A Work in Progress [4]

The dry pages turned with a quiet crackle, the soft rustling of autumn leaves and fresh snow combined. Black-and-white faded to sepia faded to bright fully-colored glossy photographs, and two generations of the Stark family flashed by in mere seconds. The album fell open to a series of three young girls in the flowy dresses that had been so fashionable at the time. Tears began to spill silently down Ana Stark's cheeks as she stared down at her daughters.
Frowning, Jonathen slipped an arm around her shoulders. "There," he whispered, drawing her close, "please don't. That's behind us now. Please, Ana, please...don't cry over the past... I can't bear it." His voice was breaking.
Ana sniffled softly, burying her head in his chest. It took her about ten minutes to master her shaking sobs. She wiped her face on her sleeve and reached out to close the album, back cover meeting front; her fingers slipped and it fell open to another photograph, this one of the same girls chasing a smallish boy in baggy black pants and a skintight shirt stretched over his narrow shoulders. Ayami, the oldest of the Stark girls, was laughing; Genna's long hair streamed out behind her, and Tam was in the middle of vaulting over the back of an innocent bench. Ana remembered the day clearly. It had been Viserys' birthday. His nine-year-old friends had called early that morning and asked her to keep him away from the house for the day; they were planning a surprise party, and wanted to do it in his own home. She'd laughed and said it sounded like a great idea so long as their parents agreed. So while the local band of "punks" and "goths" - Viserys had run with strange company - tottered around her house and no doubt tore it to pieces, the entire family had gone to a park on the far side of town. Viserys hadn't been too happy with the idea at first, but he'd warmed to it quickly, and the doors of the van flew open almost before the engine died. The ensuing game of tag had encompassed half of the park and lasted almost three hours. Jonathen had joined in, of course, but Ana had opted to sit on the sidelines with the camera. In the midst of all the excitement she completely forgot the surprise party.
It had been a tired but happy group that came home that evening; Viserys, racing Tam to the shower, had contrived to be the first to the door. He yanked it open, and instantly the house was alive. For a moment Ana had thought the poor boy was going to faint. The parents had all congregated in the backyard, away from the influence of the loudspeakers, and laughed for a good while over the look on his face. They came back inside just in time to overhear one of the freakier-looking goths say to Viserys, "Hey, man, I'm really sorry. I'm gonna have to owe you a present, I spent all my money last month and didn't get you anything."
Viserys had smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and said, "No worries. You've already given me the best present ever."
"He was really something, wasn't he?" Jonathen asked softly, running his finger around the edge of the picture. "Before the Accident, I mean. Back when he pretended to be a punk."
Ana scoffed slightly. "Pretended? He wrote the book on punk, Jon. Even if he was a little young."
"Nah, I claim that honor myself." Another grin, this one tinged with sadness.
There was a long silence. Jonathen turned the page, moving forward through the years; the entire family in front of the redwoods in Yosemite, Tam blushing furiously as Viserys gave her a corsage the night of her first junior-high dance, Viserys and his friends (eleven years old now) decked out for Halloween.
"Really something," Ana agreed softly.
Anyone who knew Viserys now would never believe how he had been back then, she thought ruefully. He'd done a complete one-eighty.
Before the Accident, he'd been very socially-oriented, always doing things and going places in a group of no less than five; he didn't hate being alone, but he enjoyed life more when other people were around. He'd been into black leather and spikes - Ana hadn't approved, but there was nothing she could do - and she swore his group had been the forerunner of the current goth trends. Every last one of his friends had been into gaming, be it video, computer, or role-play. They would spent two or three nights at a time at one person's house playing games from the time they woke up until the time they all but collapsed. (Everyone in the town had been fairly liberal; so long as they weren't getting into trouble, all of the parents pretty much trusted their kids to know their own limits.) He'd done reasonably well at school, not really struggling to make the grade but not excelling either.
Then a moonless night, heavy rain and a drunk driver had conspired and taken all three of his sisters in one fatal crash. Viserys, ill, had been at home with his mom; his dad's hearty constitution had been all that saved him from the same fate as Genna, Ayami and Tametha.
Viserys had never really recovered. For all his rough exterior, he'd been extremely close to his sisters, and their loss hurt him more than anyone could have predicted. He withdrew, suddenly, completely, and entirely. He drifted, lost and alone, for a year; on occasion he would go to a friend's house for the night, or spend a few hours at the movies, but his face was always drawn and his eyes distant, and more often than not he would end up calling for an early ride home. His door, generally left wide open in the old days, was always closed and usually locked now. He had thrown himself wholeheartedly into schoolwork and learned to all but ignore the world.
Now, with several years and a good friend between him and the past, Viserys had begun to slowly open up again; he talked more and was relatively popular in school, and several times had been the willing host of impromptu parties. But his love of games had disappeared, and what little time he didn't spend studying was devoted almost entirely to reading. He was getting better, sure, but he was still an extreme introvert.
Lost in thought, Ana didn't hear the phone ring. Jon picked it up instead. His face went white; he murmured something into the mouthpiece, nodded once with a curt "Yes, I understand," and set the phone quietly back down on the reciever.
A quiet, icy fear stole into Ana's heart and froze the blood in her veins.
"That was the doctor," Jonathen said in reply to the unspoken question. "I'm afraid it's bad news."