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It felt like he was floating in a pool of darkness. There was nothing around Patrick for him to latch onto to ground himself. It felt wrong but, at the same time, he couldn’t put his finger on why. Hadn’t he just been somewhere? Wasn’t the world just around him? How did he end up in darkness… and hadn’t this happened before?
“Do you blame yourself?”
Patrick’s head whipped around as a voice echoed around him. It was still just darkness. Darkness and a voice that felt like the only clear thought in his head.
He stretched out his hands, trying to swim through the darkness, but it didn’t feel like he was moving at all. Did he blame himself? For what? Patrick couldn’t find words to respond to the voice. What could he be blaming himself for?
“We’ll it’s quite common for this situation for a patient to feel a kind of guilt.”
Guilt?
Patrick suddenly felt himself move like he was being pulled. His arms waved at his sides as something tugged at his chest to keep him upright. Was he upright? It was so hard to tell in this void of darkness.
He looked down at his chest, seeing nothing that hadn’t been there before. Now it was just a feeling… Like something had latched to his heart. Its rhythm was being tightened out of sync. He could feel his breathing shifting as well, making his brow furrow. What was happening?
He tried to speak, but no sound made it past his lips. All he could hear were the faint echoes of that voice.
“This situation” “Feel a kind of guilt” “Blame yourself.”
Something was shifting in the darkness around him. It was shifting from an eternal void into a deep grey… then a lighter grey. It was like he was being pulled into a tunnel.
It felt like the speed at which he was being pulled was accelerating, but no wind brushed past him. Despite that, tears built up in his eyes.
“Blame yourself.”
Another sound partnered with the echo of the voice. It was like someone was choking for air. Was it him? His breathing was accelerating, each breath threatening to catch in his throat.
He snapped his eyes shut, feeling tears travel down his cheeks. What was happening? He couldn’t even remember how he wound up in this place, or where he was before.
Wasn’t he with his friends? Joe and Andy and Pete… was someone else there? Were they even there?
“The accident.”
The sheer volume of the the voice in his head, now deep and coated by static, forced Patrick’s eyes open.
He was no longer in darkness. He was in a room. The lights were dim and flashing, hurting his eyes as he blinked trying to take everything in. An adjustable light was pulled down from the ceiling. Cabinets lined the wall to his side next to a shelf and sink. There was someone laying on a chair right in front of him.
“T̵͈̮͒̽́̇̈́͌͒̾̄̆͘͜͝ḩ̴͕̟̦̙̤͙͔̿̓͑͛́̂̽͂̅e̴̛̗̳͇͙̦̹̭̝̗̮̫̱̰͖̽͊̃̈́̽̾̊̑̚͜͝͝ ̴̧̗̱͎̜̬̞͙̰͚̟̫̫͋͂́͆́̎͑̚͠ͅa̸̡̮͉̺̲͇̝͖̺͉̮̝̤̭͚̅̋̕c̵̛͍͖̙̬̦̳c̵̢͎̬̫͍̬̠̜̙̰͙̥̑̐͝i̶̧̧͇͎̰͓̪͎̮̼̠̺̫̒̀͗̊͛̒̿̎́̊͘͜͝ͅd̵̢̲͔̤͖͉̪̝̺̮̞̗͍̑̿͊̋̇̒͑ͅè̶̡̛̩͕̏̊̏̀̑̆̈́̽̚͠n̶̢̨̜̫̞̼̜̜̭̖̼̝͆͗͊͒̆̊́̕ͅt̶͙̫̱̯̒̉̋͊̏͂͊̆̓͗̓̽͝.” The voice echoed again, somehow making the feeling of tightening
around his heart worsen.
Patrick felt his body begin to shake as he let his eyes trail over the body in front of him. He recognized those dirty, bloody clothes. He could remember seeing it on someone as they ran. They were running… They were running away from him… No, why…
Patrick choked on his breath when his eyes made it to the face of the person on the chair. Curtained by dark curls, the face of his friend staring up at the ceiling unblinking.
“Do you blame yourself.” The voice was a hiss now, bouncing around Patrick’s head as he stared down at his friend.
His vision became blurry, mixing with a first hand perspective of his own hand grabbing hold of the cord that still sat wrapped around Joe’s neck. It was like he could still feel the smooth plastic in his palm.
“Patrick?..”
That voice almost didn’t sound real. It was so soft. It was in disbelief. It was familiar.
Patrick turned, still shaking, trying to keep steady on his feet.
Pete and Andy looked back at him. Fear in their wide eyes as they looked between Joe and Patrick. Pete had his arm across Andy’s chest, holding him back from moving forward.
Patrick shook his head. Words failed him. What could he say? More tears built in his eyes as he turned back to Joe. He couldn’t have done this… Could he have?
The flashes of Joe running from him.
The feeling of the cord in Patrick’s hand as he tightened it around Joe’s neck.
The way Joe’s eyes had flashed to his just before…
Patrick sunk to the floor, as sobs began to wrack his body. He had done that. He could remember it. He could see it happening. It kept happening. It kept replaying. He wasn’t even in the room anymore, he was watching himself chase his friends like a found footage film.
Pete and Andy stood back at the doorway, unsure what to do as Patrick stared ahead blankly from where he had dropped to the floor. They exchanged a silent look before Pete slowly lowered his arm. He moved forward towards Patrick while Andy side stepped to make his way to Joe.
Pete stared down at Patrick, watching tears fall from his friend’s eyes as now silent sobs occasionally wracked his body. Pete lowered himself to the ground a few feet away from Patrick, but the other boy didn’t seem to notice. Pete crawled closer, calling out to Patrick softly, but getting no response.
Pete stopped an arm’s length away. He could hear Andy attempting to give Joe cpr, willing him to come back, but he wouldn’t take his eyes away from Patrick.
Patrick’s shoulder’s were slumped. He was staring ahead, but his eyes almost seemed glazed over. Not in the yellow way like before, but in that way they did when he was overthinking something stuck in his head.
Pete gulped, unsure what to say. This was his closest friend… but he had also just killed their other friend.
Slowly, he reached out, leaning forward to put his hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
Patrick blinked rapidly for an instant, as if he was being pulled back to the moment. He dropped his head, confusion and devastation fighting in his expression. After a moment he turned his head towards Pete.
Pete kept his hand on Patrick’s shoulder, biting the inside of his lip as Patrick met his eyes. It was those same baby blue eyes with that faint hint of green he had known for so long staring back at him, but there was something wrong with his right eye. There was a crack of yellow in his iris, breaking the full ring of blue.
“Patrick?” Pete’s voice was barely above a whisper as he scooted closer to his friend. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the yellow crack in his iris. “Is it you?”
Patrick stared back at him. His gaze tried to focus on Pete, but there was also a far away look that seemed to hold him back.
Pete squeezed his shoulder. “Patrick, I’m here, can you hear me?” He extended his other hand to tap against Patrick’s cheek. “‘Trick?”
Patrick still didn’t respond. He just stared at Pete, eyes blinking slowly.
Pete opened his mouth to speak again, but he was interrupted by a hand landing on his shoulder and yanking him back, away from Patrick. He cried out as he fell backwards, barely catching figures moving past him. He tried to get up, but he was forced back down by a heavy hand.
Sharp words yelled at him, but he didn’t hear what they actually said. He twisted his body as mush as he could under the weight restraining him, trying to get a clear view of Patrick. He cried out for him, but Patrick didn’t seem to register his arms being yanked behind his back and restrained by handcuffs.
“Patrick!”
Patrick blinked, uncertain what had happened. He was no longer in the room with Joe’s body. His wrist hurt, more than the usual pain from no longer having a hand attached to it. There were silver bars in front of him and the cool metal of a slim bench beneath him. He was in jail… but he thought he had heard someone familiar calling out to him…
“Why would they call out to you, Patrick? After what you did?”
Patrick’s head snapped from side to side. The voice echoed in his head. It was so familiar, but from so long ago… Not like who had called his name earlier.
“Him? Oh, Patrick, still hung up on that pathetic mess?”
“Shut up!” The words scratched at Patrick’s throat, coming out hoarse and cracked. He wasn’t sure of the last time he had used his voice.
“They used your voice more than you did.” The voice echoed again as Patrick looked around his small space again.
He was alone. He was by himself in a small cell at the end of a long hallway with lights overhead that flickered wildly. Patrick found his eyes locked on the flickering strips of lights. Off and on. Light and dark.
His head felt like it was floating rather than sitting attached to his body. His eyes kept trying to cross, despite his attempts to blink them back to clarity.
“Oh, Patrick,” The voice laughed in his head, “You can’t even fight this microscopic battle?”
A hand grabbed hold of Patrick’s jaw, squeezing it tightly. Patrick still couldn’t pull his eyes away from the flickering light until the grip on his chin jerked his head to the side. His body twisted with the motion, sending him floating in the air.
Patrick gasped, thrown off by his sudden shift. He wasn’t in the cell anymore. He was… nowhere. It was like space without the stars. It wasn’t as dark as where he was before… Wait… Before…
“Oh, wake up, will you?” The voice was frustrated, somewhere behind him. “You’re just as pathetic as Pete. He must have worn off on you.”
Patrick’s feet hit something solid beneath him. His legs shook for a moment before he found himself standing steady.
“Turn around, Patrick.”
He spun around, finding himself face to face with a younger version of himself. His old long hair and sideburns hidden under a cap. Burning bright yellow eyes bore into him, smirking.
“Am I familiar enough now?” His head cocked to the side as he spoke.
Patrick stared at his younger self. It was his voice. That’s why it was familiar. A voice he hadn’t heard in years because he had outgrown it. Or was it just because it was a voice he usually only heard back over headphone audio or tv speakers to the point it didn’t sound real anymore?
The younger version of himself rolled his eyes. “You really are turning out just like him, aren’t you? So real that you feel fake? Staying absorbed in his fake deep poetry?”
“Shut up.” Patrick’s voice still hurt to use, but it was louder this time. He shook his head at this younger version of himself. “You don’t know him.”
His younger self burst out laughing, doubling over before unnaturally quickly regaining his posture. “I don’t?” He flashed a grin at Patrick. “I knew him first, Patrick.” He laughed again, “I’ve known him the whole time you have. All those miserable days he helped put you through, but you have to be there for him. All those experiences you missed because you felt bad leaving him alone.”
“He needed me.” Patrick shook his head, “He needed us. It’s not his fault, sometimes he just needs support.” His brow furrowed, “You’re me, you should know.”
His younger self tisked, bringing a finger up and shaking it from side to side. “I do know. I am you, Patrick, but I’m not a fucking coward.” He stepped forward, closing the space between them to stand just inches away from him. “You’ve fallen so far from what you were. Just as pathetic as him.”
“Stop it.” Patrick’s fist clenched at his side. “He’s not pathetic.”
His younger self jammed a finger into his forehead. “According to you he is!” He laughed, pulling his hand back and shoving Patrick. “I’m you, remember?”
Patrick fell to the solid surface beneath him, eyes snapping shut from the pain that shot through him. He groaned, slowly reopening his eyes and finding himself blinded by a flickering light.
Flickering light.
The cold metal bench beneath him.
Silver bars and a long hallway in front of him.
“No…” Patrick shook his head, breath beginning to pick up. No. No, what had just happened? He wasn’t here. He was… Was he somewhere?..
Patrick shut his eyes again. His stomach was twisting in knots, making him nauseous. What was happening? Was he even really in this place, or was he somewhere else?
Patrick hit his hand against the side of his head. “Wake up…” His voice hurt to use. He hit the side of his head again, harder this time. “Wake UP!”
He hunched forward, moving his hand from the side of his head to over his closed eye. He could feel his hand against his face. He could feel the cool metal beneath him. This had to be real, right?.. but he had felt something solid beneath him in the other place. He had felt a hand grip his chin and shove him back…
Patrick opened the eye uncovered by his hand. Everything was a bit fuzzy, but it still looked like the cell. The flickering light shined against the metal bars like a Morse code he couldn’t make sense of.
He was sitting in a cell. He had… He had killed Joe.
Patrick’s hand dropped as the reality hit him. He was in jail because he killed one of his best friends. His hand had grabbed the cord and tightened it around his neck. He had pulled tighter as the last of the breath escaped Joe.
“Joe…” The name was like a breath past his own lips as footsteps began to echo in the hall ahead of him.
He had killed his friend, and now he was in jail. He had chased his friend to his death and now he was locked away. He deserved it. The scene began replaying in front of his blurred vision. He was right where he belonged for what he did. He could feel his heartbeat accelerating as he rewatched Joe struggle for breath. He could feel a grin tugging at his lips before he fully registered what they were doing. His hand slapped over his mouth as his eye began to twitch. He was a monster.
—-
Pete and Andy exchanged silent looks where they sat in the interrogation room. They had just been screamed at by the officer questioning them after explaining the situation they had found themselves in. The officer made it clear he didn’t believe them and had been ranting for minutes now.
“I have a murder on my hands and the two witnesses I have think I’m a fucking idiot.” He slammed his hands down on the metal table Pete and Andy sat at, making them both jump in their seats. “Is it him or you?”
“It wasn’t Patrick.” Pete leaned forward, “He wouldn’t do this, there’s something wrong with him!”
“Was he or was he not chasing you?” The cop questioned, “He had a hook for a hand for fuck sakes!”
“Only recently.” Andy argued.
“Yea, what about the people that cut off his fucking hand!?” Pete rose to his feet, pressing his hands against the metal table. “We’ve been through a lot of shit the past day!”
The officer’s expression softened, though he didn’t shift his posture. “Maybe your friend couldn’t handle it. Maybe he had a psychotic break.”
“Not Patrick!” His hands shifted into fists on the table, “He’s not the kind of guy to just break. He’s the guy you rely on and who you know will always be there. These people fucked with him and now he needs help!”
“Right now that help is keeping him where he can’t hurt anyone.” The officer’s expression was hardening again. He stood upright, “You two need to give me something I can actually work with if you don’t want to end up in the same place. I’ll give you five minutes.” Without turning his back on the two, the officer moved to the door of the interrogation room, opened it, and stepped out before slamming it shut.
Pete sunk back into his chair. “Patrick in jail? I always thought he’d be the one bailing us out.” He tried to laugh, but the sound got caught in his throat.
Patrick was in a cell, alone. He needed to be with Pete and Andy. They needed to be together to figure out what happened to… How this happened. Why this was happening.
“We should have never taken that stupid fucking briefcase.” Pete pushed his hands through his hair. “I should have never let Patrick take it on his own.”
“It’s not like it was just your choice.” Andy muttered beside him. “He volunteered and we all put our trust in him. We didn’t know how fucked this would get. Or that Joe would…”
It grew silent between them.
They had entered the room as Patrick had pulled away from Joe. There was a blankness to Patrick’s expression as his eyes shifted in hue. He had dropped to the ground looking so lost. It was a look Pete had never seen on his face before. It felt wrong to see on the face of the guy he always looked to for guidance. Something was so wrong for him to be stuck looking the way Pete used to feel so often.
“Whatever those machines did to Patrick…” Pete shook his head. “There has to be a way to fix it.”
“But why didn’t we get affected?” Andy turned to him, “I was hooked up to headphones and a screen, but I didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill anyone. Joe didn’t…”
“I may have killed someone when I was first escaping that mannequin room they had me in.” Pete dropped his hands back to the table. “She had the hook that got stuck to Patrick’s stump somehow, it’s a blur.” He shook his head as he thought about the chapel he had found Patrick in, hooked to machines with yellow eyes shining through the dark. The way he had growled and snapped at Pete from his restraints like an animal. It quickly started to fade into darkness in his memories, however, following the pain that had hit his neck.
Andy rose to his feet. He paced back and forth behind Pete, uncertainty on his face.
Pete shook his head where he sat. They had to get out of here. They had to figure out how to help Patrick.
The sound of paper sliding across the floor suddenly caught both Pete and Andy’s attention, drawing their eyes to the closed interrogation room door. A small paper had been slipped between the small crack between the floor and the door. Pete and Andy exchanged another silent look before they both moved quickly to grab it.
—-
Patrick’s head jerked up as keys rattled against the bars of the cell he sat in. A man in a police uniform muttered something as he shuffled keys on a large ring just outside of the cell.
Patrick’s brow furrowed at him. What was he doing? Why was he trying to unlock the cell after what Patrick had done?
“Did you miss us, dear?” The feminine voice sent a shiver down Patrick’s spine. To the officer’s side stood a woman in all black, waving at him with the slow cascade of her fingers.
Patrick pushed himself back as much as he could on the metal bench with his one hand. A sense of dread filled him as the officer swung the door of the cell open.
“We’ve come to take you home, dearest.” Another woman dressed in black appeared as the officer stepped to the side. Her head was cocked to the side with a smile that held no kindness on her lips.
“No.” Patrick’s voice shook as he continued to try and push himself back. The flash of a woman in dark clothing slamming a butcher knife down, separating his hand from his wrist encompassed his vision. Then the flash of a woman in dark clothing adjusting a dial on a machine as he fought against restraints. “No.”
“Yes, dear.” Both of the women stepped into the cell.
Before Patrick could react, they had tight holds on his arms. He cried out, trying to throw his weight back as they pulled him forward.
“No, no, please!” Patrick’s feet scraped against the smooth floor as he was pulled out of the cell. “I can’t-No!” He tried to turn back to the officer, but the man had his back to the three of them as he began messing with the cell.
Patrick continued to struggle against the women as they marched him down the hallway under the flickering lights. His eye twitched as he found himself looking up towards those flickering bulbs, once again unable to pull his eyes away. His struggle began to weaken as a laughter began to echo in his head.
His own laughter, from another time, echoing around his head as he continued to be dragged away.
Patrick shook his head, blinking in the dim light as he realized he was somewhere else again. He could feel his surroundings moving and hear the rumbles of a vehicle. He was in a car? Wasn’t he just…
“You look so tired, dear.”
A hand pressed against his cheek as the voice drifted to his ears. He leaned into it, feeling his eyelids flutter. He was so tired, but it also all felt like a dream.
“Give in to it dear.” The voice soothed, thumb stroking back and forth across his cheek. He could feel the long nail digging against his skin with the motion. “Let it out again.”
Patrick inhaled sharply, pulling away from the touch. It. Himself. The monster that killed Joe. He turned to the side the touch had come from, finding one of the women in black glaring at him.
“We don’t need your permission to set it free.” Her voice was low as her dark eyes bore into him.
Patrick gulped, attempting to scoot away from her but finding he had nowhere to go. He shook his head instead, keeping his eyes on the woman beside him. “What is it?” His voice was a whisper, hard to hear over the rumble of the vehicle they were in.
She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s the best parts of you.” She whispered back, leaning towards him. “It’s the strongest piece of you that your pathetic personality somehow pushed down.”
“No.” Patrick shook his head again, “That’s not me. I can’t-I don’t-“
She cocked her head to the side, eyes unblinking. “Do you really think you’re better than your past?” She questioned, “Do you think you’re above the person that you were?”
“That’s not me!” Patrick argued, voice shaking as he raised it higher. “I wouldn’t kill Joe.”
The woman’s head tilted further, like a bird of prey. It was unnatural. It seemed like her bones should snap due to the angle. “Like you never considered it.” The sideways smile was now a sneer. “You thought about it all the time.”
“I never meant it!” Patrick yelled, shrinking back as the woman’s head continued to twist on her shoulders. “I was just an angry kid, I’d never kill my friends!”
A squeal of a laugh escaped the woman as her head whipped back to a natural, upright position. As Patrick stared at her, her features began to change. Her dark hair shortened and grew lighter in tone. Her defined chin became rounder. Her dark eyes shifted from dark to yellow.
It was his younger self looking back at him, grinning madly. “You’re a coward and a liar.” His younger self laughed, the sound bouncing deafeningly off the walls of the vehicle around them. “You tried to choke Pete against a gas pump once.”
Patrick shook his head again. “I had anger issues! I wouldn’t-“
“BUT YOU DID, PATRICK!” The words were a scream, physically throwing Patrick backwards in a flash of blinding sound.
Suddenly, he found himself once again being dragged by the two women. He was no longer in the long hallway, however. He was in a large space. Tables were lined up, having things smashed against their wooden surface. It was so loud between the sounds of smashing and yelling coming from somewhere in the room. Patrick began to struggle in the hold once more, unsure if this was even real.
“We’re almost there, dear.” One of the women holding onto him spoke through gritted teeth as her nails dug into his arm.
“Put me back in the cell!” It was harder to keep up his fight against them. How long had he been struggling against their hold? How long had it been since that officer had opened the cell for them? “Put me back!”
“Don’t worry, dear.” He was jerked to side as one of the women spoke. Patrick found himself being lead into a dark room with audio equipment and a projector. “This is going to fix you.”
“No!” Patrick’s feet scraped against the slick floor beneath him. The sight of the wheels of tape, and the age of the machines, flashed him back to being strapped up in a chapel. A woman applying wires to him and forcing his head from side to side. He could practically feel the shocks shooting through his body again. “No!”
Patrick lurched to the side, causing one of the women holding him to stumble. He somehow found it within himself to rip is arm from her grasp as she tried to regain her footing. He was beginning to twist when a hand slammed into his throat, choking the breath out of him.
“Take your medicine!” He was forced down, landing in a metal chair. The hand retracted from his throat, allowing him to gasp for breath as his arms were forced down at his side, getting strapped to the arms of the chair.
“Let me…” Patrick struggled to regain his even breathing pattern. He could feel small pads being pressed against his skin as faint dots danced across his vision. “Let me go…”
The women didn’t reply to him. They moved around him, tightening the straps on his arms and adjusting dials on some of the machines around him.
Patrick could hear a faint hum begin to fill the room. Neither of the women seemed to Acknowledge it as Patrick weakly turned his head from side to side. Was it even real?
Patrick’s body suddenly stiffened as an electric current shot through him. His muscles tightened and his breathing was cut off again. Though it was just an instant before the sensation ended and his body laxed, it felt like an eternity. His head dropped, unable to find the strength to raise it as he heard a click and whirling noise begin behind him. It joined the faint hum in the room as light seemed to flicker ahead of him.
A hand placed itself on his forehead, tilting his head back so that his eyes could look ahead.
“Just for you.” A voice whispered as the hand slipped away.
Patrick found himself staring ahead at a brick wall being illuminated by the projector behind him. Short videos and different flashing images mixed with static and that humming sound. His body twitched and jerked, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the images flashing before him. He wasn’t even sure of what he was looking at. It was just… it was like the light in the hallway… off and on… light and dark…
“Where did you go so wrong?”
Patrick’s eyes crossed, blurring his vision as his own voice taunted him. The images kept flashing ahead of him. It was all he could do just to keep his head up.
“What do you even have to hold onto?” His voice echoed in his head, “Only two of the three left. You’re almost free again.”
Patrick tried to argue, but the words wouldn’t fully form. He couldn’t even gather his thoughts as the pictures began to flash faster ahead of him.
“You can’t argue because you know I’m right.”
Patrick’s eyes uncrossed, but his vision remained blurry. He sucked in a breath, trying to focus his vision, but nothing would come into focus.
“Stop trying to hold on, Patrick.” Patrick could feel a hand on his shoulder before the fuzzy version of his younger self leaned into the edge of his vision. “You’ll just keep ruining us.”
Patrick tried to shake his head, but the younger version of himself just shushed him, yellow eyes shining with the sound.
“You’ve done enough.”
Patrick shut his eyes. The words echoed in his head, making it hard to form any thoughts under it. Two of the three… No, he couldn’t hurt Pete and Andy…
“Why not, Patrick?” A laugh echoed, “You already hurt Joe. You always dreamed about finally giving them what they deserved. Now it’s happening.”
Patrick shook his head, brows furrowing as he shut his eyes tighter. He never wanted that. He never thought they deserved anything like that… Not being killed…
“Stop acting like you’re so much better.” A hand gripped Patrick’s chin, squeezing it tight to the point Patrick was finally able to find his voice to scream from the pain. “You’re not better than who you’ve always been!”
A stabbing pain shot up Patrick’s arm. Even with his eyes closed, spots were forming behind the lids.
“Take it back, Patrick.” His voice taunted him as another stabbing pain shot up his arm, “You were already hooked once, just accept it back again.”
“Fuck you…” It started strong, but the second word faded with a shaking breath. Patrick opened his eyes, finding his younger face inches away from his own. His yellow eyes practically burned like the sun at this short distance. “You’re a liar…”
“I’m you, Patrick.” The younger version of himself growled, “Whether you’ll admit it or not.”
Patrick felt his heart sink with the words. It couldn’t be true… but it was that younger, angrier version of himself. He had left that version of himself behind. He had grown… Hadn’t he? Or did everything just build during that time apart…
“Think about it, Patrick.” The younger version of himself whispered, eyes flaring with light. “Were they ever even your friends? You didn’t even want to sing, you were forced to be their voice because they didn’t have one.”
“They didn’t force anything.” Patrick felt his eyelids growing heavy. He felt so tired. “You… You know…”
“Do you even realize how they used you?” His younger self tilted his head, smile tugging at his lips. “Do you really think they care about you at all? Where the hell were they when you were taken off the street? When you lost your hand to save this thing they were supposed to help you protect?”
Protect? It was so long ago, Patrick wasn’t even sure what it was he was supposed to protect… it was something important… They had trusted him and he… he was so tired…
“Failed?” The younger version of himself laughed, “You were stupid to think you wouldn’t fail. They gave it to you to save their own asses.”
“You’re… you’re wrong…” Patrick was barely able to shake his head. The edges of his vision were growing darker. The yellow eyes of his younger self only seemed to grow brighter in front of him.
His younger self just laughed again, letting it trail into a tight lipped hum. As he hummed, his face seemed to shift. The sideburns faded. His face thinned. His hair color shifted and shortened. He flashed his teeth with a wide grin. “You can’t even admit how they let you fail in your solo career.” He laughed again, “You were alone and sinking. Where were they?”
“They… Their lives.” Patrick fought to keep his eyes open. It was like the days his body would finally give out after giving up sleep for shows or to be an available lifeline.
The younger version of himself continued to grin with his teeth showing. “Always excuses.” He whispered, “Forever a coward.”
The darkness in Patrick’s vision had formed into a tunnel, leaving only the two versions of himself distinguishable. Even then, his younger version was blurring more than he already had been. It was so hard to stay awake… That humming sound was still playing in the air…
“Your turn is up, Patrick.” The smile dropped from his younger version’s face, “Stop fighting me. You don’t have much left.”
“Stop fighting me.” The humming was so loud now. “Stop fighting me.” The humming was so soft. “Stop fighting me.” The humming was so soothing…
Patrick’s head dropped. He didn’t have the energy to hold it up anymore. The humming was still moving through the air. It wrapped around him like a blanket, encouraging him to follow those words.
“Stop fighting me.”
Why was he even fighting?.. Why was he so tired?.. If he could just sleep…
“Don’t worry, Patrick.” His own voice soothed as he felt consciousness slipping from him, “I’ll take care of everything.”
—
“You can wear a crown but you’re no princess…” Andy repeated the words that had been scrawled on the paper that had been slipped under the door of the interrogation room. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“If it helps us save Patrick, does it matter?” Pete questioned, flipping the paper from front to back in his hand. It was scrawled writing on one side, and an address on the other. The side with the main message they questioned, however, also had the small volcano symbol they had been using between each other. No one else was supposed to know about it.
The two had been passing the note back and forth for a solid minute now. Pete let out a frustrated exclamation as Andy took the note back again. They were wasting time. They needed to get out of here. They needed to get Patrick. They needed to figure out what was happening.
While Andy looked over the note again, Pete rushed across the room and ripped the interrogation room open.
“Pete!”
Pete ignored Andy’s soft concern and stepped out of the small room. To his surprise, there was no one on the other side. The main office and hall were empty. This was their chance. He started moving towards the clear doors that bleed sunlight, but stopped himself.
Patrick was here somewhere. They couldn’t just leave him here. Not with the way he had looked back at that hospital. Just thinking about it felt like a stab in the chest. He started to turn away from the doors, but Andy hooked his arm and began to drag him towards them.
Pete tried to protest, but Andy was quick to use his free hand to cover Pete’s mouth as he pulled him through the glass doors into the afternoon sun. Pete cursed at him, though it was muffled under Andy’s grip as he lead the two of them across the street and into an alley off the sidewalk.
Once they were a few feet into the alley, Andy let Pete go.
Pete stumbled, barely catching himself on one of the brick walls beside him before spinning to face Andy. “What the fuck!?”
“We had to get out.” Andy raised his arms in a shrug, “You weren’t leaving and we didn’t know when they were coming back.”
“Patrick’s still in there, Andy!” Pete tried to move past him, but Andy stepped in front of him. “What are you doing?”
“Maybe it’s better he’s in there right now.”
The words made Pete freeze. He stared at Andy in disbelief. “What?”
Andy bit his lip, avoiding Pete’s eyes. “Maybe… maybe everyone is safer if Patrick is still in there.”
“Andy, that’s Patrick.” Pete jabbed a finger in the direction the had just run from. “That’s our kid that would rather catch a spider than kill it.”
“But he did kill Joe, Pete.” Andy swiped at his eye, “Do you get that?” He took a step back, finally bringing his eyes up to meet his friend’s. “He chased us through an abandoned hospital and now Joe’s gone.”
Pete shook his head. “No, Patrick couldn’t have actually killed him. There’s something wrong-“
“And we don’t know what it is or what triggers it!” Andy exclaimed, “What if we got him and he just turned around and stabbed his hook into your eye or something?”
“Andy…” Pete shook his head again. His stomach was churning. He had watched Patrick drop with a defeat he had never seen from the strawberry blond. That vacant lost look was so misplaced on his face. It wasn’t him.
“Pete, Joe is dead.” Andy’s voice was soft, but firm. Like he was trying to hold his voice steady. “I tried to help him. There was no life behind his eyes when I started chest compressions. He was strangled.”
“Patrick couldn’t have…” Pete trailed off. Joe had been lying there, but Patrick was so distraught…
“Whatever is happening to Patrick made him capable of doing it.” Andy shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out the paper and shoving it towards Pete. “Maybe this is how we help him.”
Shakily, Pete reached out to take the paper. He twisted it in his hand, but didn’t let his mind comprehend the words. He felt like he could throw up. Patrick couldn’t have been capable of murder. It wasn’t in his nature. That wasn’t the guy he had known all these years… but, at the same time, Joe really wasn’t with them right now. Joe hadn’t been with them for hours.
Pete found himself being pulled into a tight hug. His arms were pinned to his sides as Andy let out a shakey, soft breath.
“I love him too, Pete.” He pulled back, placing his hands on Pete’s shoulders. “I do. I love…” He hesitated, “I loved Joe too. We need to help both of them. If Patrick is locked up here, then at least we know where he is and that he hasn’t hurt anyone.”
Pete gulped. They may know where he was, but he wasn’t as safe as he would be with them. He could be helping them. He could still be by their side rather than locked behind cold bars that couldn’t care less why he did what he did.
“That address could be our answer, Pete.” Andy urged him, squeezing his shoulders. “Please. I don’t wanna do this alone.”
“I don’t wanna leave him alone.” Pete choked the words out, still struggling to accept that Andy was probably right. He couldn’t be… They couldn’t just leave him…
Andy looked down for a moment. “It’s just temporary.” He brought his eyes back up to Pete’s. “We need to think of Joe too, Pete. He loved Patrick just as much as us, but he’d agree that we need to figure out what’s wrong with him.”
Pete shook his head. It felt like just yesterday he and Joe were knocking on Patrick’s front door to first talk about him joining the band. “Joe wouldn’t want to leave him.”
“Pete, Joe is fucking dead!” Andy shook Pete, voice raising as tears filled his eyes. “Our friend is fucking dead! Our other friend had his fucking hand chopped off and his brain put in a blender! Please, Pete, it’s up to us right now!” He pulled his hands from Pete’s shoulders and turned away from him. He pushed his hands through his hair and began pacing with his head tilted to the sky.
Pete let himself fall back against the brick wall beside him. Joe was dead. If he wasn’t, he would still be with them. He would know what to do. He could have been their voice of reason. Or Patrick.
They weren’t here, though. That kid was sitting in a cell alone and that guy was sitting in the morgue waiting for his casket.
Pete looked down at the paper in his hand. The address wasn’t far from here. They could easily make it on foot. They could still help Patrick. They could still avenge Joe. They could still do something.
Pete pushed himself up from the wall. “Okay… Okay… we’ll come back for him.”
Andy spun on his heel, eyes red but tears wiped away.
Pete extended the paper back out to him. “It’s up to us.” He nodded, trying to ignore how his guts twisted knowing they were going to leave Patrick. If it could help him…
“We’ve got this.” Andy nodded with a sniffle. He took the paper and looked over the address. “I’m sorry I shook you, by the way.”
A brief laugh escaped Pete. “Maybe I needed it.” He turned away from the direction they had just come from. He took a slow breath as Andy walked up beside him. “Let’s go help our friends.”
—
Air. Air cycling through lungs with a breath was the first thought. Then, the realization of lungs…and a body… fingers that twitched at the ends of hands and toes curling at the end of feet. It was so dark, but there was an awareness.
Eyes opened, momentarily blinded by the brightness.
Brightness. It was so bright.
A strawberry blond laid on white bedding, blinking as he stared up at the seemingly endless ceiling above him. He could feel his body, but it felt… foreign? New, maybe. He… He didn’t remember having a body.
Slowly, he began to move his limbs. It felt strange. It felt stranger still to sit upright and slide his legs off the side of the bed he found himself on. Himself? It felt right… was there an alternative?..
“Well, hello there.”
He turned is head as an older man stepped into the bright space. The man smiled kindly as he moved to sit on the bed beside him. “Who might you be?” The man asked once he settled.
The strawberry blond blinked at the man before looking down. Was he supposed to be someone? How was he meant to reply?..
The man tapped his back, gently. “It’s alright. You’ve been through quite a lot. Just take a moment to breathe.”
The strawberry blond nodded. Breathe. He knew how to do that. He focused on that, sitting in silence as he cycled the air through his lungs. He wasn’t sure how long he spent repeating the process but, after awhile, he found himself looking back at the older man.
The man smiled. It was so kind, bringing the strawberry blond immediate comfort.
“Can you tell me your name?” The man asked.
The strawberry blond blinked again. Name. He had one of those. His brow furrowed as he thought it over. Name. He could picture other people with names. An Andy. A Joe. a Pete… What was his name?..
“It’s alright.” The man nodded through the strawberry blond’s silence. “Sometimes it’s hard to find who you were. There’s still time.”
“Who I was…” The sound of his own voice surprised the strawberry blond. It took him a moment to recover before he continued, “Am I different now?”
The man beside him chuckled. “To have lived is to be changed.” He held out his hand to the strawberry blond, placing his other hand on top once the boy took it. “The experience you went through, however, was a trial you were never meant to take alone.”
The strawberry blond looked down at his hand, sandwiched between the older man’s hands. “I don’t… I don’t remember a trail… I remember faces… Their names?..”
“Your brothers in your journey.” The man smiled. “They’re here waiting for you, when you’re ready.”
“Brothers…” The word felt right. They felt close… but there was another feeling… “I hurt them.”
“Sometimes, family hurt eachother.”
The strawberry blond dropped his head., brows furrowing. “No… No, I hurt them bad… I think…” He shook his head, trying to make sense of the feelings building in his chest. He felt tears building in his eyes, but he didn’t understand where they were coming from. He brought his free hand up to swipe some of his tears, but his hand froze on his face.
His hand.
He didn’t have a hand.
He held it out in front of him, twisting his wrist to look at the fully formed hand at the end of his wrist.
“This is wrong…” The words slipped out without him fully understanding them.
“Why would it be wrong?” The older man asked.
The strawberry blond at the hand he continued to twist in the air. He could feel the tears running down his cheeks. “I…”
“Don’t forget to breathe.”
The strawberry blond inhaled a sharp breath, releasing a shaky one a moment later. Breathe. Breathe. He knew that best. Breathe.
He dropped his hand to his lap. He then shut his eyes. He could almost make out the image of his hand, but it was disconnected from his wrist. A pain shot up his arm, making him flinch.
“It was gone.”
The hands of the older man, still holding onto his hand, squeezed softly. “But you’ve earned it back.”
“How?” He opened his eyes to look at the man beside him. More tears fell down his cheeks. “What did I do? Who even am I?”
“Breathe.” The older man reminded him. He released the strawberry blond’s hand, reaching out to place his hand on the younger man’s back. “You lived. You made mistakes. You did your best.”
“I hurt them.” The strawberry blond repeated, shaking his head. “I…”
Silence hung in the air between them for a moment. Then, the older man sighed.
“Perhaps it wasn’t me that should have come to greet you.” He smiled at the younger man’s confused expression. “I think there’s someone else you need to see.”
The strawberry blond watched as the man rose to his feet and walked back across the room. He didn’t turn back around as he called something out and faded from view.
The strawberry blond found himself alone once again.
He blinked, letting more tears run down his face. He could feel a venom somewhere still inside him. A feeling of anger that made his stomach twist. What was he to have such nauseating feelings? How could this be what his best felt like?
He dropped his head, crossing his arms over his stomach in an attempt to quell the nauseating feeling. He focused on the sight of his knees, looking between the interlocking threads of white fabric that covered it. He didn’t remember wearing white before this place.
Light. Dark.
He shut his eyes, feeling blinded by the sudden vision of a flickering bulb.
On. Off.
Light. Dark.
Laughter that was both familiar and foreign at the same time.
“Patrick?”
His eyes opened. Patrick. That name. That voice. He knew them.
He raised his head, blinking as the name bounced around his brain. Patrick. Patrick. Patrick. He could see people calling him that. Both smiles and frowns repeating the name back to him. Patrick.
Someone had said it out loud.
He turned towards where the voice had come from. A man with dark hair and white clothes stood there, looking towards him with wide eyes and a familiar face. He knew that face.
Before he could open his mouth to say his name, Pete rushed towards him.
“Patrick!” He slid across the bed Patrick sat on, only stopping when he was s close enough to pull Patrick into a death grip hug. “Holy-Oh my god, dude! You’re here, you’re alright.” He pulled away from the embrace, eyes watery as he brought his hands up to hold Patrick’s cheeks. Without a moment of hesitation, he began to press his lips all over Patrick’s face.
Each contact of Pete’s lips against his skin brought the flash of a memory to the front of Patrick’s mind.
Laying together on the roof with Patrick taking up the space between Pete and the roof’s ledge.
Being onstage with Pete burying his face in the crook of Patrick’s neck as he sang.
The way Pete looked at him as Joe tightened the handcuff connecting Patrick to the case they were meant to protect.
The way Pete had pointed a blade towards Patrick as he shook his head, desperation and determination conflicting on his expression.
The way Patrick stabbed Pete, watching him fall to the ground with blood dripping from his mouth.
The last kiss lingered on Patrick’s forehead before Pete pulled away, instead resting his forehead against Patrick’s. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” His voice was shaky and his eyes were cast downward. “I know you hate that, I know you do.”
Patrick blinked at Pete, lost for words. As he looked at him, more and more memories came back to him. His life was coming back to him, but near the end… His eye began to twitch before he shut them tightly.
“Patrick?” Pete’s voice was soft as Patrick felt his heart begin to race from the overlapping memories overwhelming him. “Are you okay?”
Patrick pushed Pete away as tears began to leak through his tightened eyelids. He hid his face in his hands, trying to fight his breathing to stay even.
He could still hear his own voice echoing laughter. He could still see the burning yellow of those eyes boring into him. It was still him. It was still there. It was always him. It was always there.
“Patrick, please.” Patrick could feel Pete’s light touch against his wrist, “I’m here for you. Let me help.”
“I killed you.” Patrick lifted his head from his hands, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Pete. “I killed Joe. It’s my fault Andy’s throat got slit.” He was cut off by a sob that shook him to his core.
“Hey, that wasn’t you.” Patrick could feel the bed shift as Pete moved closer to him. “They fucked with your head so bad, Patrick.”
“I did it!” Patrick exclaimed, bringing his hands up and grabbing fistfuls of his hair. “It. Was. Still. ME.”
Pete was speaking next to him, but the words weren’t coming through. It was a soft murmur of comfort that he didn’t deserve. Everything he had said about Pete. What he had done to Pete and the others…
He needed to breathe, but his breath kept catching. He couldn’t stop picturing that younger version of himself sneering at him. He could still hear the words he said echoing.
“Patrick!”
He was suddenly back in the bright room. He was gasping for breath. Pete was in front of him, looking at him with concern. His brows raised slightly when Patrick began to focus on him.
“Hey, it’s okay.” He began to reach out, but stopped himself. “It’s just me, alright?”
Patrick shook as he looked back at Pete. “… How… How do I know you’re real?” His eyes moved to Pete’s hand that was slowly pulling back. “How do I know any of this is real?” His fingers tightened their grip in his hair. He wasn’t even sure how he got here, just like the other times before…
“Look, Patrick, hey.” Pete leaned into his vision, catching his attention again. “What did you always tell me?”
Patrick gulped. The flash back to the memory on the roof. The image of the two across multiple hotel rooms, just sitting together. Focus.
“Find something real to focus on.” Pete smiled, “Look, I’m something real to focus on.” He held out his hands to Patrick, “I promise.”
Patrick stared down at Pete’s offered hands. He could so clearly picture those quiet nights where the reverse was happening. Patrick would offer his hand, letting Pete squeeze it as tight as he needed to, or simply absentmindedly trail his fingers over the lines and creases that covered his palm. Patrick could see the small details of Pete’s fingerprints in the small ridges of his skin. He could practically see the two of them laying next to each other like old times in a comfortable silence… because the presence of someone else was enough…
There was a period of stillness between them where neither boy moved, like they were afraid ti spook a timid animal. Slowly, however, Patrick’s grip loosened on his hair. He kept his eyes on Pete’s palm, memorizing the ridges and grooves that looked back at him.
“I thought such horrible things.” Patrick’s voice was a whisper as he continued to focus on Pete’s hand, “I did such horrible things.”
“That wasn’t you.” Pete tried to assure him, but Patrick shook his head. His grip on his hair tightened again.
“No, Pete, it was me. It was the old me, but saying things I never wanted to think or mean…” he could feel his chest tightening again. All that calm he had just worked toward, being undone in seconds. “I’m just as bad as I was…”
“If you were, would you really be breaking down over it?” Pete moved closer to him, “Would you really feel this bad?” He kept one hand in Patrick’s sight while bringing the other to hold against his cheek. “You aren’t a monster, Patrick. You were never a monster.”
Patrick raised his head, bringing his eyes up to mete Pete’s. There was such a sincerity in his eyes. Such an undeserved sincerity…
“You have to remember it wasn’t just you.” Pete rubbed his thumb back and forth over Patrick’s cheek. “That organization messed with your head. They had you hooked to machines and-and did who knows what to you.”
“Is that an excuse?” Patrick sniffled, leaning slightly into Pete’s touch. His grip was loosening on his hair again. He wasn’t sure if he could remember machines. They weren’t coming to the front of his mind like other memories as he sat with Pete.
Pete shook his head. “It’s a reason. A cause that wasn’t you. You’re not the kind of person that would do this.” He leaned in closer, “I know you, Patrick. Those moments weren’t you.”
“They were partially me.” Patrick argued, “You didn’t see, Pete, you…” He gulped, picturing that younger version of himself. The way he violently held his chin, squeezing to the point of physical pain. The way his own voice taunted him. It was so real. It was just him…
“Don’t focus on that, focus on me.” Pete’s words brought him back to the moment, this gentle hand on his cheek and caring eyes looking back at him. With his other hand, Pete reached out, slowly placing his hand against one of Patrick’s wrists and sliding it up his hand. His thumb slipped into the grip Patrick held on his hair while his other fingers just trailed softly against the back of his hand. “I’m right here, right now.”
Patrick nodded.