Disclaimer: The Dead Zone and all related material are property of USA
Network and Stephen King. This is just a fan fiction story for fun.
The cool morning air nipped at Johnny Smith's face as he walked slowly to the mailbox in front of his house, wondering what surprise waited for him there. The story of his "talent" had gotten all around the country, and people had been constantly sending things they wanted him to touch.
Find my missing daughter, find my lost dog, is my ex-wife remarried, when am I going to die...
Every day brought some new surprise, although over the weeks, his national popularity was dying down. He usually only got one or two new objects a week, but he always sent them back, unopened.
Johnny limped over to the mailbox, leaning heavily on his cane. He had slept on his hip wrong, leaving a dull ache radiating up and down his leg. He opened the mailbox and reached inside without looking, grabbing the bunch of letters that were inside. He took a quick glance inside before closing it, relieved to find no packages he would have to return.
As he headed back towards the house, a familiar PT cruiser pulled into his driveway, and Johnny groaned silently. His friend Bruce jumped out of the car with his usual exuberance, and Johnny wondered how he could always be so perky in the morning. Physical therapy early in the morning hadn't been his choice, but Bruce said it was the best time of the day for it.
"Good morning," Bruce said, walking towards Johnny. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a rock," Johnny replied, "but unfortunately, I slept like a two ton rock on my hip."
"Sore?" Bruce asked, a brief look washing over his face.
"Nothing I can't handle," the blonde replied with a smirk, hoping to alleviate his friend's worry. It seemed to work, because Bruce returned the smile.
"So, anything new and exciting in the mail? Who's asking for your help today?"
"No packages, thankfully," Johnny told him, glancing down at the pile of envelopes in his hand. "Looks like bills. Maybe I should try sending those back too. Think that would work?"
"If it did, I wouldn't be in as much debt as I am," Bruce replied with a grin. "Since it doesn't seem like anything pressing, let's get inside and get started."
Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do we have to start right now? Wouldn't you like a cup of coffee or something?"
"Already had my fill," his friend answered. "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done."
Johnny sighed. "You just enjoy torturing me."
"One of the perks of the job."
The pair climbed the stairs to the house, and Johnny lead the way into the front lobby of the house. Bruce closed the door behind him, and immediately headed for the study where they had been having Johnny's physical therapy sessions. Johnny lingered by the door, tossed the mail on the table next to him, then slowly removed his jacket, procrastinating as much as possible. He knew it annoyed Bruce when he dawdled, but if he had to endure the pain of physical therapy, he was going to do it on his time.
"C'mon Johnny, let's get this show on the road," Bruce called from the other room.
"I'm coming," Johnny replied, but he didn't move, instead picking up the pile of mail.
The blonde began flipping through it, not expecting anything spectacular, but it was a diversion from the pain he was about to go through. He was about to toss them aside and join Bruce when he came across a plain white envelope with no return address on it. The address had been hand written in very erratic cursive, almost making his name illegible.
"What is taking you so long?" Bruce sighed, coming up behind Johnny and looking over his shoulder. "What's that?"
"I don't know, there's no return address," Johnny answered, flipping the envelope over and tearing open the flap.
"Probably some more fan mail," Bruce chuckled.
"I hope not. I've got all the 'fans' I can handle."
Johnny reached into the envelope and pulled out a piece of white paper folded carefully around something else. He unfolded the paper, but it had no words on it, but a small piece of paper tumbled out of it and onto the floor. Bruce leaned down and picked it up, and then they realized it wasn't just a piece of paper, but a photo of a young woman. Bruce held it out as the two of them studied it, wondering who she was.
She looked in her mid-teens with long sandy hair and deep brown eyes. Johnny studied the picture for a minute, noticing how sad her features looked. She was smiling in the picture, but he could see something else in her eyes, and he knew the smile was forced.
"Who's that?" Bruce asked, taking the picture off of the sheet of paper and studying it.
"I don't know," Johnny replied, reaching for the picture.
Bruce handed it to Johnny, and before Johnny's fingers had fully grasped it, the blonde stumbled backwards, as if physically struck. He stumbled back unsteadily until he hit the wall, knocking into the table that held the rest of the mail. He reached for the table to stabilize himself, but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor with a loud bang. Johnny would have fallen with it, but Bruce grabbed his elbow and kept him on his feet.
"Johnny?! What's wrong? What is it?" his friend asked, worry saturating his voice.
"I... I..." Johnny stuttered, trying to get words out, but unable to form anything coherent with his lips.
"Just take it easy, man," Bruce said, lowering Johnny to the floor.
Bruce looked into his eyes, and fear consumed him at the vacant, wide-eyed stare that looked back at him.
Johnny tensed all over, his hand wrapped tightly around the picture, crunching the image of the girl in his fist. His arms and legs began shaking, as if in midst of a seizure, and Bruce did his best to hold the blonde in place. He reached over, trying to remove the picture from Johnny's grasp, but his grip was too tight. His knuckles were white but the rest of his hand was dark red from the tightness of his fist, and any attempt to open Johnny's hand failed.
"So cold..." Johnny whispered, his body shivering to emphasize the point. "Dark..."
"Calm down, Johnny, take deep breaths," Bruce told him, feeling helpless. "C'mon, snap out of it, man."
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screamed at the top of his lungs, nearly shattering Bruce's eardrum. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!"
Johnny flailed out wildly, knocking Bruce away from him, onto his rump. Bruce got back up onto his knees in front of his friend, reaching to grab his arms and restrain him.
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screeched again, struggling wildly as Bruce grabbed his arms and pinned them at his sides.
Bruce made one more attempt to get the picture out of John's hand, grabbing the top of it and yanking. He only had a split second to hope it wouldn't rip, making it even harder to remove from his friend's hand, but was relieved when the picture yielded and was pulled from Johnny's hand.
Johnny almost immediately started to calm down, his body's spasms slowing to small twitches, and finally ceasing altogether. His body was covered with sweat, and he panted, trying to fill his lungs with precious oxygen, but it felt like he couldn't fill his lungs enough to satisfy his body. He slumped against the wall, his entire body feeling drained.
"Johnny?" Bruce said, kneeling face to face with Johnny. "Speak to me. You okay?"
"I..." Johnny began, sighing with exertion, but his eyes were coming back into focus, finally settling on his friend in front of him. "Yeah, I think so."
"What the hell just happened?" Bruce asked. "What did you see?"
"That's the funny thing," Johnny replied laboriously. "I didn't see anything. Just darkness. I heard voices, and it was cold... but I couldn't see anything."
Johnny looked down at the hand that the picture had been in, surprised to see blood. A long cut ran down the length of his palm sideways and it was trickling blood down his hand and soaking into his shirt.
"Man, I must've cut your hand when I ripped that thing out of it. I'll go get you something to clean that up," Bruce told him, then was on his feet and running towards the bathroom before Johnny could say another word.
Johnny sat and waited for him, leaning heavily against the wall. His body felt like it weighed over a ton, and he couldn't move, even if he wanted to. Bruce came padding down the hall again with a wet towel in his hand, and he began tending to Johnny's wound, but Johnny's eyes were somewhere else.
The crumpled picture on the floor.
Who was this girl, and why had the picture been sent to him?
He didn't know the answers, but from what he had experienced, he needed to find them.
The cool morning air nipped at Johnny Smith's face as he walked slowly to the mailbox in front of his house, wondering what surprise waited for him there. The story of his "talent" had gotten all around the country, and people had been constantly sending things they wanted him to touch.
Find my missing daughter, find my lost dog, is my ex-wife remarried, when am I going to die...
Every day brought some new surprise, although over the weeks, his national popularity was dying down. He usually only got one or two new objects a week, but he always sent them back, unopened.
Johnny limped over to the mailbox, leaning heavily on his cane. He had slept on his hip wrong, leaving a dull ache radiating up and down his leg. He opened the mailbox and reached inside without looking, grabbing the bunch of letters that were inside. He took a quick glance inside before closing it, relieved to find no packages he would have to return.
As he headed back towards the house, a familiar PT cruiser pulled into his driveway, and Johnny groaned silently. His friend Bruce jumped out of the car with his usual exuberance, and Johnny wondered how he could always be so perky in the morning. Physical therapy early in the morning hadn't been his choice, but Bruce said it was the best time of the day for it.
"Good morning," Bruce said, walking towards Johnny. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a rock," Johnny replied, "but unfortunately, I slept like a two ton rock on my hip."
"Sore?" Bruce asked, a brief look washing over his face.
"Nothing I can't handle," the blonde replied with a smirk, hoping to alleviate his friend's worry. It seemed to work, because Bruce returned the smile.
"So, anything new and exciting in the mail? Who's asking for your help today?"
"No packages, thankfully," Johnny told him, glancing down at the pile of envelopes in his hand. "Looks like bills. Maybe I should try sending those back too. Think that would work?"
"If it did, I wouldn't be in as much debt as I am," Bruce replied with a grin. "Since it doesn't seem like anything pressing, let's get inside and get started."
Johnny sighed and rolled his eyes. "Do we have to start right now? Wouldn't you like a cup of coffee or something?"
"Already had my fill," his friend answered. "The sooner we start, the sooner we'll be done."
Johnny sighed. "You just enjoy torturing me."
"One of the perks of the job."
The pair climbed the stairs to the house, and Johnny lead the way into the front lobby of the house. Bruce closed the door behind him, and immediately headed for the study where they had been having Johnny's physical therapy sessions. Johnny lingered by the door, tossed the mail on the table next to him, then slowly removed his jacket, procrastinating as much as possible. He knew it annoyed Bruce when he dawdled, but if he had to endure the pain of physical therapy, he was going to do it on his time.
"C'mon Johnny, let's get this show on the road," Bruce called from the other room.
"I'm coming," Johnny replied, but he didn't move, instead picking up the pile of mail.
The blonde began flipping through it, not expecting anything spectacular, but it was a diversion from the pain he was about to go through. He was about to toss them aside and join Bruce when he came across a plain white envelope with no return address on it. The address had been hand written in very erratic cursive, almost making his name illegible.
"What is taking you so long?" Bruce sighed, coming up behind Johnny and looking over his shoulder. "What's that?"
"I don't know, there's no return address," Johnny answered, flipping the envelope over and tearing open the flap.
"Probably some more fan mail," Bruce chuckled.
"I hope not. I've got all the 'fans' I can handle."
Johnny reached into the envelope and pulled out a piece of white paper folded carefully around something else. He unfolded the paper, but it had no words on it, but a small piece of paper tumbled out of it and onto the floor. Bruce leaned down and picked it up, and then they realized it wasn't just a piece of paper, but a photo of a young woman. Bruce held it out as the two of them studied it, wondering who she was.
She looked in her mid-teens with long sandy hair and deep brown eyes. Johnny studied the picture for a minute, noticing how sad her features looked. She was smiling in the picture, but he could see something else in her eyes, and he knew the smile was forced.
"Who's that?" Bruce asked, taking the picture off of the sheet of paper and studying it.
"I don't know," Johnny replied, reaching for the picture.
Bruce handed it to Johnny, and before Johnny's fingers had fully grasped it, the blonde stumbled backwards, as if physically struck. He stumbled back unsteadily until he hit the wall, knocking into the table that held the rest of the mail. He reached for the table to stabilize himself, but only succeeded in knocking it to the floor with a loud bang. Johnny would have fallen with it, but Bruce grabbed his elbow and kept him on his feet.
"Johnny?! What's wrong? What is it?" his friend asked, worry saturating his voice.
"I... I..." Johnny stuttered, trying to get words out, but unable to form anything coherent with his lips.
"Just take it easy, man," Bruce said, lowering Johnny to the floor.
Bruce looked into his eyes, and fear consumed him at the vacant, wide-eyed stare that looked back at him.
Johnny tensed all over, his hand wrapped tightly around the picture, crunching the image of the girl in his fist. His arms and legs began shaking, as if in midst of a seizure, and Bruce did his best to hold the blonde in place. He reached over, trying to remove the picture from Johnny's grasp, but his grip was too tight. His knuckles were white but the rest of his hand was dark red from the tightness of his fist, and any attempt to open Johnny's hand failed.
"So cold..." Johnny whispered, his body shivering to emphasize the point. "Dark..."
"Calm down, Johnny, take deep breaths," Bruce told him, feeling helpless. "C'mon, snap out of it, man."
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screamed at the top of his lungs, nearly shattering Bruce's eardrum. "ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!"
Johnny flailed out wildly, knocking Bruce away from him, onto his rump. Bruce got back up onto his knees in front of his friend, reaching to grab his arms and restrain him.
"SHUT UP!" Johnny screeched again, struggling wildly as Bruce grabbed his arms and pinned them at his sides.
Bruce made one more attempt to get the picture out of John's hand, grabbing the top of it and yanking. He only had a split second to hope it wouldn't rip, making it even harder to remove from his friend's hand, but was relieved when the picture yielded and was pulled from Johnny's hand.
Johnny almost immediately started to calm down, his body's spasms slowing to small twitches, and finally ceasing altogether. His body was covered with sweat, and he panted, trying to fill his lungs with precious oxygen, but it felt like he couldn't fill his lungs enough to satisfy his body. He slumped against the wall, his entire body feeling drained.
"Johnny?" Bruce said, kneeling face to face with Johnny. "Speak to me. You okay?"
"I..." Johnny began, sighing with exertion, but his eyes were coming back into focus, finally settling on his friend in front of him. "Yeah, I think so."
"What the hell just happened?" Bruce asked. "What did you see?"
"That's the funny thing," Johnny replied laboriously. "I didn't see anything. Just darkness. I heard voices, and it was cold... but I couldn't see anything."
Johnny looked down at the hand that the picture had been in, surprised to see blood. A long cut ran down the length of his palm sideways and it was trickling blood down his hand and soaking into his shirt.
"Man, I must've cut your hand when I ripped that thing out of it. I'll go get you something to clean that up," Bruce told him, then was on his feet and running towards the bathroom before Johnny could say another word.
Johnny sat and waited for him, leaning heavily against the wall. His body felt like it weighed over a ton, and he couldn't move, even if he wanted to. Bruce came padding down the hall again with a wet towel in his hand, and he began tending to Johnny's wound, but Johnny's eyes were somewhere else.
The crumpled picture on the floor.
Who was this girl, and why had the picture been sent to him?
He didn't know the answers, but from what he had experienced, he needed to find them.