Author's Note: Welcome to the 'Scarlet Sonata', a twisting, darker tale taking place a good many years after my previous story, 'When Tears Run Red'. Do not fear if you haven't read it though, for you don't have to know what AWESOME stuff went down in 'When Tears Run Red' to understand this story. It'll involve mostly my two favorite Titans, Raven and Cyborg. This isn't necessarily a romance between the two, mind you. Oh, and a friendly tip of the hat to anyone who's read 'WTRR' and is now reviewing this story. I truly appreciate having you reading it. As always, this story is dark, gory, intriguing, and maybe a little heart-wrenching at times. Please enjoy and please leave a review!

His left eye fluttered open…circled around the room once, twice…then shut again.

Please God…

There was no light…he was stuck in that same bitter darkness again. The darkness of the dreams you can never remember. That same eye-shut blackness he'd awaken to for three days now. Had it been three days? Four? Five even? Hell, he didn't know anymore.

The lights only came on when it came back…when it came to visit…and sometimes, it didn't even bother with the lights.

Oh sweet God…

By now he'd put everything he had left into the possibility that it could all be a dream.

It had to be a dream.

He didn't move for risk of feeling duct tape latching his arms to the arm of the sleek, greasy metal chair, didn't breath for risk of smelling the sweet, damp scent of human whither that had enveloped his body like a cloud of flies, didn't dare even listen to anything else but his thoughts for the risk of hearing the whistling…that high-pitched, childish, pitch that seemed so innocent…like a Looney Toon character…like a damn song-bird. That whistle that he heard right before the lights came on. But it was never a bird that came down here to visit him…down to this hell-hole that he'd been rotting in. A hole with no food, little water…no light.

He didn't do anything.

Cuz it was all just a dream….

…but he still was hungry.

It'd been four days since that burger and fries at McDonald's, right? Had it really been that long since he'd even eaten anything? Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. For some reason he couldn't stop thinking about that. That he'd have to take three whole more weeks of this before his innards shrivel up enough for him to finally keel over and die.

Heh. Maybe, if he was lucky, it'd stop making little water visits and leave him to dry up like a forgotten grape. That'd cut his waiting time in half, wouldn't it?

Or, yeah, better yet, maybe it'd simply step through that door with a sawn off shot-gun and make a sunrise out of his brains on the far wall. He wouldn't even have to wait for the lights…

Jesus, he was hungry…

He'd bitten apart lips by day three, nibbled his tongue down by day four… the only thing keeping him from having a go at his shoulders is the fact that his strength left him at day five.

God knows what he must look like by now. Hair caked onto his scalp, chin smothered in dried blood, body so frail a breeze could bend it…

But no.

It's all a dream, right?

Right?

When those lights come on he'd be in his room again, sitting at his desk, looking at the bulletin board on the wall like had been just a week ago. Piano on Thursday, date with Tina on Friday, Mom's birthday on Saturday…

No responsibilities….

No worries….

No need for worries…

Don't let me wake up here…anywhere but here…please God…

His left eye fluttered open again, circling around in its socket like a fish in a glassy red bowl. The room was still dark, the lack of his glasses and the lack of light making it impossible to see anything. He never knew the world could be this dark.

Anywhere but here…I beg you…I'll do anything…please god please…

He remembered bits and snippets of the room from the few occasions when it had turned on the single naked bulb forever swinging overhead. The room was small, old-fashioned. The walls lacking wallpaper and the insulation slowly folding downwards like fawning lichen from the side of a tree. Large, rattling overhead rafters made out the ceiling which constantly spewed fine, short waterfalls of dust, dirt and god knows what else down into the room. A single, flaky door sat directly at the far end of the room almost mockingly, as if to ensure he knew that there was no way he'd be walking through those doors again.

It looked a great deal like the basement to his grandfather's house.

Hmmm.

Maybe that's why he's been dreaming about it for all this time.

Yeah….that must be it.

His body remained motionless, his breath still held between pursed, stubby lips. Despite his efforts, though, he could feel the worn, raw skin of his wrists, the dull and unfathomable hunger sucking on his ribs.

…the subtle feeling of helplessness.

…the sly, secret knowledge that he was going to die down here.

Let me wake up at home…please…anywhere but here…anywhere in the world but here…this is a dream...always was...always was...

If there had been any other noises down there, maybe he'd of heard it…but by now he had trained himself to detect that sound. Faintly, there was a soft, horribly recognizable thump, as if a door from above the indeterminable distance between Jump City and his own personal purgatory was slammed shut with just the familiar force to ensure that it had come back.

He finally let both his eyes open.

Oh God…no…please…no…

There was another thump…and then another, each one whispering under the door just loud enough to make him strain his ears. Footfalls, big, heavy, leisurely footfalls.

Its footfalls.

They became louder, each one sounding like a heavy armful of laundry being dropped onto a hard floor.

Thump

Thump

"Oh, God! Please No! I don't wanna wake up here!" His thoughts finally escaped through a mucous wallowed throat, his hands yanking desperately upwards only to rewarded with a raw callous stinging around his wrists. The tape was still there…he was still down in hell, unable to wake up.

As the tenth step sounded, so did the shrill pitch of a playful whistle. It was a happy whistle; a bulging cheek, phony, type of happy. It grew louder, growing in unison with the steps, the tone becoming merrier and quicker.

Who the hell could whistle like that here?

Who the hell could possibly be that happy?

Nobody was that happy anymore. Not a single person in the world today would ever be so happy as to whistle like a god-damn cartoon character, skipping along with his shoulders bobbing with every step. Nobody was that happy….nobody loved life that much…

The steps stopped directly outside the door, a slow, painful squeal coming from the knob as it twisted slowly open. The outside of the room was almost just as dark as the room he was in now, the darkness outside just light enough to silhouette a huge, square figure in the doorway. In either of his hands was something different. Something other than the customary bucket of water he normally brought. A bag…a big duffel bag. It rattled slightly as the figure slowly stepped into the room, as if gardening tools were rattling around in there. The whistling never stopped, even for a breath.

"Please! Please don't! I don't wanna wake up here! Anywhere but here! This is a dream! This is a dream! Let me out of here!" He screamed. He thrashed. He rattled his head until the room spun and his skull throbbed.

But nothing made the frame go away. Nothing he screamed, nothing he cried, nothing he prayed could save him now.

This wasn't a dream.

It never was.

The door slowly closed again as Nathaniel Howards let out one last, wailing screech which abruptly ended as the lock clicked shut.

Ending Author's Note: Well, there we have it. Prepare for a real mind-boggling mystery this time folks! Take care!