CHAPTER 1

A/N – Hello everyone! Here I am with a new US/UK story. It is another adaptation of an old original story of mine that I was quite excited to revisit and rework to upgraded standards ;) Of course, as it is with old, beginner fics, it took some serious refurbishment, but I'm happy with the result. Also, some more magic in this one as well… and plenty of creepiness, because it brightens our day ;) This one will also have two-three chapters max. All that being said, enjoy and let me know what you think of it!

Friday 7:30 A.M.

Bip bip bip!

"Oh my God! 7:30 already…." The still half-asleep blond sat up groggily and patted the nightstand in search of the troublesome mobile, proceeding to turn the alarm off, then dropped back on the pillows for another moment. Mornings were such torture, to struggle every day with the temptation of the warm bed and soft sheets!

"Ok, let's get up, it's late, work is waiting…" Arthur grumbled out loud, as if trying to convince himself that it had to be done. Finally he managed to drag himself out of bed and into the bathroom.

"Morning, love! Hurry up, breakfast is ready!" a cheerful voice called, while a pleasant smell of fresh coffee wafted invitingly from the kitchen, beckoning the sleepy youth to its source.

"Morning, Mom!" Arthur greeted, plopping down in his usual seat. But whatever enthusiasm for the new day he'd managed to muster until then promptly dissipated at the sight of what had been laid on the table. "Oh Mom, did you have to buy this kind of bread again? I told you I hate it!" he grumbled ill-humoredly, pushing his plate aside and reaching for the steaming cup instead, while ignoring his mother's growing scowl.

"You hate everything healthy, don't you? Now hush, I'm trying to watch the news," Mrs. Kirkland replied in a dry tone, shaking her head.

Oh yes, that was what his mother was all about – horrid diet bread and tedious news! "Of course, you and your undying interest in bloody politics… God, I hate it!"

"And now the latest news from the music world…." the speaker announced.

"See? Music news! I bet that interests you! You would be capable of listening to that rubbish they call music nowadays all day long," Mrs. Kirkland pointed out, throwing a disapproving look at her son.

Arthur rolled his eyes, picking what he could from the plate while carefully avoiding the dreaded slices of uncertain yellow-brownish color and sipping on the still hot coffee. He had to finish as quick as he could and leave already, before his mother would launch in another endless speech full of 'constructive criticism'.

"Alfred F. Jones, the singer and front man of the band Greenhouse Theater continues to be in a coma. The artist was found in this state last Sunday in his home..."

"Oh God, what could have happened?" Arthur wondered out loud, placing his cup down and craning his neck as he tried to see past his mother's massive frame.

"At the moment the reason of his state remains unknown and the doctors have declared that the investigations are in process…"

"You see, love? These musicians: they are all into drugs, drink and all that. And then they die all the sudden and everybody says 'Oh my God, how did this happen?' There's absolutely nothing positive to see in these people!"

And there it was, the blond could already feel a headache creeping in. He was twenty-three, for God's sake! For how long would his mother continue to try to 'educate' him and fill his head with her ancient ideas?! In moments like these the poor young man could think of nothing past the fact that he needed to do something – anything – and move out already! It wasn't that Arthur didn't love his mother – of course he did – but instead of becoming more lenient as he was growing up she was only becoming more and more suffocating.

"Mom, please! One's music, which is one's work, has nothing to do with that person's private life and choices," he tried to explain calmly, although it was most likely pointless. "Besides, you know nothing about this fellow."

But predictably, Mrs. Kirkland only looked at him as if she would a small child. "Love, maybe you see it this way, but the fact is that they promote a way of life which can only be described as wrong and self-destructive," she insisted.

Why the hell was he even bothering, again? "Okay Mom, whatever you say. Thanks for the breakfast. I have to go now. The office awaits me-" Arthur tried to end the increasingly obnoxious conversation.

"Wait a minute, love! I forgot to tell you: Ivan was here looking for you yesterday!"

Arthur stopped in the doorframe with a quizzical look. "Ivan as in Ivan Braginski, our neighbor?".

"Yes, love. He wanted to talk to you. About a book or something. He's a really nice fellow, you know…"

Oh, bloody hell! Just how much worse is this morning going to get?! The Englishman resisted the urge to facepalm, hard. "Mom… You didn't mention to him anything like… the fact that I'm single, now did you?"

There was an innocently confused look upon Mrs. Kirkland's face which only confirmed his worst suspicion."But love, you are single. And Ivan seems such a nice chap. Maybe you two could go out or something?" she pointed out.

Right, this was one crap Friday and it wasn't even the 13th… "Oh God, Mom!" I mean don't you find it weird that he never goes to work or something? Maybe he doesn't even have a job. And he's what… thirty? And he looks at me in a funny way!"

"Or maybe he works at home. Maybe he's a writer or something. And I think he likes you." his mother replied with a light smile.

"Yeah Mom, I'm sure he is a fabulous writer and he is in love with me. Bye now!"

"Bye love!"

Friday 1:00 P.M.

So, I'm having lunch at this fast food again, just when my diet had started to pay out. Arthur thought as he picked another fry from the plate in front of him. I bet my mom would be very disappointed. Oh well, what she doesn't know can't hurt her… Certainly not the chips delight of today, or the pizza from last week...

"I thought you were on a diet, mon ami. Though you didn't actually need one," his colleague Francis said in amusement pointing at the Englishman's big Cola glass.

"I'm trying, alright mate? I'm trying to eat more healthy food. I just had a moment of weakness, that's all. I'm only human," the other blond explained with his mouth full.

Francis laughed, twisting a strand of his long hair around his finger lazily as he picked at his own lunch. "And I bet your mother bought that awful bread again and made you eat it, didn't she?" he went on.

"Almost… the hell with it, it's bloody awful! Hold on," Arthur dug for the mobile in his back pocket. "Now who the hell is bothering me at lunch? I don't even know this number... Hello?"

"Hello! This is Mr. Arthur Kirkland, da?"

The blond scowled, intrigued by the strange, foreign accent. He really hoped this wasn't another stupid social survey or the bank insisting he should not miss the opportunity to open a short-term overdraft account at promotional interest rates for the first three months. Or some other rubbish of the same sort.

"Yes, this is him. Who's asking?"

"Oh, hello Arthur. It's me, Ivan. Second floor, remember, da?"

The Englishman's face scrunched into such a sour grimace that his friend instantly burst into laughter. He absolutely couldn't believe that his mother had actually given that freak his mobile number! They would have to have a very serious conversation on the matter sometime, although he really wasn't looking forward to it.

"Uh… yes, I do. So… Ivan, what's the occasion?" Maybe some stiffness would deter the unpleasant chap, whatever his purpose might have been – or so the Englishman hoped. But sadly, no such luck.

"Listen, I was wondering if you want to hang out with me tonight, since it's Friday? I was thinking we can go see a movie at the mall, da… What do you say?" the other asked, completely oblivious to his cold tone.

Arthur's face fell, much to Francis' escalating amusement. "God, now this freak's asking me out on a date, what the hell?!" he mouthed with an exasperated expression. But the air-headed Frenchman only chuckled harder.

"Uh… Ivan… that's very nice of you, but it has been a long week and I'm tired and I'd rather stay at home tonight. Maybe some other time, alright mate?"

"Oh, I see…. Okay then, we'll talk later, da? I'm sorry to have disturbed you; you are at work probably…. Bye."

Arthur dropped his mobile on the table with an irritated huff, followed by a string of profanities. "Apparently my mother gave my mobile number to our new and particularly weird neighbor Ivan. And now the creep called to ask me out! Nothing short of extraordinary, isn't it?" An unpleasant feeling had settled in the blond's stomach upon having the brief conversation with the Russian and he now found to have completely lost his appetite.

"Just like that, mon ami? But you've spoken like what, twice?"

"Yes, in general I've done my best to avoid him. He's quite scary, to be completely honest , mate. Strange thing he asked me out though, since he never seems to leave the house. But of course Mom thinks he's nice…"

Francis rolled his eyes and accidentally-on-purpose took a sip from his friend's glass, since his own was already empty. "Oh mon ami, let's not even start on the subject of your mother," he said, shaking his head. "Listen, maybe you only spoke twice, but he may have developed an obsession for you. Maybe he's been following you and he knows everything about you, and now he finally decided to ask you out and you refused. And now something bad will happen…"

"Spare me of such scenarios, will you mate?" the Englishman replied, not amused. "I just hope that Mom doesn't find out about this fabulous date I just refused, because I really don't feel like having another conversation with her about Ivan and about how I'm wasting my life and bla bla bla".

Friday 8 P.M.

Finally this appalling day is over, work is over, hopefully the nasty surprises are over as well… Arthur thought as he got off the bus and headed towards his block. His head had been pounding since lunch time after Ivan's call and now he dreaded having to get back, all the while being extra-careful not to be seen by or run into that man again.

Once inside the building and throwing wary looks around at every step, he rushed towards the elevator as fast as he could, forgetting to even check the mailbox. The blond impatiently counted the floors as he went up, hoping that the rest of the brief journey to his apartment remain sans encounters. Cursing the day fate had decided to make him, Arthur Kirkland, the target of all its bad jokes, he crept like a thief to his own door and let himself in as rapidly as humanly possible.

"Mom! I'm home!"

"Hey there, love!" Mrs. Kirkland came out of the kitchen to greet her son, wiping her hands on her apron. "How was your day?"

"As usual, long. How was your day, Mom?"

"Oh, mine too. Sometimes I'm getting so sick and tired of the hospital, all the people, all the smells, all the sounds, all the suffering. But then I say to myself that this is the job I chose to dedicate myself to and that I must go on… But no matter. Now I'll prepare a nice dinner and later we can watch some TV and relax. Okay, love?"

"Sure Mom, that sounds great…" Arthur agreed half-heartedly on the way to his room.

Alright, alright, she knows nothing for now. That means the freak didn't show up around here today. Perfect!

Saturday 4 A.M.

Arthur woke up with a start. He felt dizzy and so thirsty that his throat almost hurt. Slowly, the blond struggled to free himself from the tangled sheets and switched on the lamp on his nightstand, got out of bed and headed towards the door of his room. However, strangely enough, the door was getting further and further away, out of his reach. What the hell? He looked around in confusion.

"Where am I?" he asked out loud, although the question didn't make much sense in his groggy head. He noticed a huge mirror in a remote corner of the room and involuntarily walked towards it.

Bloody hell, what is this?!

Observing himself in the mirror, the Englishman realised that he looked completely different from the way he'd gone to bed. He wore a black, expensive designer suit, with a pristine white shirt and a silk tie and for once his hair wasn't sticking oddly in all directions. If this is a dream, it sure is a strange one…

"Oh, but this is no dream, my friend. You are very much awake, da," came a man's voice out of nowhere.

"Who are you? Where are you?" Arthur demanded, glancing around startled, but could see no one.

"I am the Owner," replied the voice calmly."Your Owner. You belong to me now, da."

A pang of fear shot through the young man's stomach at hearing this, to the extend his hands flew to his waist, squeezing and crumpling the white shirt. And the voice, the voice! He was sure he'd heard it before, but where? He couldn't remember… Something was wrong with his head, he couldn't think straight!

"What the hell are you saying, you tosser?! You don't own me, it's ridiculous! And where am I?" he cried.

"In a place from where there's no way out, my friend. This is… my mind. But you will like it, I'll make it a place full of wonders, only for you, da." the voice replied.

"No! I can't be in your mind, you're insane! You'd better let me go, you bloody psycho! Now!"

If this was even possible, Arthur's terror only grew as the light began to fade and he realised that in no time he'd be left in complete darkness. What sort of twisted, sick dream was this?! Suddenly he felt very cold and turned to the bed to pick a blanket. But now the bed was also gone. In fact, there was nothing left at all, the room was empty and only the door remained, like a black rectangle suspended in the semi-obscurity.

"I understand your confusion. I suppose it's natural, da. I will leave you for now. I advise you to calm down and go explore your new home," the voice suggested.

I can't believe this! This can't be, it just can't. Either I'm dreaming or I am really in this guy's mind. And it all feels so real, it's very different from dreams. God, could this be possible?! Arthur wondered as he sat crouched on the floor, shivering.

Time passed, it seemed like long hours. The Englishman hadn't moved from the floor, his mind filled with horror as he was now sure that he was wide awake. His ears perceived clear sounds, both close and remote: the ticking of a clock, someone knocking on a door somewhere in the distance. And suddenly another familiar voice cried:

"Arthur! My boy, talk to me! Arthur, what is wrong with you?! My God, no, not my child! Arthur, please! Please!"

"Mom?!" the blond rose from the floor in one jump. The voice seemed to come from somewhere above him and he frantically looked up, seeing nothing. "Mom! I'm here! Mom, help me!" he screamed. But there was no answer, instead he heard his mother weep."Mom, can't you hear me? Mom, why don't you answer me?!"

God, she can't hear me! Arthur realized all the sudden. What's happening to me? What has he done to me?!

For a while there was silence. And then there was his mother's voice again:

"Doctor, please tell me, what is wrong with him?"

"He's in a coma. I can't figure out why just yet, we need to investigate some more," answered an unknown voice.

I'm in a coma? My God! But what happened, how the hell did he do this? How did he get me into his mind?

Arthur felt cold sweat forming on his forehead and he wiped it out with the back of his hand. "I've got to get out of here; there must be a way out. Yes, there must be. He lied to me. He fucking lied to me!" he muttered to himself.

To be continued