Doctor Jack Glimpses

[Doctor Jack]

Born into a house privilege, young John Carlton lacked for nothing as he grew up in an affluent neighborhood of Chicago. His doting parents sent him to the finest schools, and hired the best tutors to ensure he gained a top-notch education. However, far from being ones to spoil, they had ingrained in their young "Jack", from an early age, that he had a responsibility toward those less fortunate than himself. Forced to help them at charity events... or at least pose in the society pictures for the many philanthropic causes the elder Carltons supported... Jack soon learned that he honestly enjoyed the feeling it gave him to help others. It soon came to pass that he voluntarily attended many fundraising events on his own as he grew to adulthood. Of course, many of them featured open bars with bartenders that were not too picky about whom they served in the name of a good cause...

In addition to being nurtured by his mother to be a socially compassionate man, Jack was expected to follow in his father's footsteps, and continue the Carlton tradition of caring for others' physical well-being. When he enrolled in Northwestern University's Feinberg School of Medicine, Jack initially pursued courses suited toward being a surgeon, as his father had before him. Eventually, however, he chose a career in Psychiatry. While studying the theories of C. G. Jung had been a life-changing revelation, more significantly, Jack had actually found demonstrable evidence that the physical condition of many of his patients depended as much upon their mental and emotional health as much as(if not more than) their physical well being. It didn't hurt that the inner workings of the mind fascinated Jack to such an extent that his coursework was an enjoyable exercise rather than an onerous chore. He soon found himself especially interested in the intricacies of how the multitude of our internal worlds interact with one another to create the external world that we each still experience as 'other'. Besides, learning how to dissect how people think and react rather than their actual physical dead bodies... so got him laid

During his residency at Cook County Hospital, Jack counseled patients on the wide spectrum of 'the slightly emotionally disturbed' to 'Holy Fuck, don't bite my finger again, or I'll shank you, you crazy crack-whore tranny'. Of course, as Middle Eastern tensions escalated, a large percentage of his patients were soon Gulf War veterans dealing with post traumatic stress disorder. After a few years of trying to heal the victims of warfare, Jack decided to accept a field position with Médecins Sans Frontières, known in the United States as Doctors Without Borders. Working in the field as a psychiatric specialist, Dr. Carlton counseled both Israeli and Palestinian children how to deal with the trauma of warfare and the loss of loved ones. He helped grown men in Sub-Saharan Africa learn to reconnect with their families after witnessing the atrocities of countless, nameless massacres. Upon the build-up of tensions with the Taliban, Dr. Carlton was requested to relocate to Afghanistan, where he counseled patients with many of the same issues.

One day, Jack's Afghani clinic was attacked by a small militant group, looking for food, weapons, and medical equipment. While performing an emergency field surgery on one of his wounded nurses, near exhaustion, Jack looked up and saw the impossible... A beautiful, shining lady leaned over the both of them. Without a word, or even any expression, the bright, fae woman grasped the dying nurse by the shoulder and started to drag him away from the dumbstricken doctor. Holding on to the poor man with a tenacity he never knew he possesed, Jack refused to let go, even as he found himself dragged into one of the numerous caves that littered the hills like cancerous sores. He could not see the woman's emotionless stare, but he could feel it, and he imagined she gave an approximation of a shrug as she clasped onto his shoulder as she... did something. His time to ponder this mystery was short-lived as his mind was quickly lacerated with the pain of being dragged through the Briars. Thorns tore at his flesh and soul as his mind was overwhelmed with the sensations of his first sojourn through the Hedge...

[Doctor Jack]

Jack's first coherent thought was that he really shouldn't be using someone's tooth to sew this poor man's torso back together. That was stupid... the tooth was the only thing that would pull the strands of screaming lament tight enough to close the wound. It got the job done. Regaining his senses, he realized he was on the battlefield and had been sewing bodies back together for as long as he could remember. That is, when he wasn't busy fighting alongside them. The battlefield stretched as far as he could see in every direction. The terrain was an insane chessboard of different environs. Desert wastes bordered upon humid jungles... Arctic tundra abruptly gave way to tropical savannah... Primordial forests stood next to decaying, urban blight. With neither rhyme nor reason to the layout, there was not even the reassuring cycle of day and night. A blazing sun hung just over one horizon, while a pale moon glowed opposite. Although the heavenly bodies never moved, there was almost a semblance of day or night the closer one moved toward one extreme or the other. Almost.
　
Jack spent his durance alternately stalking or fleeing his enemies in the insane, patchwork realm. He won and lost... lived and cried... laughed and died... under the watchful gaze of One Eye. His unpredictable Keeper would sometimes observe from a prominent vantage, and other times masquerade as a fellow soldier. Often, he seemed completely absent, but friend and foe alike knew one thing. One Eye was always watching them. Jack knew. The armies themselves never even remained constant. Jack found himself setting traps for enemies that were once comrades, and defending soldiers who had previously torn him to pieces. Once the soldiers had slaughtered each other to the point of being unable to continue fighting, "Doctor Jack" and those like him, would stitch themselves back together before answering the anguished cries of the dismembered and defeated. Once he starting the seemingly endless task of repairing the armies, he quickly lost himself in the interplay of flesh and truth... bone and reason... blood and madness. Again... and again... and again...
　
It seemed several lifetimes had passed for Jack before he had a singular experience on the battlefield... Focusing on the artistry of warfare, he eschewed the bloodlust and madness of most the combatants in favor of precise, surgical strikes. Jack used his medical knowledge to cause the most severe wounds possible with a minimum of effort. As he would simply sew them up later, he felt no remorse for his actions, viewing it as a game in this long, tortuous dream. On this occasion, however, Doctor Jack gazed at the circle of fallen opponents lying at his feet, for seconds... then minutes... before realizing that everyone had stopped fighting. They were all staring at him. In actual fact, they were all staring just behind him. One Eye roughly held one of the bright, beautiful women that always hounded those who tried to escape any of the conflicts, or help others before the fighting was over. It seemed she was looking directly at Jack. Her features were emotionless, yet it seemed she carried almost a hint of embarrassment or shame... or perhaps pride. Almost.

One Eye's face was inscrutible. He simply pointed at Jack, then pointed to a cave nearby. Hesitating, he wondered what he had done to deserve the fresh, new hell which surely awaited him in the cavern. Looking at the woman, he almost thought he knew her. She was different from the others somehow... she... grasped the dying nurse by the shoulder and started to drag him away from the dumbstricken doctor... she gave an approximation of a shrug as she clasped onto his shoulder and she... did something. Raising his head, John Carlton met his Keeper's gaze for the first time of his durance. It wasn't a dream. This had been real. He had been torn to pieces and he had put himself back together again... and again. He had done the same to countless others. Doctor Jack worked up as much saliva as possible in his dry mouth, and spat it directly in that one, terrifying eye. One Eye didn't wipe it away. He only smiled. It was utterly horrifying. Jack found himself diving into the cavern with only the thought of escaping that terrible eye. As he ran, crawled and squirmed, he remembered those he had left behind... his patients, coworkers, and friends... and his parents. How could he have forgotten them? His poor mother. He wanted nothing so much as the chance to hear her voice again. To feel her hand tousle his hair in the way that always made him feel like a child again. Eventually, the cavern had given way to Briars, yet the air was still oppressively subterranean. He fought through as the Thorns tore at him for the second time.

[Doctor Jack]

Exhausted, Doctor Jack had been scrounging through the Thicket for what seems like years, when he suddenly swears he hears his mother's voice. Stopping in his tracks, he cocks an ear, listening intently. It might be a trap. His mother is speaking softly... and crying. Delirious with fatigue, he forces his ragged body and tattered soul through the Briars toward the sound, fighting the Brambles that tear at him until quite suddenly he finds himself in a large, public park. It is just before dawn, yet there are still a few joggers and cyclists to give him funny looks as they speed past him. Looking about wildly, he imagines that it is Lincoln Park, in Chicago, near where his parents live. Having grown up playing in the grass and climbing the trees of the park, he convinces himself that this cannot be real. It must be another of One Eye's tricks. Then he sees it... his parents' condominium directly across from where he stands. With his last bit of energy he staggers to the familiar door and pounds upon it, too tired and distraught to think to use the buzzer. Frantic with excitement and fear at what he will find on the other side, Jack faintly hears a noise from the beyond the door as he succumbs to his weakness and falls into darkness.
　
　
The bed is soft and warm. A gentle murmuring floats on the edges of Jack's awareness. Beyond it, in the distance, is a rhythmic chirp or beeping noise. Although indistinct, for some strange reason, he finds both sounds comforting. Something about the voice is especially familiar and makes him feel better... stronger. Buoyed by this sense of safety, he allows himself to drift back to sleep. Jack's mother does not notice her son stirring in his sleep. She is too absorbed in prayer as she sits next to his hospital bed. Ignoring the beep of his monitors, she fervently asks for the recovery of her son, whose sudden, emaciated appearance had shocked, yet overjoyed her. Her one, overwhelming Desire is for him to get better. This intense emotion blossoms around her in unseen bouquets of Glamour, the petals floating down and disappearing in wisps as soon as they touch Jack's skin. He dreams of birdsong at sunrise, delicate blossoms in warm Spring rain, and the good health of his youth. By the time the duty nurse makes her rounds, his gaunt and bruised appearance has disappeared and the worst of his wounds have closed and now appear to be mere scratches. Amazed at Jack's recovery, she marvels aloud at the speed of modern medicine, but Jack's mother knows better. She knows that it was the strength of her faith and the power of her prayers that have healed her son. And in a way, she's right.
　
　
Scarred in body as well as spirit, Jack is released, but not before giving a muddled statement to the police about his kidnapping. Puzzled at the conflicting details, they agree to take a new statement when he has recovered from his ordeal. At his parents' home, Jack finds himself mostly bedridden, as the least effort quickly exhausts him. Even his mother notices that he is no longer the strong, robust man she remembered. His frame appears leaner and less substantial, somehow. As he slowly regains his strength, he sets about improving the physical and mental endurance which had been so shattered by his captivity. He begins taking short walks daily, and soon manages to make it several block with the help of a cane. One day, Jack finds himself strong enough to help his mother with her beloved rooftop garden. He has missed such contact with living things and enjoys learning how to help the plants grow and flourish. During this time, he notices his father's absence, but his mother never comments upon it, so he assumes that he must be out of town, most likely at another seminar or symposium. The oddest thing that Jack notices is that his mother insists that he had only been missing a little over a week, yet according to the television and newspapers, years had passed. However, he soon pieces together by careful questions placed in conversation that it is indeed years after the date of his abduction by the Others.
　
　
From his mother's perspective, John Carlton had returned after that 'nasty business in Afghanistan' and started his own practice in San Francisco. His mother is quite proud of how successful Jack has become, although she disapproves of his 'lifestyle out there', and wishes he would settle down. A few weeks ago, Dr. Carlton's receptionist had reported him missing when he hadn't shown up at his office by midday, missing all of his Monday morning appointments, and the poor girl was quite relieved to hear that he had been found. As insane as it seems to Jack, it is as if someone else has been living his life for him while he was in One Eye's realm. But now, this guy has disappeared and no one knows what happened to him. Everyone believes that Jack was indeed kidnapped, and has somehow escaped his abductors. His mental and physical trauma certainly speak volumes of some form of mistreatment. Jack handles all of this information surprisingly well. He is simply that happy to just be back home and out of the insane nightmare of the last few years. Then his mother gives him a funny look when he asks when his father will be home and his entire world comes crashing down. She looks hurt as she insists that her son had been at his father's funeral last year and ends the conversation. After an awkward moment she shakes her head and gives her son a hug and a kiss before turning in for the night. Jack sits alone as the tears stream down his face.

Soon Doctor Jack feels recovered enough to start his new life, by resuming the old life of a stranger. Bidding his mother a loving goodbye, he thanks her for taking care of him in his time of need and promises to call her more often. The move to San Francisco is surreal for him in so many different ways. In addition to having to acclimate to a completely new home and job, total strangers frequently address him as an intimate friend, and his patients soon lose their patience with his obvious ignorance of their special needs. He also soon realizes that John Carlton is a popular fellow and has quite the reputation as a lady's man... and a man's man too. Jack is well-known in every bookstore, theatre, bar, restaurant, and cafe he walk into. Finding such lack of inhibition freeing, he tries his best to fit into his predecessors' life, but everyone agrees that Jack has returned from his ordeal a changed man. Every so often, Doctor Jack meets others like himself, he even counsels a few Changelings, but he does not officially join the Freehold, and keeps well out of the political games of the other Spring Courtiers. In fact, he socializes with other Lost as little as possible and focuses almost exclusively on his mortal connections. Thus it comes as a complete shock when the Freehold falls and strange, "Serpent" and "Vermillion" Courtiers start aggressively pressuring him to change his loyalties. Largely ignorant of what befell his fellow Courtiers and never truly fitting into his second-hand life in the city by the bay, Jack chooses to relocate his life and practice to the relative safety of nearby Sacramento. He realizes that keeping himself removed from his fellows was a grave tactical error. He will not make the same mistake twice.

[Doctor Jack]

Doctor Jack sits by himself in the lobby bar of the Four Seasons Hotel. Nursing his drink, he delays the inevitable as he musters the courage to join the Spring Court gathering. He had watched the other Lost walk past him, observing them from afar. They had not noticed anything unusual about the normal-looking man sitting in the bar. His nervousness had caused his hands to bleed more than usual. It was embarrassing. Looking in his mirror at home, he had decided it looked like he had just gotten off work at the slaughterhouse. After strengthening his Mask, he could no longer see the blood on his hands, but he knows that it is still there, pooling on the granite bartop. He is well aware that his Mask is just an illusion, and that his bloody hands are the real him.

Enough.

He realizes that he is being ridiculous. Cutting himself off from his Court is what led to his problems in San Francisco. A small voice whispers that perhaps it is also the reason that he was left alive. Finishing off the last of his bourbon, he sets down his glass with its mostly melted ice. Doctor Jack looks at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar as he takes a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he weakens his Mask to its normal strength, allowing the other Lost to see his true Mien. His attempt at styling his hair has been mostly undone. His collar appears torn open, and his face is smudged with the memories of dirt and smoke, but his hands don't look too bad. After paying his bar tab and leaving a generous tip, Doctor Jack allows the man at the front desk to direct him to the Spring party. His hands are a little bloodstained at the fingertips, but the blood has dried and does drip upon the obviously new carpet.

[Doctor Jack]

Doctor Jack executes a horizontal slice simultaneously with each hand... one high and one low. His opponent drops his weapon, grasping at his throat with one hand and his belly with the other. The poor man futilely tries to stop the flow of blood and organs from spilling out. Jack moves purposely past the incapacitated man to engage his next opponent. They were his opponents... not his enemies. He took no pleasure in any of this. He was fast and efficient, not cruel. What did it really matter to Jack, if it was just one more person to stitch back up later? More importantly, the more intact he left them, the less work for the good doctor when this was all over. As he dispatches another man, Jack notices a few mutilated bodies in a heap. He frowns with disapproval, observing that someone had hacked off their limbs with wild abandon. That's going to take forever for him to put back together...

Waking from his dream, Jack clambers from his bed and stumbles into his kitchen. The remnant of his last drink sits, waiting for him, on the counter. The ice is long melted, leaving a pale, weak, golden liquid in the tumbler. Dropping two fresh cubes into the glass, the Wizened pours a fresh measure of bourbon. He leans against the granite counter as he sips at his drink, preparing to face the world. Doctor Jack feels the ache in his limbs where they had been variously broken, severed, crushed, burned... and mended. Again and again. He can still hear the moans of the injured and the howls of the victorious echoing in his mind. Raising the glass to his lips, he knocks back the rest of the bourbon as he reaches out to his connection with Spring in order to revitalize himself... as he does every morning.

Ah... breakfast of champions.

The good doctor's dull aches and pains start to melt away as the Gift of Warm Breath and the Basil Hayden begin to work their separate magics. The screaming and crying in his head are momentarily drowned out by the gentle strains of a cello playing something soft and... Italian. Doctor Jack closes his eyes and simply enjoys the moment of peace. He had long ago learned to savor them, for they were often simply the eye of calm in the center of the maelstrom. Dumping the ice cubes into the sink, Jack rinses out the glass and places it in the dishwasher. Inhaling deeply, he stalks toward his bathroom for a long, hot shower. He had a lot of appointments today, so that probably meant another hurried lunch eaten at his desk. But what could he do? His patients needed him... Nightmares. Depression. Anxiety. Addiction. They desperately needed help with their problems.

[Doctor Jack]

His recent experience at the Four Seasons had given the good doctor much to think about. He needed to know more. After finishing his drink, Doctor Jack thanks HAL for his time and sees Bert off before returning to the front desk to speak to Mr. Bates. A slight shiver runs down his spine as he leaves the Autumn King's presence.

Brr... Creepy.

Mr. Bates looks up as Jack approaches. He stands next to a room service cart complete with tablecloth and a large, covered platter. While his expression subtly hints at something along the lines of 'What now...?', he politely nods to his fellow Wizened and ask if he requires anything further.

"Actually yes, Mr. Liebowitz suggested I speak to you about something I've been having trouble with... he said your insight would prove useful."

The Chatelaine nods and instructs the good doctor to follow him. He proceeds to lead Jack right back to the Hollow room he had recently left. Giving a slight sound of displeasure at the sight of the slain bunyip, Mr. Bates quickly gets to work cleaning up the offensive dead thing. Jack good-naturedly tries to assist, but soon realizes that he is simply in the other man's way, and resigns himself to just sitting on the bed and watching. The hotel manager moves the creature onto the large platter and covers it with the lid, hiding it from sight. He then pulls various cloths, sponges, and spray bottles from a lower drawer hidden in the cart and begins to clean up the vermin's blood. He casually asks the nature of Jack's problem as he works.

"Well, you see, these things... these bunyips, they're being handed out to little children. Masked as a pet, the nasty little thing will feed on the a child's dreams and emotions until there's nothing left. The children seem to die of a severe flu-strain, but it's really these... things. I need to stop them, but it takes time to secure a dreaming pledge with each of the victims, and time is something I just don't have. Two children have died already."

Jack pauses for a beat to allow his words to take effect. He looks at Mr. Bates with eyes full of hope.

"The Autumn King said that you could help me with alternate ways into dreams."

The Wizened nods absently as he continues to clean, then stops dead in his tracks and turns toward Jack, giving the Spring Courtier an inscrutable look... even to the good doctor's normally observant eyes. The Autumn Courtier seems to make up his mind and slowly nods to Jack as he finishes cleaning up the Soldier's mess. He describes some of the guides Jack could use to find his way into dreams without the dreamer's consent. He also describes the differences between them so that Jack doesn't mistake a Morphean for an Incubus... not that anyone would.

"There must be more to it... I mean, it still takes time to find these guides, and the longer I take, the more likely another child will be found dead."

When Jack seems unsatisfied and presses for more information, the other man lets out the barest whisper of a sigh. Sitting on the bed, Bates asks him if he's ever heard of the Skein. When Jack shakes his head, the other Wizened begins to relate his theory that reality has a blueprint. Well, maybe not exactly a blueprint, more like a four-dimenional spiderweb made up of the sum of all Desires, Fears, Angers, and Sorrows of everyone in the entire world. The ink used to map out this blueprint is made of dreams. Well, maybe not ink, more like chalk... or pencil lead, because if you know how, you can add or even erase parts of the blueprint in order to alter it. This blueprint, or web, both influences, and is influenced by, waking reality. Each strand is a dream that connects to other strands, linking all dreamers in an infinite tapestry woven of what was, what is, what might be, what could have been, and what never was nor shall be. This tapestry is the Skein and walking the Skein allows one to travel from one dream to a similar, or connected dream without a pledge with its dreamer.

"So, I could simply dreamscape to alter a dream and make it resonate with the dream I want to enter?"

Mr. Bates gives Doctor Jack a look that could curdle fresh milk. He admits that the other Wizened could do that, but that Jack will have to promise to never even consider doing something so unethical. After he promises, Bates proceeds to explain to Jack how to cast an oneiroscope in order to divine the pathways between dreams amidst the tangled madness of the Skein. Next, the two Wizened discuss the manifestations of gates between dreams and how to use the overall theme of a dreamscape to find the appropriate gate. Mr. Bates seems genuinely impressed by Jack's knowledge of Jungian archetypes and general familiarity with oneiromancy. After a while, the hotel manager realizes how long he has been chatting with the good doctor and explains that he really must return to the front desk.

"Of course, I've taken too much of your time already. Thank you so much, you have no idea how much help you've been."

Pushing the room service cart, the two Wizened make there way back down to the front desk. The Autumn Courtier gives a tight smile and small nod as he gets back to work, while the Spring Courtier returns a warm smile and a wave as he exits the building. Jack walks out to his car with a grin, anticipating getting to bed and enjoying some sweet dreams.

[Doctor Jack]

I walk the ethereal path to heal those who are wounded by ghostly barbs.

As promised, Jack shows up at the Pearl Center twice a week for his sessions with Sadaf. After the first couple of sessions, he even agrees to abstain from his usual after-work cocktail... at his mentor's insistence. Although resistant at first, the Wizened eventually learns to relax and follow the pearl-skinned woman through the tedious breathing exercises. Gradually, he begins to feel the tension in his neck and shoulders diminish as his mind begins to float along the surface of his thoughts, observing... but not participating. Every once in a while, a particular thought or emotion would swell in an attempt to catch his attention, but the good doctor would simply continue to breath slowly and deeply and allow it to subside in it's own time. It is the most relaxed he's felt since... well, ever.

I swim the darkest river, brave the bottomless channel and dive into the depths of night-time’s passage.

After a few sessions, Sadaf begins to guide Jack into the unknown depths of his own mind. He quickly learns that the trick is to release control of his thoughts and emotions, and simply allow himself to sink into the dreaming part of his consciousness. He finds that his conscious thoughts tend to buoy him up, out of his subconscious and back to the reality of the waking world, while his emotions seemed somehow denser and heavier than his thoughts, causing him to sink deeper into the Wyrd-er regions of his psyche. By paying attention to, but not allowing himself to be distracted by, the thoughts and emotions that swirl around him, the good doctor learns to balance them in order to navigate his own inner world to that deep, hidden place that connects him to the dreamstuff of the Wyrd.

I go where each man holds his deepest fears and his secret passions, and I do so for the good of all.

Sadaf had explained that each person's dreaming mind is like a pearl of their thought's and emotions. This pearl lies hidden at the bottom of a deep ocean of dreams. By sinking into the deepest part of his mind, Jack may find his own connection to the Wyrd and slip into a deep, lucid dreaming state at will. Once this connection is found, he should be able to enter the dreams of any sleeper with whom he is in physical contact... without first binding them to a Pledge... and away from the Thorns of the Hedge. Sadaf had called it taking the Plunge. Jack can still feel the faint tactile memory of his hand on hers as he sinks deeper into the heart of his dreaming consciousness. He glances at scenes portraying terrifying memories that never happened and beautiful falsehoods that might yet come true. Amid the phantasms of his own mind, something small catches his attention in the gloom. With practiced effort, he remains calm as he tries to get a better glimpse of something below him. It appears soft and luminescent... like a pearl.

[Doctor Jack]

"Mom, don't worry about it, I can take the time off. I've seen patients for my colleagues when they took time off, so they're more than happy to return the favor. No big."

This is the house that Jack built.

"I'm sure you're fine. Really. I bet we'll be outta of this hospital and having lunch at Japonais before you know it."

This is the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

"A biopsy? Um, okay. No, of course... if you think it's necessary."

This is the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

"See? Late lunch, but here we are. We'll go back in the morning and get the results. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. Everything's gonna be fine. Did you try the monkfish foie gras yet?"

This is the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

"Mom... don't talk like that... please..."

This is the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

The good doctor absently wipes his blood-stained hands on his white linen napkin as he does his best to comfort his mother.

This is the son with the wizened form,
That wept the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Mrs. Carlton takes another nervous sip of her white wine. She has barely touched any of the food on her plate and continues to simply move it about with her absurdly ornate chopsticks as a pretense.

This is the mother all forlorn,
That once nursed her son with the wizened form,
That wept the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

After bidding his mother pleasant dreams, Jack tosses and turns all night and repeatedly stares at the clock on his nightstand in disbelief until it is finally time to get up. He drives his mother back to the hospital in near silence.

This is the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed his mother all forlorn,
That once nursed her son with the wizened form,
That wept the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

"Well, do you know when my mother's results will be ready?"

This is the oncologist all shaven and shorn,
That That was no comfort the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed his mother all forlorn,
That once nursed her son with the wizened form,
That wept the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

The old soldier stood shellshocked, staring at the doctor as if he hadn't comprehended a single word that had come out of her mouth.

This is the biopsy result examined in the morn,
That informed the oncologist all shaven and shorn,
That was no comfort to the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed his mother all forlorn,
That once nursed her son with the wizened form,
That wept the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Holding his mother close, Jack feels her shuddering sobs as the awful reality of the news washes over them both. It feels like he is drowning... or sinking in quicksand. Just like that... his entire world is irreparably shattered. Although there is some small, insistent part of Jack that knows for a fact that he needs to be strong right now for his mother's sake, he just can't. His mother is dying. The walls of his world continue to crumble and fall.

This is the inoperable tumor,
That prompted the biopsy result examined in the morn,
That informed the oncologist all shaven and shorn,
That was no comfort to the man all tattered and torn,
That kissed his mother all forlorn,
That once nursed her son with the wizened form,
That wept the tear,
That worried the dream,
That killed the fear,
That ate the hope
That destroyed the house that Jack built.