The undeath of Jesse Braun.
By Mark Smith
(This is the story of how Jesse will be included in the sequel to NOES, based within Westin Hills. I wrote this for my friend. I hope it works!)
1
This is how it was.
Jesse refused to answer any of the man's questions. He just stared at the him, the man, Dr. Englund as his name-tag read, who stared at him now. "Who ... "
"That question, Mr. Braun, as we both know, is irrelevant." The man spoke strong. When Jesse spoke again, attempting to, clinging to his chest and his newly stitched up wounds, he was cut off mid-gasp.
"Enjoy your rest, Mr. Braun?" The word caught up to Jesse by surprise. "Oh yes, you did sleep after surgery." He spoke as if the last sixteen hours had actually been a day, or maybe even two days ago. "The trick, you see, is right there," The doctor gestured to the IV drip.
"You are now on a drug, Mr. Braun, called Hypnocil .. HYPnocil." He said with high emphasis. "Think of it as like putting a block in your mind. You sleep, but you never even know it. All of the patients here are on the drug, Mr. Braun."
Patients, he thought?
"Welcome to Westin Hills, Mr. Braun. Your refusal to answer what I ask is going to to get you stranded here for a very, long, time."
The room was smaller than his jailcell, and had no windows, or door on the bathroom. The doctor left the room then, locking the door on the way out. Jesse wasn't an inmate anymore. Or a playmate of Freddy. He was a god damn patient. A latter of which, he definitely didn't prefer.
2
It happened like this.
.com/watch?v=SCNQ8FnbSfU
And then, there was nothing. No more pain.
Blackness. Screaming that died out.
The sounds of a heart beat slowly ... Fading...
"WE HAVE A PULSE!"
Beating. A heart, his heart, beating.
Jesse had fallen asleep, he had a nightmare. No matter how hard he'd tried to stay away, being in that small, confined room was just too much for him. He hated tiny places, and the jailcell got the better of him.
And Freddy thought he had, too. He almost did. His blades had penetrated Jesse's chest, went right through him... And yet? There were no entry wound. The puncture slashes on his chest were exit wounds, his back at been untouched. The paramedics couldn't understand it.
"He's hemorrhaging! Move him into surgery, stat!" One of them yelled out.
By all rights, Jesse should have been dead. Freddy had showed him his victims, his playmates... All strung up on the wall like little morbid work of art. Trophies. He should have been on that wall with Dean and Kris, and countless others... Freddy had more victims than he or Nancy, or even his best friend, Quentin, could have ever known.
But Jesse wasn't one of them. Not yet. He disappeared from the nightmare while Freddy was "playing" with him. Leaving nothing more than a pile of blood where he had once been. This angered Freddy, very.. very much. He would get him though, Jesse would be back. Freddy would count on just that. Until then, he would pass time by carving into Kris' body.
3
The cellmate Jesse shared his room with had been screaming for the last ten minutes, swearing he didn't do anything. The Warden couldn't explain it... He knew the prisoneer didn't touch him. He watched the video footage over, and over, and over again. Jesse just rose up and blood began to spray from his chest. He could have sworn, if one looked closely, that Jesse even levitated a moment before falling to his chest, and the blood began to spill.
The paramedics rushed right in and wheeled him away, the press had been all over the scene, talk of blood spill and murder. The news jumped to the conclusion that "Boyfriend of lover Kristen Fowles gets killed in prison!" The fact that the Warden wouldn't allow comment on the matter made that assumption even worse. The TV reports all said the same thing, that Jesse Darren Braun was dead. When in fact his life was in the hands of the emergency room, of the Westin Hills hospital staff.
"Do we sedate him?" One of the nurses called out as they moved him into the operating room.
"No!" Jesse called out, but weakly, blood spraying from his lips as he spoke. "No..." He choked. The doctors told him to shush.
"No, we need him awake and aware. If we put him under he may die." If only that doctor knew how true that statement was. The doctor, a man named Englund, kneeled down and put his face close to Jesse's. "Young man, this is going to hurt. But if you survive, we're going to have some questions for you."
4
Englund turned to the surgeon. "Keep him alive as long as possible. After the surgery, move him into the psychiatic ward. I'll have some answers I need from him." The staff didn't dare question his methods. Englund worked very closely with Simms, who was the head doctor of the Westil Hills Psychicatric Ward. A once Doctor Neil Gordon retired from there years ago, after signing off on the use of Hypnocilian, an experimental dream-surrpresant drug, on the patients.
Now in modern times, the drug was shortened to Hypnocil, and had been tampered with strength the effect. The ultimate result now put a patient's mind at complete ease, causing a blank-effect. No thinking, no dreams. Every patient institutionalized in the psych ward of Westin was on the drug, against their will, and yet, all of them, for their own reasons, refused to sleep at all.
Sixteen hours. Jesse was in surgery for sixteen hours straight, and he stayed awake the whole time. Each lash mark across his chest had its own set of numerous stitches that would never fully go away. Even if he survived, Freddy had marked him for the rest of his life. His chest was numb, but his emotions were still strong. He would look under his hospital gown and run his hand over his freshly bandaged wounds. Hidden beneath them were forever to remain a reminder that he almost became a victim, and that he lost the love of his life the night he was scarred.
5
This is how it started
Jesse watched the drip of his IV, and slowly let his eyes close. He must have zoned out at some point, because he swore that he didn't sleep, or at least if he did, he didn't dream... All he could remember was.. black. Blankness. But when he opened his eyes, a set of clothes set on the shelf beside him. A white tee-shirt, sweatshirt and matching white sweatpants. Ugh ... So plain, so dull. But he eased his way out of bed, and slipped into the clothes.
When he turned to sit back down on his bed, a doctor was already sitting there. "Hello, Mr. Braun." The doctor announced. Turning around, it was a face he knew. Dr. Englund. He met him before, sixteen hours ago. "Are we ready to answer those questions?" He asked, but he wasn't really asking.