Forgive Yourself

On the night of Johnny's death, Dallas decides to meet him in the afterlife by a suicide attempt. A supernatural intervention stops him with a grim warning.

Dallas stands in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror for the fifteenth time, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

Johnny Cade is dead. Dead from saving some ungrateful kids when he should've been selfish and saved himself. Dead because of him.

If he hadn't let them run away, if he hadn't given them done all he could to save him, he'd still be alive.

"Goddammit, Johnny. Goddammit!" Dallas smacks himself in the head, forcing the tears to not fall. He can't cry and he won't; he hasn't cried since he was ten years old. He pulls out the gun from his jacket pocket, the object feeling heavy in his hands.

He has nothing left to live for; the one friend he truly cared about and loved is dead. His innocence, his light, his vitality, all gone; Johnny took it with him to the grave.

Right now, Dallas wants to meet him again.

He puts the barrel to his head, taking deep breaths. It could be so easy, right now; pull the trigger and stop himself from thinking anymore, from hurting anymore. He cocks it, finger on the trigger, and pulls.

-click-

He remembers: ain't nothing in it.

Maybe he should hang himself…no…it would be too difficult; he can't tie a knot and he'll be damned if he shits on himself while dead. Drowning? No…he's scared of drowning, in a twisted form of irony. He looks at the gun and an idea comes to mind.

He'll let the cops kill him.

Don't even think about it.

Dallas jolts. An eerie chill slithers down his spine and he lurches forward.

What the hell is that?

Drop the fucking gun, Dallas.

He hears a voice hiss in his ear. The chill gets stronger, sinking through his body and making him shiver. His teeth chatter, his breath visible. The temperature drops significantly: the mirrors fog up and a thin sheet of ice travels up them. Words seem to scratch themselves on the mirrors in thin, unnerving, handwriting. Dallas backs into a wall, eyes wide as saucers as he reads what it says.

I'M WATCHING YOU.

"W-What the h-h-hell is going on?"

For the first time in years, Dallas Winston is scared. The mirror writes again.

THIS IS YOUR WARNING.

"Warning for what?"

The mirror doesn't answer.

The atmosphere warms up, the messages on the wall vanish, and Dallas could feel himself breathe again. He drops to the floor, trying to think about what had just taken place. There needs to be a logical explanation; maybe he was going crazy and his mind is playing tricks…

He pockets his jacket to feel for his gun, but finds nothing. Panicked, he searches his pockets again and still nothing. After checking the entire bathroom, the gun is nowhere to be found.

Dallas walks out of the bathroom, shaken and confused. A kindly store clerk looks over at him.

"Sir? Sir, are you okay?"

Dallas looks at the lady, manic and frazzled.

"I don't know," he confesses, "I just don't know."