Chapter Seven.

The sound of a banging door jolted Bodie from his restless sleep, leaving him at once wishing that it hadn't.

He hadn't thought it would be possible to feel worse when he'd woken but he did. His eyes seemed sealed shut in protest and his head and limbs felt like lead weights. Everything ached, tingles of pain lacing across his fiery skin. Still he shivered, the room seeming like an igloo as he lay in his thin shirt. He could feel his swollen throat as he breathed in through his mouth, the only part of his head that didn't seem blocked, every breath coming out sharp and ragged.

He frowned, had he even shut the front door when he'd staggered in? Perhaps it was just the wind.

That idea was quickly forgotten at the sound of hushed voices, raising slightly as they reached the threshold of the room itself, upon which they seemed to die down.

"He's got a gun," someone unknown hissed.

"Well then get rid of it," another voice commanded firmly.

Bodie listened in a strange parallel land where the part of his brain that was screaming 'danger' was being drowned out by strange twisting shapes and bright swirling colours. He wasn't even sure that he was properly awake, not helped by the fact that his head seemed to be grappling with the surreal fact that he felt like he was floating above the sheets. Which he doubted he was.

He could feel hands tracing across his back, and he instinctively flinched against the sharp contact. He heard the dull thud of his holster falling onto the bed and winced as the straps were pulled roughly across his skin and dumped onto the floor.

Eventually the rest of his brain managed to catch up with the colourful fever-world and he managed to briefly grasp part of the situation, forcing his eyes open and taking in a deep rasping breath,

"Who're you," he mumbled groggily, not entirely sure if the sentence had made sense.

No one answered him, although hands continued to search him roughly.

"Nothing else," the first voice reported back.

"Good," replied the second, "Get the others, we'll need help getting him to the car."

There was a brief pause.

"He'll be okay won't he?"

The question was followed by a derisive snort, devoid of any sort of answer.

As a set of footsteps retreated from the bedroom Bodie tried again, forcing himself to roll onto his back, eliciting more grimacing and a moan of pain.

As he stared up towards the ceiling a fuzzy figure came into view looming over him, every last feature obscured by his blurred vision and the semi-darkness of the room. As he tried hard to focus, the figure let loose a dry laugh of amusement. He crossed to the curtains, flinging them open abruptly.

Bodie hissed in shock, raising his arms as quickly as he could to block the blinding light, unable to stop the brightness from piercing straight into his head.

"You're going to come with us," the figure answered him eventually, as more footsteps padded into the room, "And don't worry," he continued darkly, "We'll be perfect hosts."

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Oh dear! I'm just too mean! Although I suppose it's not his fault he doesn't know what's happening, flu-enduced hallucinations (speaking from experience) are very, very strange things! The 'floating' was a symptom of mine too! I go all out I'm going to get ill, no point fussing around with half-measures! Lol!