After uploading the wrong chapter, here it is! The timeline is messed up severely in this fic! Just a warning for the future. Oh, and it actually starts getting a little interesting next chapter.

Plus, I think thanks is in order for my Beta who may or may not be a figment of my imagination, TheEvilMuffinToaster.

We're Not Normal, Are We?

Two:
Like Bugs in a Jar

A blinding light.

zzttcktchhsshhzzschtcsshh follow us ztchssht

Like the static on the other end of a telephone, the noise fills my head. A bug trapped in the spider's web; a shock of electricity racing through me. Voices. Lost words buried and forgotten, but not ignored.

zzzschttccchhssssszz do you hear the bells too? zzschhssssstchzzzzzzzzssz

I could never ignore them.

zzscht we know sszzzztchcck you're not real, are you zzzzsssschstch you're not . . . normal? sshctckzz

They say things to me. Tell me to do things. Sometimes those things aren't very nice.

cktchsszzzshzzzzzzzz just do it

A blinding light.

zztchsshhcktchzz never again sshtchkzzZTCSHTCkSSHHHZZ

A deafening scream. Physical pain. Swirling lethargy and hopeless regret.

NEVER AGAIN ZZTCHKTTSSHHHAAAAHH-NYAAHHAHHH- SCZZHHTCHZZAAHsshhctzzz . . .

The whispers have never stopped.

schtckzzzz you'll be okay zztchssssszztckz -tching over you zzzschhtchsz . . .

I know that they never will.

-X-

This room is too neat. Too clean. It's almost physically painful to not do anything about it. Need to trash it all. Need to make it less uniform. A thick, sterile smell contrasts the brightly painted walls and tucked toy boxes greatly; it's like no one comes here and everything is for show. It's all hiding some darker intent. An uncomfortable stench lies under the cleanliness of it all; tugging at the back of my nose and mouth, stirring unwelcome thoughts that had recently been put to rest. The smell blankets the room with a cold and unfeeling mood that just won't seem to go away.

The cold won't go away.

I hate it.

The cold. The stony feel of the room.

They sat me on a large blue armchair a while ago and left me here. I abandoned it in favour of the corner, and now I am hugging my knees. My goggles are doing their best, but I still feel uncomfortable in this place despite the familiar orange sight they give me. My heart is pounding in my chest but I can't be sure if it sped up, or if I'm only noticing now that it's beating. Occasionally my breath gets caught in my throat and the lack of air makes me shiver and pant. I feel like I should be doing something; like I shouldn't be so still. I need to destroy the room. Make it better. Instead I pick at the seam of my too-big striped shirt with shaky fingers. Feverishly pull my hair. Bite my nails.

There's a feeling in me somewhat akin to fear, bathing me in a clammy sweat. But there's nothing bad about where I am. Nothing extraordinarily out of place or strange.

I'm not sure what makes this room so . . . unwelcoming. It has four walls, rough stencilled patterns of flowers and animals and sky. A soft, baby blue carpeted floor. Some stains mar the otherwise beautiful colour. There is a door opposite me; dark purple. It has a bright smiley face on it, and three flowers with four red and one blue petal each.

But the roof is plain. Like no one had bothered to do anything for it; it's like the only part of the room that was kept as it was before. It makes the entire place look like temporary scenery that could be pulled away with a sweep of the hand.

Other than that, it's a fairly normal in here. Made to look like a cubbyhouse. Made to get children to feel safe and secure so they can play in their own little world without fear.

There's a window, too, and there's nothing on the other side. Not even painted with sky. Takes up a small portion of the wall beside me. Could have been placed there to help the playhouse illusion.

But I know they are watching me.

The black is too artificial to be the night sky; to others it is simply a window that leads to nowhere, framed in the kind of ugly green polka dotted curtains you would find at your great-grandma's house. But I can feel people's eyes on me. Their judgemental stares keep pinned in place.

From that, I can tell that it's not a normal room.

It was made for watching.

Someone is watching me.

My eyes dart from wall to wall, swivelling frantically in their sockets in an attempt to see everything at once. But there's nothing discernable among the blurs and splashes of colour in front of me. That's all I see; the colour. I wish I weren't here. The colour isn't friendly to me. Not my friend. I want to go home.

There's a noise coming from outside. I shiver to a standstill and strain my ears against the white noise that is beginning to stir in my head. I can soon tell that it's muffled voices. I listen harder.

Isolated words were being thrown around; I can only make out the barest minimum of what they are saying.

". . . you sure? . . . know what he . . . -nly available . . . medication . . ."

A pause. The other one spoke, softer than the first. Hesitant. ". . . he'll be okay . . ."

The first voice interrupted the softer one. "You know . . . as well as I . . . experimental—"

"—No experiments! . . . two—" Voice Two sounds frantic.

"—Making progress—" Voice One is defiant. Defensive. I can hear more and more as they raise their volume. They're arguing about something. I have a suspicion that it was about me until it turned to someone else, two other people, possibly like me in some way. Maybe they have done what I have done and are being treated for something.

"—Look at them! They're both deteriorating . . ." the second voice lowered their volume, and I can only hear snippets of sentences that make no sense again.

Another pause. Longer. Voice One has finally given up. ". . . Fine . . . Counts as an experiment, though . . ."

"Fine."

Nobody moves. I don't breathe.

Voice One speaks again, lower this time. Less assertive, more like a confession. "You know what he did to his father. He can't be helped . . . he's just like the others."

I don't hear any more. A warm fog wraps around my head, and I find it hard to see. My breath catches in my lungs and the white noise in the back of my skull is getting louder.

Is Daddy alright?

Did he start breathing again?

What I did...

sctchzzsshhtchzzzz

Did I do what my mind is telling me I did?

zzz goodbye, Mr. Jeevshtck-AAAHH zztchsshhchtk

Be quiet.

ztch we don't need you anymore, Mr. Jeevshtck-AAAHH zztchsshhtch . . .

What did I do? I can never trust... never trust my mind to tell me what's going on. It lies to me too often. The words cry tears of their own. Fight each other to escape . . . The Bugs in my h-head - zztch don't control us ctchsssz – mangle . . . mangle my thoughts. Makes them into what I want to hear, rather than what is in front of me.

Tchzzzshhhztchhhzztckzzz be a good boy zztshckssshhzzz say goodbye to Mr. Jeevshtck-AAAHH for us . . .

No.

ztcsshh goodbye

Shut up. No. Shut up. Just be quiet.

say goodbye, Mail stchzzcktchsshhzzz

I won't. Just shut up! Go away! LEAVE ME ALONE!

Let them go, Mail . . . sshtchkzz follow the bells, Mail sstchzzshzzzctsht

PLEASE!

eeeeecchhkk...

The door creaks open and the Bugs fall in the back of my mind as if drowned in the sudden noise. But I know better than to think they are gone. They're still there, like a hunter invisible in the night, ready to rise in a frenzy again when I need them least.

My eyes dart to the place the sound originates. Roger's head sticks in the room long enough to give me a brief smile. Then he disappears, closing it softly behind him.

A second later the purple door opens wider and a different man enters. He is wearing a sombre grey coat over dark pants, and his perfect teeth flash brightly against caramel skin. Lines of stress and worry crinkle his face; it has the shadow of something darker underneath the friendly expression. He is holding a clipboard loosely in one hand. The other is extended towards me in a friendly gesture.

"Hello, Mail. I am Doctor Caves. Would you have a seat?"

I stay where I am, chin resting on my knees, only my eyes moving. Trailing the unfamiliar man before me through the safety of my tinted goggles.

Eventually he withdraws his hand. Sits on the wooden chair next to the armchair. I wonder vaguely why he chose that one. The soft chair seems more comfortable.

He looks me over once and clears his throat. "Why are you in the corner?" he asks softly. Trying to be nice.

I say nothing because he wants the opposite. Spiteful little me. After a while Doctor Caves gets out of his seat and kneels in front of me so we are eye-level. I am trying to identify which voice was his, but it is impossible. That doesn't stop me from wondering, however. Wondering if Doctor Caves is the one that thinks I can be fixed, or if he wishes to use me as some kind of experiment that has broken the minds of two others.

"Are you going to take off your goggles?" Words lined in something I can't identify.

I shake my head slowly, brows knitted in a frown. The doctor seems slightly pleased for some reason.

"You're not going to talk to me. I can tell. But there is nothing preventing you from listening." I almost laugh. The Bugs are going crazy in the back of my head, and they can cease my hearing quite well when they deem the situation fit. He leans in closer to my face, as if what he says next isn't to be heard by anyone but me. I feel uncomfortable with him being so close. "Mail, I know what you did."

The Bugs flit around in my skull. Make the world around me hard to see. Make it hard to breathe. Hard to think.

"But I don't want anyone else to know, okay?" The voice is muffled like it is being spoken through a wall of glass and water. But I manage to understand through what the Bugs don't want me to hear.

I'm shocked and confused, and it shows clearly on my face. I'm scared, too. This man will hate me for what I did. Roger hated me; I sensed it in him. I lean back further into the wall.

Doctor Caves shakes his head quickly. "No, no! I'm not angry at you. It was... an accident. Right? No one else has to know." He pauses. An expression flits across his face before I can read it. "You can't tell anyone. Not the nurses, not the other occupants. Because they'll treat you different if they know. It's better if they don't know at all."

I stare at him.

He stares back.

I don't have to be different? Nobody has to know?

I can't help but think that this is the experiment Voice One was talking about. Not letting anyone else know about what someone has done. But when has lying helped anyone?

Shouldn't people always tell the truth?

But I can't help but wonder.

The Bugs are angry. Furiously bashing the walls of my mind, trying to prevent me from asking the question that is on my tongue and in my mind.

Doctor Caves sighs heavily. He thinks I'm unresponsive. Thinks I can't understand what he's saying. He is about to walk away.

But I have to know.

I open my mouth; the slight movement is caught by the Doctor's peripheral vision. He turns to face me, entire attention focused on me. He gives me a friendly smile that is meant to urge me to continue. I just think it is creepy.

I am about to ask who else. Who else has done what I have done, and who else has been subjected to these experiments. It is unlikely that these questions will be answered, but I still want to know. I need to know . . . to see what will become of me in this place.

I want to meet them. If they're still alive.

The bugs don't want me to know. The Doctor doesn't want me to know. But that only makes me more determined to find out.

The door slams open before I can wrap my tongue around the words. A picture frame with a child's finger painting rattles against the wall, chipping the cheap paint.

A middle-aged nurse in a classic white dress. She looks like she might have been attractive once; if it weren't for the look of lingering horror on her face, she still might be. But then again, maybe not. Underlying her lined face was something deep. Set into her soul long ago and has been eating away at her very being for the years she had been working in this place.

Her voice is high and frantic. "Gabriel, she's done it." Except it isn't some sort of praise. Someone has done something no one had wanted her to do.

Doctor Caves gets to his feet. "What!?"

"A . . . Askew . . . She found the shoelaces. She's . . ." The nurse's voice dies and she can't seem to make herself continue. "Come quickly. And, for god's sake, get the kid out of here! Make sure he doesn't see." And she disappears out the door, joining the frenzy of doctors in the hall.

Doctor Caves takes my hand. I flinch at the contact; I hadn't realised that he had come so close again. He helps me to my feet and leads me outside, speaking all the while. "Come on, Mail. This way. Out of the area. Just . . ." He gasps once, and my eyes follow his.

Rather than finishing, he clamps a strong hand over my eyes. But not before I glimpse the body.

"You didn't say she was so close!"

"I told you to take the kid away!"

Arguing voices fall upon deaf ears. All I can see in my mind's eye is the image of the girl.

The room is much like the one I had just been in. I only saw it through the doorframe for a second before my vision was obscured. But I saw enough. Long black hair obscured the person's face, but it was certain that her feet weren't touching the floor. A chair was lying on its side underneath her. She was suspended in midair by a thin rope strung around her neck.

-X-

I am being led past doors in a long hall. The walls are painted brightly, like the rooms are. I'm beginning to think that this entire place is made to look like a maze of cubby houses in a carnival. One of those inescapable ones that you need to scream for staff to lead you out of because it's impossible to find your own way. And even then, they have a map. This place is larger than it looks on the outside; the sheer length of the hall is proof of that. And I'm sure it goes even further.

Doors are coloured. Went left after three birds. Straight ahead, after the rainbow. If we see the yellow smiley face, we've gone too far.

The smiley stares back at me, painted eyes vacantly staring at everything in front of it, yet I have a feeling it absorbs more than one might think. Doctor Caves cusses. Glances at me and apologises for his foul language. Takes my hand again and we're going back.

The Bugs scream at me, instantly massed and ready for a assault on my mind. Stirred so suddenly, like when you step on the sea floor at the beach and the thick sand swirls in front of your eyes in a second. They want me to go away from this place in the hall before . . . I'm not sure what. But they want me to go away.

We pass a room that I cannot forget. A room that I know I will revisit soon.

It's becoming hard to breathe again as the Bugs crash into the side of my skull. I've never felt them so strong before. Something strange is happening to excite them. They're bashing against my mind so much it's almost painful.

The room has no door. Just bars, like in a jail cell. The walls are solid to allow the necessary privacy for the occupant. There's a digital lock the size of my hand where the handle should be.

There are a lot of people in there. Doctors and nurses holding someone back, yelling at the person and each other. Telling everyone to calm down while losing their own heads.

That person tears through the crowd and clutches onto the bars of his semi-unique cage. His face is horror-stricken and frantic. Tears make tracks through the filth on his face and they won't stop flowing. Jet-black hair sticking out at odd angles around a delicate yet grimy face, and eyes . . .

He can't be more then fourteen, yet those eyes are infinitely deep. Ageless. Piercing. I can't tell if they're a deep grey or blood red. It looks like it changes in the light, catching at the right angle makes them flit back and forth from the colours. They shine like a globe, like the sun, yet dead inside.

His gaze meets mine, and I feel like I'm falling into a pit with no end. He has lost something; that much is obvious. But what is lost to him is waiting for him at the bottom. At the end of eternity. He wants to go to it, but instead he falls as well . . .

Hands are grabbing. People hissing like animals. The screams of children, screams of people that hurt them. Blood and pain and regret.

Static. Voices. Bugs. Call it what you like. But I feel that in there, too. In the depthless hole that is his mind.

A hellish nightmare. I can see it in his eyes; this boy has been through too much for him to ever recover. His face s the picture of grief itself, his mind screwed up and spat out and pissed on by some horrible being that wishes nothing but terror and ripping agony on others. Something was broken inside of him.

Was it the suicidal girl that did so much damage? Was he one of the ones Doctor Caves experimented on? Was she?

. . . I know he is one of the two I am looking for. One that has felt the power of life and death, had blood on their hands. I'm not sure how, but I can feel it somewhere in the back of my mind. In a place the Bugs haven't tainted yet. So that he has been treated by Doctor Caves.

One down, one to go.

I am dragged away by said man, and I can feel the boy's horrible gaze on my back as I go, burning a hole n my mind. The Bugs flee from the burn of his stare. The Doctor beside me is apologising once again for all the troubles today.

Troubles.

The understatement of the century.

The Bugs had found some sort of new power; something I can feel is not benevolent. I had seen a girl hanging herself with a shoelace. And I had taken a trip to Hell and back in the eyes of a boy at breaking point that hears the Bugs too.