprecedented power outage, or like being stuck on a shitty gas station toilet when the timed switch shut off the lights.
Really, it was the absolute loss of control that petrified him, that desperate grasping for his senses to adjust, anxiety creeping in while he was forced to wait for the world to come back into view. Without control, he was weak, unwillingly vulnerable like all the other clumsy oafs.
In truth, he knew where the fear, and subsequent ritual, began.
He had to have been about 4 years old, the first time he’d experienced a power outage. It was a late summer night. His dad and mom had gotten into a fight of blunt and barbed words. Dennis had to sit as sole witness after Barbara had denied Dee dinner for accidentally spilling her juice on the dining room rug earlier that evening.
The meal ended with Frank storming out as Barbara poured what must’ve been her dozenth glass of white wine that afternoon. She’d barely regarded Dennis with a bored stare as he sniffled with concerned confusion. She narrowed her gaze on him as though she couldn’t be bothered to comfort him if he did cry.
“When’s Dad coming back?” He’d been walking through the raised kitchen as his mom lingered in between the entryway, glaring back at the front door.
“Never, if we’re lucky.” She scoffed before gulping from her already half-empty glass.
It was at that point, the quiet, childish tears began to build in Dennis’ eyes. “Oh, don’t start.” She sneered in disdain, muttering to herself. “Kid’s suspiciously sensitive for a boy.” She paused mid-sip with a lifted brow. “Probably going to grow up to be a ‘friend of Dorothy’s’.”
It briefly distracted Dennis as he looked down the steps at his mom. “From The Wizard of Oz? I like Dorothy. Her ruby slippers are really pretty.”
She snorted. “Figures.” She shrugged. “You’re young. I’ll train you out of it.”
“Why can’t I be Dorothy’s friend?” He hadn’t yet crossed over the threshold between the two rooms when the lights suddenly went out. The urge to cry quickly returned as Dennis anxiously called out to his mother.
She groaned in reply. “Oh, calm down. You don’t need to act like such a damn baby. Just follow the sound of my voice.” Barbara apathetically instructed.
Dennis blindly reached out, almost petrified, in the darkness. “I’m scared.” He had unconsciously admitted to the pitch black.
“Dennis, Mommy is going to be very angry if she has to stumble in the dark and ends up spilling her drink. You don’t want to make Mommy mad; do you?” Barbara had impatiently prodded.
“No, Mommy.” He’d fearfully gulped. “I don’t want to make you mad.”
“Then, hurry up, already.”
Despite the fact that she had been looking right at him when the lights had gone out, she hadn’t thought to warn him. Dennis had stepped forward, his easily distracted child’s mind simply forgetting the small set of stairs he had to step down to reach her in the living room.
Dennis had immediately stumbled and lost his footing. He’d tumbled into their large, oak entertainment center, his arm loudly thwacking as he collided with the immovable object.
Quietly, tears welled in his eyes, spilling over once he’d registered the pain. He’d confessed his fear to the vast darkness. “It hurts.”
“Absolutely hopeless.” She scoffed.
Dennis sat on the ground, thinking about what his mother had said when Frank had left. His dad was never coming back, and the entire world had gone pitch-black. It was at that moment that he began to loudly sob. “Everything’s broken.” His breath was breaking with each terrified inhale.
“God; of course, you’d also be a drama queen as well.”
The lights went back on a minute later.
Barbara looked at him with her unhappy face as she gulped down the rest of her wine, before setting her glass on the mantle, not a single drop spilled.
Slowly, she made her way to him, before reluctantly bending down. “Let me see.”
It hurt to move, but after seeing her unhappy face, he wanted her to kiss it better, so he grimaced through the pain and presented his arm to her.
“Is this where it hurts?” She pressed down on the weird bend in his arm.
“Ow.” He cried out.
“Hmm.” She nodded. “So, just here?” She briefly squeezed again.
Though it hurt to move, he tried to pull his hand away.
“Answer me, Dennis. Is this the only place where it hurts?” She let go, and Dennis nodded as he silently cried.
She stood up and looked down on him. “So, I guess not everything is broken, after all?!” She snorted as she walked back through the kitchen, pouring herself another glass of wine.
Dennis felt sick with the way his mom watched him as she spoke with sloppy slurs. “You know, I always used to think I was the one who set the trap, but now I finally understand that I’m the one who got caught.” She gulped back half her glass as Dennis rocked in silent pain on the floor.
“You know which friend of Dorothy’s you are?”
He sniffed. “Can I be Glenda?”
She laughed sharply. “Jesus, kid. She travels around with three men, and you want to be the pink, sparkly fairy?”
“She’s a good witch.” He defended with a sniff. Dennis had always wondered what it would be like to travel by bubble, floating feather-light on the wind.
It didn’t really matter though, as long as he wasn’t a flying monkey, because they always seemed to remind him of his dad when he was in a bad mood.
“What about the Wizard?” She asked, rolling her eyes when Dennis had to catch his breath, after it caught on a sob.
“He doesn’t have real power like Glenda.”
She watched him with a curious lift of her brow. “Smart, but no. Because Glenda wouldn’t be too afraid to watch the scene of flying monkeys, now, would she?” Dennis gripped his aching arm and shook his head. “That’s right; she wouldn’t, which is why you’re the Cowardly Lion.” She snorted, gulping the rest of her glass. “Nothing but a big scaredy-cat.”
She’d looked away, building breath for a shout, calling out to their housekeeper. “Josefina! Page Frank; the boy hurt himself, so he needs to come back and take him to the hospital.”
She’d sighed with irritation, eyes back on her son. “It wouldn’t have happened if you’d been paying better attention.”
“I forgot about the stairs.” He dejectedly admitted.
“Which was your own fault, Dennis. Do you really expect someone else to watch out for you?” She shook her head. “That’s not how the world works. No one is going to stop you from stumbling, because everyone would rather you fall.”
Dennis’ brows pulled together in confusion. “You didn’t want me to fall, Mommy; did you?”
Barbara shook her head with a sigh. “No, I didn’t.” She rubbed at her temples. “This is going to be such an annoying hassle, and your father is going to be angry.”
But he was coming back? “Flying monkey angry?” He asked with fearful hesitance.
His mother surprised him with loud, unrestrained laughter. “I see.” She nodded. “You’re right; he does look like a flying monkey.”
He was rewarded with a brief look of approval as she succinctly patted his head. She quickly pulled her hand away. Looking at her wedding ring, she spoke with a bored voice, which was almost as bad as her mad voice. “I always thought the Tin Man was the best off; what an idiot for taking he trip to Oz. He was blessed from the beginning.”
Josefina quickly hurried in, fawning over Dennis’ arm. “Poor boy. I already talked to Mr. Reynolds. He’s not far. He got stuck in an elevator during the blackout.”
Barbara snorted. “At the Hilton around the corner, no doubt.”
Dennis barely could acknowledge the gentle attention he only seemed capable of receiving from Josefina as his eyes stayed on his upset mother. He hated it when she was disappointed in him. She didn’t want him to be Dorothy’s friend, and she seemed ashamed that of all of them, he was the Cowardly Lion.
But she seemed to like the Tin Man. If Dennis wanted to make his mom proud, he had to be like the Tin Man.
For the first time, four-year-old Dennis stumbled across a question that would cling to his thoughts for the rest of his life. He wondered if it was possible to live without a heart.
It wasn’t until ten years later, in high school, that he realized he’d developed a habit of softly admitting his fears in frightened whispers whenever that sudden darkness paralyzed him. He was finally old enough to recognize that symbolic parallel, indulged in the solitary blackness.
Dennis hated his own disguised cowardice, but, alone, in the dark, he could purge his fears by leaning into that unavoidable vulnerability when genuinely afraid. He didn’t abandon the ritual once he understood it was like killing two birds with one stone.
After meeting Mac, Dennis concluded that his secret ritual was the closest he’d ever come to confession; only, he wasn’t asking for forgiveness or willing to pay penance, merely unburdening his weakness to the faceless and ambivalent dark.
The dozen or so times it happened; the severity of the secrets varied.
‘I’m afraid I’ll fail my test.’
‘I’m scared I won’t make friends at my new school.’
‘I’m terrified I’m not normal.’
‘I’m stressed that Mom and Dad will get divorced.’
‘I’m worried they’ll never get divorced.’
‘I have nightmares about the library.’
‘College is harder than I thought it would be.’
‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life.’
‘Sex feels like a chore.’
‘Love is a myth to comfort the lonely.’
‘I’m a horrible father.’
‘I don’t know how to feel the right amount.’
‘Life is unbearably boring.’
He’d never relied on the comfort in the company of others, instead eagerly allowing them to fill the quiet. He wasn’t afraid when he wasn’t alone. Only in solitude, did blindness bring that violently voracious silence.
The superstitious compulsion had faded in the past few years, as Dennis would make quick work of utilizing the flashlight on his phone before locating enough candles to claim control of his surroundings yet again.
At 45, he smirked to realize that he certainly wasn’t the Cowardly Lion, and his impressive intelligence proved he’d never been the brainless Scarecrow. Barbara had been right after all; the Tin Man truly had a sweet deal. The world was blessed for a man without a heart.
Apathy had done a great deal to chase away most of the fears, besides the rare flicker of an existential crisis. When he needed to let it out, he’d cheat in a partial type of purge, after intentionally shutting off his lamp, before bed. Ironically, it was harder to confess without the fear. When in full control, it was more difficult to hear the words. They lingered on the air without gracious distraction.
‘I don’t want to grow old.’
‘I never reached my potential.’
‘I’m going to die alone.’
Once it was out, he was free of the fear. That was his trick to staying invincible. Well, at least he thought it was.
Yet, as the sudden darkness descended upon Dennis after the sound of screeching brakes announced his body’s flight through the Range Rover’s broken windshield, he wondered if he truly was invincible, after all.
He landed with a frightful thwack that pulsed throughout the back of his head, cloaking him in an inescapable black void. The only difference this time, was that though he could almost speak, it was as if his terrified voice was devoid of any volume. Still, one thought persisted in the stiflingly silent shadows.
‘I don’t want to die.’