Dream a Little Dream

Chapter 1

Mobster Sonny Corinthos and his right-hand man, Jason Morgan, were having a tough time of it.

The Five Families, tired of Sonny's handling of his organized crime syndicate, had voted to take action. And they took the action at one of Sonny's warehouses for his and Jason's bootleg gay porn operation.

“They didn't learn from Faith Rosco or the Sandovals!” Sonny yelled. “We're going to have to teach them a lesson after tonight!”

Jason blinked, nodded and blinked again. He knew what the lesson would be. Jason would be killing members of the Five Families until they capitulated to Sonny's rule. That was his job. If they could get out of this jam. Trying to shoot their way out of the warehouse was a challenge.

Especially with the distracting sounds of the past few days. Sometimes, Jason would hear voices. Not voices like his own, but voices of people he knew. Monica and Alan Quartermaine, the parents he'd left behind, were the most often heard.

“Son, keep fighting,” he heard Alan say tenderly. It made no sense. Was it an effect of the brain damage he'd sustained all those years ago when his brother AJ, driving drunk, had crashed the car and sent Jason flying head-first into a rock? If not, what was it?

Jason frowned and blinked, then shook his head to clear it. He couldn't afford distractions. Just then, something flashed through the air.

“Sonny! Look ou--” was all Jason had time to say before the explosion.

Everything went a blinding white.

* * *

At first, the voices were a murmur, like water gently falling over a pile of rocks in the little brook in Barrington Park. It should have been soothing, but Jason was straining to hear the voices as he pulled himself away from the white light.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the voices became clearer. He heard Monica say, “Jason? Sweetheart? Can you hear me?”

He didn't know the next voice he heard. “BP 120/90. Pulse 72. Respiration 18.”

There was another voice, was it Tony Jones? “He's on his way home, Alan.”

A while later, he didn't know how long, he heard Alan say, “Keep fighting, son, and come back to us.”

As the voices became clearer, he could see more light through what he knew were closed eyelids. Where was Sonny, he wondered. Then things got dark again.

The next time he sensed light, he felt himself pushing for it until things went dark again. He did it over and over. Finally, he opened his eyes.

He instantly regretted it. The light was agony. He screwed his eyelids shut. All of a sudden, he felt movement near him and a gentle hand on his cheek.

“Jason?” he heard Monica's voice asking. He tried to work his mouth, but couldn't. He tried three more times before he could make it move.

“Maaaahhhhmmmm,” he croaked. He didn't understand. He hadn't called Monica Quartermaine “Mom” since the accident. What was going on?

He felt Monica kiss him, then something damp as she pressed her cheek to him. Tears. She was crying. He felt a hand stroking his hair. Someone else kissed his forehead. The aftershave smelled familiar...

“Daaaaaaaad.” He heard Alan Quartermaine stifle a sob.

Jason was totally thrown. Why was he acting like this after everything that had happened? He went over everything, but the details were hazy. He remembered a trashed bedroom, riding a motorcycle into the living room, and going to work for Sonny. Sonny...

Everything went dark again.

* * *

Jason woke up again a few hours later. This time, he opened his eyes slowly, and let them adjust to the light.

He turned his head to the right. Monica was looking right at him, a mixture of joy and fear on her face. She squeezed his hand and smiled shakily. Jason, to his surprise, squeezed it back. It was like it was a reflex or something. For a while, they just sat there, holding hands, in silence. Jason's eyes adjusted to being open, and he looked around.

He was in a hospital room. Judging by the view from the window, it was General Hospital. But it was brighter than he remembered it. Instead of grays and taupes, the walls were a warm beige. Sunlight streamed in from the window.

Monica looked different, too, Jason thought. Or maybe she looked at him differently. After he'd left them and gone to work for Sonny, she'd always looked at him with a desperate, pleading face. He knew she was silently begging him to love her, but he couldn't. He didn't hate her, he respected her as a doctor, but he didn't have any real affection for her.

Alan was at the foot of the bed, looking down at him. He looked different as well. In the beginning, he'd had the same desperate, pleading look that Monica had. Over the years, that look became one of sadness, later mingled with disgust and finally, unveiled contempt. But now, there was nothing in his eyes but tenderness. His expression was mild.

“Hi,” Jason said. It was all he could think to say.

“Hi, yourself,” Alan said, beaming. Monica said nothing, but practically glowed with happiness.

Jason looked back and forth from Monica to Alan. It was too strange to keep silent.

“What's going on?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Monica and Alan took his confusion as the innocent question that anyone in Jason's position would have asked. After all, how much could he remember?

“You were in a car accident, Jason,” Monica said. “You were in a coma.”

Jason looked at her like she'd sprouted a third eye in her forehead. This was ancient history, he thought. What's going on now?

“I know it's hard to believe, son,” Alan said. “But it's true. We've been waiting a long time for you to wake up.”

Jason felt like the earth had moved underneath him. It looked the same, but nothing was quite as it had been. His questioning look brought the earthquake.

Alan answered what he believed to be the question in Jason's eyes.

“You've been in a coma for nine years. It's 2005.”

Jason shook his head.

“No. You're lying. I remember everything that's happened since the accident. You're just trying to trick me into being your son again.”

Monica and Alan exchanged alarmed glances.

“Jason, we're not trying to trick you,” Alan said. “But let's not talk about it anymore right now. You need to relax and rest.”

Jason scowled at Alan.

“Don't try to put me off,” Jason warned. “I'll find out the truth.”

Monica patted his hand reassuringly.

“Yes, you will, darling,” she said. “But it doesn't have to be right now. Give yourself time to adjust to being awake. Then you'll find out everything.”

She was not looking forward to that.

Jason closed his eyes to feign fatigue, to get them out of his room. They took the hint and left. Why didn't he flinch at Monica's goodbye kiss, he wondered. Real fatigue overtook him and he fell asleep.

* * *

When Jason woke up, the nurse had left a copy of the Port Charles Herald on a chair by the bed. Jason gingerly scooched over to the side of the bed, and snatched it. He looked at the front page. It was 2005, just like he remembered, but also just as Monica and Alan had said. He looked at the front page headlines, and there was another little earthquake.

Waterfront development a hit, was the top headline. It had a picture of the docks ... or what should have been the docks, including Sonny's warehouses. More pictures were inside, packaged in a color spread. The warehouses were still there, but the logos were different. Some said “ELQ.” Others said “Jacks Enterprises” and “Cassadine Intl.” And what was this ... “Rosco Industries?!”

But the rest of the docks area looked different. Once-abandoned warehouses were clean and shiny. Some were gone, replaced with new buildings, a parking garage, and open space with a fountain. Blocks of townhouses, bungalows and two-flat houses filled the neighborhood behind the docks, where once dilapitated apartment buildings and seedy bars reigned. Off to one side, where factories and their parking lots had long stood empty, was a huge park – Steve Hardy Park, the paper said – with four baseball fields in a clover-leaf configuration. Four softball fields nearby were similarly set up. Jason also saw open space, a swan pond, a gazebo, a formal garden, a playground, and soccer fields.

The story told of how the retail and entertainment parts of the waterfront revitalization project, a joint venture of some of the city's biggest names, were at 100 percent occupancy. One side story told of the demographics of the neighborhood's new residents – single professionals, young families, and empty nesters.

The type danced in front of Jason's eyes. He set the paper down for a bit. When he picked it up again, he looked at another headline. Lucy on the Stage in Panties? It asked. The story was about plans for this year's Nurses Ball to raise money for HIV/AIDS patients, and the Stone Cates AIDS Wing at General Hospital. Jason was jarred to read a quote attributed to wing administrator Robin Scorpio. Ball coordinator Lucy Coe-Collins insisted that she would not end up in her underwear again. “It's time to break the streak,” she quipped.

Another story was about something called “American Idol.” Jason could make neither heads nor tails of it, so he moved on.

Last of the Five Families leaders sentenced, read the last headline on the front page. Jason lost his breath for a moment. If the Five Families are all in jail...then where's Sonny? He lay back and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, he couldn't remember what Sonny looked like. What is going on, he asked himself. Is this a dream?

When he woke up again, the front page had slipped to the floor. He tried to reach it, but the dizzy spell nearly made him fall out of bed.

He went on to read a story in the Food section about the new restaurants in the revitalized waterfront neighborhood, including a coffehouse and pastry shop owned by Heather Webber. She also was running cooking classes in an adjacent storefront, and was part of a program that taught culinary skills to at-risk youth. Former mayor Luke Spencer had completed a trifecta with his music club Luke's, floating casino The Haunted Star, and a new docks-area restaurant, Vagabond, that reflected his family's love of travel and different cultures.

He turned to the sports pages, hoping to find something familiar.

The first story he saw was on the latest Red Sox-Yankees game. “Defending World Series Champion Red Sox?!” Jason felt like he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and landed in a strange place where anything could happen. He tossed the paper aside. The Red Sox won the World Series? Nothing was making sense. Nothing would, he thought, until he saw Sonny.

* * *

Jason was ready when Monica and Alan came in that afternoon.

“All right, where is he?” Jason demanded.

Monica and Alan looked blankly at each other. They were afraid this would happen, but tried to put Jason off.

“Where is who?” Alan asked back.

“You know who I mean,” Jason said. “Sonny. Where's Sonny?”

Monica and Alan were truly frightened, and tried valiantly to hide it.

“Sonny ... You mean Sonny Corinthos?!” Alan asked. “What on Earth would you want with him?!”

Monica said, gently, “You hardly knew him, Jason, except as Brenda's boyfriend. I don't understand.”

Jason clenched his jaw. “That's not true, and you know it.”

Monica and Alan looked helplessly at Jason.

“Jason,” Alan said in what he thought was a soothing voice but struck Jason as patronizing. “We don't know what you're talking about. Why is Sonny Corinthos of any importance here?”

Monica patted his hand. “Don't worry, dear, we'll figure this out and take care of everything.”

Jason exploded in impatient, impotent fury.

“Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop trying to make it go away! It happened! It all happened!”

Alan steadied himself and asked, “What all happened, Jason? Tell us.”

Jason let loose, telling everything of the past nine years, from running away from them to going to work for Sonny, and everything they had done. When he was done, he folded his arms and glared at them, looking fierce and strong, but childish and petulant at the same time.

“Jason...” Monica began tentatively. “It's not true, darling. You've been in a coma since the accident that, yes, AJ caused while driving drunk. Nothing since then that you imagine you remember is real. It must have been a dream. Maybe what you remember was worked into your mind when we would visit you and talk with you about everything that was going on. Everyone did, you know. Your family, your friends.”

Alan looked at Jason, then Monica.

"There so much we don't know about the subconcious mind," Alan said. "Maybe Kevin Collins would be able to explain this."

Jason shook his head. “No. I don't believe you. I don't...”

He looked in their faces. He could always tell when they were lying, but he couldn't see it. They had looked him in the eye with no fear, only bewilderment. But they had to be lying, and he just couldn't see it, right? Right? Otherwise ...

It was too much to contemplate. An escape hatch opened in his mind and he fell asleep.

* * *

Monica and Alan conferred quietly outside Jason's room.

“I think you're right, Alan,” she said. “We have to talk to Kevin about handling this as well as Tony. It may be brain damage, it may be the subconcious mind, it may be a combination. They're both still here; let's get a conference with them right now.”

Alan nodded.

“Let's hold off on any more revelations,” he said. “And we'll keep everyone out until we get a better handle on his condition.”

They walked down the hall. Alan put his arm around Monica's shoulders. She leaned her head on him.

“And we thought it would be all better once he woke up,” she said.