I haven't written a fanfiction in years... so this was SO nice to do. I'm not going to tell you a whole lot about it. You'll understand it when you get into it. This is Johnny's story-
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. It was just fun to make them do what I wanted for a while...
This is a one shot; unless someone wants more...
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This is Johnny's story...
When I went to bed the night before I shot my father , I knew I hadn't killed those kids. When I woke up the next morning, I was convinced I had. That was six weeks ago, and it still doesn't make any sense to me.
It was the strangest thing; something I still can't wrap my head around. I had already told everyone I didn't kill that little girl and her father. I even got so mad at Carly for thinking I had; thinking I was a monster who not only killed a child, but who would cover it up. I've done a lot of things in my life, but to kill a child-
I remember a few years back when that doctor—well, hitman that my sis—my—Claudia—hired to take out Sonny shot Michael instead. I was devastated. A child is innocent. A child doesn't know any better. A child does what he is told no matter what the consequences. Michael didn't deserve to be shot. Truth be told, he doesn't deserve to have Sonny as a father, but who am I to judge?
So, you see, killing a child never crossed my mind. Murder? Sure, if the person had it coming to 'em, but not a child. Never a child.
That's why I was so sure I hadn't been the one who shot out Grandpa's tires. Ok, sure, I'd kill that old SOB in a heartbeat—there was a time I wouldn't—a time I couldn't…
I remember a time when Nikolas Cassadine told me to shoot him or lock him up, and I told him I couldn't. Anthony was family. Little did I know…
So… what was I saying?
Yeah, ok. So, I knew I couldn't have done it… I KNEW it!
But there was something nagging me when I woke up that morning that made me think differently. I felt differently, acted differently. I didn't look like myself in the mirror. I looked like a shell of myself; a man I didn't even recognize.
My father came over to tell me he was moving back in because his newest wife wanted him dead. Big whoop, but then… THEN he had the nerve to pull a gun on ME. ME? Like HE was the victim?
I never asked for any of this! I didn't ask to be born! I didn't pimp Claudia out when it seemed fit! But Gramps did! Oh, whatever he needed, he did… and then he expected ME to feel sorry for HIM.
And then…
With that gun pointed down at my face, it just came out. 'Go ahead, Gramps. It would make us even!'
Where did it come from? I have no idea. Like I said, I never in a million years thought I killed those kids. But then, the look on my father's….
Why do I still call him my father? I have no idea. You call a man your father for the better part of your life, you get used to it. But that's not the point, is it? No, the point is that the look on my father's face was priceless. Little Johnny who couldn't do anything right actually tried to kill him.
He couldn't believe it.
I couldn't either.
These flashes kept popping in my head like I was there—but I wasn't—I don't think I was. I just wanted him to suffer like he made me suffer; like he made my mother Maria and Claudia suffer. The look in his eyes motivated me to keep making up lie after lie just to see the man squirm!
But then—The lies didn't feel like lies. The pictures because more real. I saw myself shooting out his tires, even though up until that morning I knew it wasn't me. I didn't lie to Carly about that.
Everything felt so real. I couldn't stop talking and before I knew it, I'd told Anthony everything.
Everything!
I knew better… I KNEW not to do it… but I told this man who hated me, who could hurt me, everything I'd done. Like he wouldn't hold it over my head.
I got scared.
He was going to kill me. You have to understand that. So… I had to kill him first.
It didn't feel real. Truthfully, I didn't believe I'd done it. It seemed like some nightmare—that shooting my father was some sort of dream. I couldn't make my mind work. I saw him dead by my hand on the floor, and I had the images I'd never seen before of the night that little girl died spinning through my head.
I think I finally snapped. After all these years, he drove me to it.
So, I dumped the body and the boathouse and hoped someone would find it eventually, make Tracy or Luke take the fall. Sure, Ok, Luke is Lulu's father, and I don't want to see her hurt—which is something else I can't understand. I acted on instinct—and a little bit of crazy.
What's happened to me? It's like… I'm not the same person. Like I'm the same as Kate or Connie.
Anthony has haunted me ever since. He taunts me in my dreams and follows me when I'm awake. I'll never get another peaceful moment now that he's dead—not that I did much when he was alive. He's gone, but not forgotten.
You think I'm gonna turn into him? Well, I might. I mean, he saw visions and was crazy too; just like me. But if not for people like me, this place wouldn't be open, would it?
You need people like me or you don't have a job, do you Dr. Keenan?
I don't know what happened to me, but I'll tell you one thing right now. I don't think I killed those kids. I think Anthony did something to me—drugged me, hypnotized me, something—to make me think I did. And I'll tell you another thing, Doc. I don't think Anthony's really dead—
I know.. I know! Alright! Yes, I saw his body! I felt his body. He was cold. But this is Port Charles… no one ever really dies. Maybe my fath—Gramps—had a plan. I shot him with his gun, right? Maybe he switched out the bullets. Maybe he set me up to teach me a lesson once and for all…
What?...
No…
No...I don't want to calm down! You wanted me to talk, so I'm talking, Dr. Keenan!
He set me up! He—I didn't kill him! Ha! He's not dead.. that old SOB… he did this to me.. you know he did…
What are you doing? Make them leave! Now!
No needles… no drugs, OK… Get them away from me… please!
I'm not crazy! I didn't…. I didn't kill those kids…. I wouldn't…. I wouldn't do… that.