Michael twisted in his bed, whimpering as perspiration ran down his pale face.
It was dark all around, as if someone had poured tar into a glass container and sealed it shut. Michael turned in circles over and over again. A boyish laugh, like that of a child's, came from behind him. Michael whirled around to face the blackness. The laugh sounded again, this time to his left. Turning again, Michael froze. Before him stood a small boy, about four or five, with blonde curly hair, and teal eyes. Michael didn't recognize him. Michael opened his mouth to speak, but his voice would not come out. Blood, thick and red began to soak through the fabric and run down the boy's shirt. Michael screamed, again no sound. He reached for the child but something stood in his way. Michael pounded on the invisible force, hoping to break through; it was as if a glass barrier had been placed between them to hold him back. He could only watch as the boys face flushed paler and paler, while a pool of blood formed at his feet, staining his sneakers and growing larger with every drop. Finally, the boy collapsed, his blood shivered as his body connected with the invisible earth.
Michael reached to pound against the barrier once more, only to find that it was gone. He stumbled drunkenly to the boy, and fell to his knees at his side. He reached out and touched the boy, but frowned as he did. This was not the boy Michael had watched die. He was older; his hair longer, his shirt was replaced by a wife beater and a patchwork jacket. Marko. Michael bit back a gasp and scrambled away. His back touched someone shoes. Michael whipped around to see another boy. This boy was taller, more strongly built. His hair was black as the world behind him, and his eyes held so much more than the dark chocolate brown they were colored. As Michael stared, the boy's skin began to turn red. It turned red until every inch of visible flesh resembled raw meat. Then the boy changed. He grew much taller, muscles formed visibly through the leather jacket that now covered his shoulders. His black hair grew out longer and his facial features became more defined and chiseled. No longer young, Dwayne stood before him for a split second, and then in a moment there was a large pop, like a balloon had been stabbed with a tack. Michael shielded his eyes as Dwayne exploded, covering Michael in blood and chunks of different meaty pieces. Michael desperately wiped at his eyes. When his face felt clean he opened his eyes. Michael sobbed when he saw that Paul was full grown in front of him. Paul's skin began to melt off his bones, like you had poured cake batter over a science dummy. Michael turned away, he couldn't watch them all die, not again, he'd barely maintained his sanity the first time. He squeezed his eyes shut. Bony fingers grabbed Michaels chin and pulled his head to the front.
"You watch. You watch what you did to us, to me to them. You watch Michael Anthony Emerson. You can lie all you want but you are no less of a murderer than we were." The voice that came from Paul's mouth was a mix of all of their own. Marko, Dwayne, Paul. All of their voices combined to make a sick, threatening sound that reminded Michael of metal being rubbed against rock.
After the voice spoke, the skeleton fell against him, knocking him on his back. The liquid flesh burned like molten plastic on Michael's skin. Michael couldn't bring himself to sit up and push the skeleton away from him. Instead he lay there. David's face formed in his vision and his voice filled his ears.
"Tsk tsk tsk. Michael, I had such hopes for you. Why? I didn't take you brothers from you. Why did you take mine from me?" David's words echoed and Michaels head lolled to one side. Marko's blood, now syrupy in texture from air exposure, ran towards him. Like a small river gone red. It twisted and turned until it reached Michaels face. It crawled up his cheek and fell into his mouth. It climbed at a steady speed down his windpipe and into his lungs. Then Michael was choking. The last of the red river ran down Michael's throat, the floor where it had touched was not tainted; every last drop was inside his body. Screams filled his ears. Men, women, children. Every person they had ever killed. Their cries for help, the gurgling left in their mouths when their life was on the silver lining. All four of them were killers. They killed for life, for fun, and now every sound they ever heard from their victims was in Michael's corpse. But Michael could still hear the sounds. And they were beautiful. Just beautiful.
Michael sat straight up in his bed. Tears ran down his face, and his sweat was cold on his body. He pulled his hand up to his mouth to muffle a sob. Every night. Every night he had that same reoccurring dream, and the more he dreamed it, the more he believed it. David was right. He had not touched Michael's family, but Michael had decided to destroy his. Paul, Dwayne and Marko were right. Michael wasn't any better than them. Michael had blood on his hands, and a lot of it. Michael wasn't innocent.
Michael was a monster.