"I'm sorry," Dan whispered. Phil's eyes fluttered open again.
"Me too." His phone went off, the third time that morning.
"Do you have to go?" Dan asked, his voice bordering on whining. Phil nodded- he'd already pressed snooze twice.
"Yeah."
"You could quit." His mouth curved into a smile.
"I wish I could." Phil had to work today. Though he understood why it was necessary, Dan wasn't looking forward to spending another day alone.
Phil got out of bed. Dan recoiled from the cold air, bundling his duvet around him more tightly. Phil had come to his room last night, much to his relief. He didn't want to fight with Phil. He liked this- whatever 'this' was.
Dan must've dozed off, because the next thing he knew was that Phil was kneeling beside his bed so that they were at eye level, dressed and ready for work. He reached over to brush Dan's fringe away from his eyes.
"When I get back we'll do whatever you want. I'll bring you something for lunch, and it'll be just you and me." He said softly. "That sound good?"
"Sounds great." Dan said with a yawn. He blinked, and they were content to just sit there like that, gazing into each other's eyes. Phil's phone buzzed, rudely reminding him that he was in danger of being late. Dan pulled his duvet to his chin, hiding a shy smile.
"I should go."
"Okay."
"Good bye."
"Bye."
"Be back soon." He said, and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. He was out the door before Dan could react.
It was then that Dan felt it. An odd sense of dread clawing its way up his spine, chilling him to the bone and raising goosebumps on his skin. Almost as if he could sense some kind of impending doom. For a second he nearly jumped out of bed and ran after Phil. His stomach was twisting in that all-too-familiar way, a premonition that something was wrong. That he needed to be with Phil. He'll be fine,Dan told himself irritably as he rolled over, ready to go back to sleep. Stop making up excuses to get excited. Phil is fine. He's safe.
But that feeling...
Everything's fine.
Thunder rolled in the distance, almost blocking out the sound of his heart threatening to give out. Phil strained his ears, listening. He could hear it. Footsteps, heavy and slow. Searching. For him. Coming closer and closer to the bin he was crouched behind, hiding. Though he was afraid to even move, Phil fumbled for his mobile, only to find the pocket empty. He vaguely recalled someone bumping into him that morning- his phone had been stolen. Phil felt his heart skip a beat. What should he do? Risking a glance between the bin and the wall, he could see the dark figure coming closer.
On the more crowded streets, he hadn't noticed, but when he was halfway home it had begun to drizzle. Nearly everyone had gone indoors, except for Phil, who didn't really care if he got a little wet. He'd had a long morning, and all he wanted was to go home and be with Dan. He'd get there faster if he just walked through the storm. He wasn't that far, anyway.
Out of nowhere, someone had grabbed him by his hair and had shoved him face-first into a wall. Dazed, he'd somehow managed to get free, running for all he was worth, and now he was here, hiding behind a bin. With everyone else seeking shelter indoors, Phil could only pray someone had seen something, that they'd come to his rescue.
Heavy boots thudded closer. Phil shrank back from the ally, brushing against something. A glass bottle clinked dangerously against the asphalt. In a moment of desperation Phil grabbed it. What to do, what should he do? In movies and books people used broken bottles to stab people. Phil cringed; he couldn't do that. Instead he settled for the next best thing- a distraction.
Back pressed to the bin, Phil threw the bottle as hard as he could. He heard the glass shatter, and not a second later the dark figure that had followed him ran past his hiding place.
Several things happened at once. Phil jumped up, and in his haste to get away knocked over the bin. The dark figure turned toward him, realizing he'd been tricked. His assailant darted forward, arm over his head. A flash of lightning lit up the sky, glinting off a metal object clenched firmly in his fist. Phil opened his mouth to scream, beg, something-
CRACK! CRACK!
The stranger dropped to the ground like a stone. Scrambling away from the body, Phil watched in silent horror as another lightning strike revealed a growing puddle of blood, slowly pooling underneath the stranger.
"Sir, are you alright?" Phil looked up to see a man starting toward him, gun still drawn. His vision was starting to blur, a strange, cold feeling crawling up his neck. The world dipped and swayed, bringing on a wave of nausea. Phil felt someone take his arm. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to sit down."
"I...he..."
"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
"He...my head..." For the life of him Phil couldn't put together a coherent sentence. His mind was whirling, his stomach threatening to do the same. What just happened?
The man was talking to him, but though he was standing less than a foot away from him, Phil could barely hear him. It sounded as if he was down a tunnel, and the other man was at the distant end, his voice muffled and distant. Something about an ambulance. Sitting down. Putting his head between his legs. Numbly, he obeyed, sitting down in the alley. He willed himself not to notice the blood mixing with the rain.
"Please, you have to let me see him!" Dan pleaded. The nurse gave him a sympathetic look.
"I'm sorry, sir, but the police aren't allowing anyone to visit Mr. Lester until they've had the chance to talk to him personally."
"You don't understand, I have to see him." Dan stressed. "I'm his flatmate, I'm his emergency contact!" When she offered no other response, Dan sighed. "Can't you at least tell him I'm here?" She hesitated, thinking it over, before she finally nodded yes.
"Please have a seat, and I'll call you as soon as they'll allow you in. I'll go tell him now."
"Thank you," Dan said wearily. She walked away, leaving him to himself.
Dan dropped onto the stiff couch, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands. He hated hospitals, from the curt staff to the diseases he'd probably picked up just from signing his name on a visitor's sheet, but more than anything else he hated the smell. The pseudoclean smell of bleach that clung to the hair, clothes and skin of any and all who entered. It made him remember every single time he'd ever been to the hospital before. He hated it.
How could this have happened? To Phil, of all people? Phil was a good person. He could never do anything to deserve this. Dan had been making lunch when the hospital had called him. He'd been waiting for the door to swing open, for Phil to come home so they could spend the day together. And now...he'd known, somehow. That gut-wrenching feeling from that morning had returned out of nowhere. It had to be Phil. It just had to be. Unfortunately, he was right. Since when had he developed a sixth sense about these things? Around the same time I started exercising, probably.
Footsteps on linoleum pulled him from his thoughts.
"And I don't suppose you'd know anything about this." Dan looked up to see Officer Warren standing over him. He shook his head.
"No, I was at home. Is he alright? What happened?" The officer held up a hand.
"He's a little bruised and quite shaken up, but he'll be alright. The man that attacked him was being followed by an undercover officer. Luckily for your friend." Dan shuddered. What if no one had been there? "Mr. Howell,I know that this must be a stressful time for you, but I have a few questions I'd like to ask you." Dan shrugged wearily.
"I'm not going anywhere." Officer Warren sat down next to him, laying the folder he was carrying on his lap.
"Mr. Howell, I'm about to show you a picture of the man who attacked Mr. Lester. He was DOA. Do you understand what that means?"
"Yes." Dead on arrival. Good riddance. Warren held out the picture.
Dark, soulless eyes stared up at him from the file. The picture had been taken after a previous arrest, and Dan surprised a shudder at the malicious glint in those eyes. By reflex his eyes went to the man's fist, expecting to see a heavy ring. There was only a pale patch of skin where the ring would've been. In his ears were gauges big enough to fit a pencil.
"Do you recognize this man?"
"No," Dan answered, even as a little voice in his head said yes. He could still hear his voice, taunting him, mocking him. He can barely walk.
He should speak up, tell the truth. He wanted to. Phil had been attacked by this man, by one of the men from his terrible nightmares, and Dan just knew it was somehow his fault. How could this be coincidence? And didn't Warren say there were others out there? Dan looked up from the picture. "No, I don't. Who is he?"
"He was a drug trafficker out on parole. His name is Vincent Carrillo, age thirty two. Given his history, I doubt he'd risk his parole just to nick someone's phone. Mr. Howell, does your friend have a drug problem?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere. Phil, using drugs?
"Of course not," Dan sputtered. "He'd never."
"Do you?"
"No." Another appraising look.
"If he'd been arrested, he'd have been sitting pretty with the rest of his mates by now." Dan's ears perked up.
"There were more of them?"
"Not with him, but we've been keeping tabs on this one. He belongs to a gang that was arrested for drug trafficking a few months back." That feeling again. That god-awful sensation that his memory was trying to surface, attempting to claw it's way to the forefront of his mind.
"Oh?" he commented, not wanting to seem interested. Warren nodded absently.
"Few of 'em got away. Got several in costody, but we need solid evidence before we can put them away. This one would've gotten booked for sure, thanks to what he did to your friend." He glanced at Dan. It was odd to him. Out of everyone in London, his suspect had to target Dan's flatmate. What were the chances? "He's got a record a mile long, but he's never mugged anyone before. Either this was his first attempt, or just the first time he'd been caught. But when our officer found your friend, his wallet was still on him, though no mobile was found. I'm assuming he had one?" Dan nodded.
"He had it when he left." Officer Warren nodded, then pulled a memo pad out of the pocket of his shirt.
"And what about your memories? Anything new?" Dan shook his head. He didn't want to tell anyone about the nightmares, especially now. Or the weird things he kept finding in his bedroom, for that matter.
"No. Nothing real. Fake things, things that couldn't have happened and don't make sense."
"Like?"
"Going places I've never been, doing things with my friends that they don't remember doing, getting a tattoo that I don't have."
"And you've talked to someone about this?"
"My friends."
"Why not a doctor?"
"When you sent me to the hospital after my friends took me to the police, I talked to someone there. It's normal." He left out that it wasn't exactly a doctor that told him that. Officer Warren frowned, but said nothing more.
"So far we haven't found anything that might shed any light on what happened to you, Mr. Howell. No financial issues, before this we didn't have your name on any records at the station, nothing. So it looks like you're free to go. But if anything comes up, come talk to me." Dan nodded his head, his mind going a million places at once. He was about to ask about Vincent's 'mates' when a nurse walked into the waiting room.
"The police are done talking with Mr. Lester. He's resting, but you can see him now. He asked for you." Dan jumped up.
"Where is he?"
The nurse led him to one of the many rooms, leaving him with an encouraging smile and a reminder to call her back if Phil needed anything. When Dan tapped on the door, he heard Phil call out, "Come in." He pushed the door open, and froze.
The entire right side of his face was bruised, black and blue splotches covering normally alabaster skin. His cheek was scraped as well, and there was dried blood around his swollen eye. The other one opened, and even in this pathetic state he offered a smile.
"Hey you." Dan sat down next to the bed, gripping one of Phil's hands in both of his.
"Oh god, Phil," he mumbled. The words 'I'm so sorry' were on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them. "I should've gone with you. What the heck happened?" Phil shook his head, then cringed.
"Ow. I don't know. Everything happened so fast. He slammed my head into a wall." He winced. "I definitely remember that." Dan ran his thumb over the back of Phil's hand in small circles. Phil's eyes were unfocused, drifting from the wall to Dan and back again. Did they give him something for the pain? Was he that badly hurt? Or was Phil in shock? "Weird he didn't take my wallet, though. Just my phone." Phil sounded confused. Anyone else would've been. But to Dan, this presented panic, not curiosity. There was something nagging him at the back of his mind, something that wanted to run far, far away.
This wasn't just a mugging. The man had stolen Phil's phone before attacking him. Had he wanted Phil's wallet, he could've taken it, easily. There was no need for a man out on parole to risk being caught attacking someone. He'd been out to kill Phil, Dan was sure of it. The thought made him tremble.
"Dan?" Phil's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Are you okay?" He wanted to reassure his friend. He wanted to pretend he was fine, because Phil was the one in hospital, not him. Now wasn't the time to fall apart. He needed to be strong for Phil.
He couldn't help it. Dan laid his head on Phil's leg, and cried.
Dan didn't know whether Phil was in too much pain to notice his unusual silence, or if he had noticed and was just not mentioning it. Then again, he could also just be in shock from the whole ordeal. After all, he'd seen someone die today. That would leave anyone upset, and Phil was more sensitive than most people. Either way, the cab ride back to the flat was in deafening silence. Once they got home, all Phil wanted to do was take a shower, so while he was doing that Dan set about cleaning up the mess he'd abandon in the kitchen. They both ended up in Phil's bed again, and to Dan's surprise Phil drifted off quickly, his arm clasped loosely around Dan's waist.
Dan knew that if Phil woke up he'd probably want him there beside him, but he couldn't stay. For one thing it was near impossible to get comfortable tonight, which was odd because usually he could just curl up next to Phil and that was it. Maybe it had something to do with his anxious mind. He couldn't stop thinking- every time he closed his eyes he saw the mugshot, like a screencap from his nightmare. Every little noise was someone trying to sneak up the stairs. His heart beat a little faster at every pause between Phil's exhaling and inhaling. He was wired- there was no way he could sleep. He was fighting the urge to toss and turn, at the risk of waking up his flatmate. Guilt clenched his gut, and his eyes sprung open, staring listlessly into the dark void that was Phil's ceiling.
So when he was sure Phil was asleep, Dan carefully climbed out of bed, tiptoeing back to his room. Once the door was firmly shut, Dan stuffed some of the clothes lying about into the space between the door and the floor, then turned on the light. He sat down on his bed, head in his hands.
This was no coincidence, no accident. Phil had been specifically attacked, almost killed, and Dan knew he had something to do with it, but what? What had he done? What had he done wrong? Phil had been alone for three years and nothing like this had happened, so why now? Was Gauges somehow connected to Dan's amnesia? His eyes burned, tears blurring his vision. He grabbed a pillow and clutched it to his chest to muffle the sound of his sniffling. Dan was scared. He had no idea what had happened or what to do, only that something was very wrong, and that it was his fault. He didn't even know why- only that he felt it was. What to do, what to do...police? Leave, and hope the trouble followed him? That seemed like the best bet, but where could he go? He couldn't go to his family, not at the risk of putting them in danger. What could he do?
Dan laid down and switched off his lamp, content with the glow from the fairy lights. Little by little, his eyes drifted shut. Somehow, by some miracle, he fell asleep.
Dan knew he was dreaming. Maybe it was the way his vision was just slightly blurry, like he was looking through a dirty window, and he couldn't really focus on anything. Unlike any dream he'd had before, though, he was hyper aware of what was happening, and try as he might he couldn't move. It was weird- he could see, hear, and feel what was going on, but had no control over his body. As if he were just a spectator.
Graffiti and broken tile. A single lamp hanging overhead, the flickering bulb casting yellow light on the walls. Voices he only sort of recognized. He knew where he was. The abandon warehouse he'd found the other day, except right now it wasn't so abandon.
They were surrounding him. Everything hurt, but he was blocking out the pain. He'd grown accustomed to it. Someone kicked him in the ribs, hard, and then finally the assault was over. He heard footsteps as people shuffled out of the room, and then he was alone. His head hurt, a throbbing pain just behind his eyes. Dan knew he needed to move, needed to get up, but he was so tired. He could fall asleep right here, and no one would notice him. Just as he was about to pass out, he heard someone run down the hall.
"Dan?! Dan, are you here? Dan!" That voice. He knew that voice. Dan wanted to call out, but his body wouldn't obey. A muffled moan was all he could do. The footsteps got closer. "Where are you?! Dan-!" The footsteps froze in the doorway. "Oh my god." Footsteps approached him, and he felt someone moving him, lifting his shoulders from the floor and into their lap. "Dan? Dan, say something," the voice hissed urgently. All Dan wanted to do was go to sleep. A hand caught in his hair, pulling hard in an effort to keep him wake. "Talk to me." Slowly, he opened his eyes to see the blonde man sitting next to him, holding him up- green eyes wild with fear. Dan tried to speak, but instead coughed. Blood spattered the other man's shirt, but he ignored it.
"L-Liam?"
"I'm here. Hang on, okay?" The man- Liam, apparently- pulled Dan's arm around his shoulders and stood up. The room, no the whole bloody world was spinning.
"Oh god-"
"It's okay. You're gonna be alright."
"I'm gonna be sick."
"We have to go." The urgency in his voice terrified Dan. Something was wrong. Liam was never scared. He nodded, then groaned.
"'Kay." He limped along beside the other man, and the rest of the way was a blur of lights and color. Finally, Liam was helping him to sit on something soft. Turning his head, Dan spotted the familiar neon sign across the street, glowing through the broken blinds. They were home.
"How many fingers?" Liam asked as he held up his hand. Dan blinked.
"…Three?"
"Christ." He could just barely make out the blonde leaving the dark room. "Stay awake, and don't move."
"Hmm." But the pillow was so soft…
"Talk to me. Tell me about Manchester."
"I liked it there. I knew where everything was, it was nice."
"Why'd you leave?" The fridge door opened and shut.
"University. Moved closer."
"How long were you there?" He knew all this, of course.
"I'm tired."
"Dan? Dan don't fall asleep, this is important." Liam was back in the room, dabbing at his head with something cold. It stung, badly, and Dan realized he was probably bleeding. "Tell me, uh, tell me about…Phil! Talk about Phil, okay? How'd you meet him?" At the mention of Phil's name, his vision became clearer. He was able to push away the urge to sleep. When he spoke his speech wasn't slurred.
"Party. Friend introduced us." A sharp pain shot through him, for once having nothing to do with his physical state. Phil's oddly colored eyes, the way he covered his mouth when he laughed, his weird animal noises. Silly, kind, amazing Phil. "He hates cheese."
"You hate tomatoes."
"Well yeah but who could hate cheese?"
"Apparently he does."
"Weirdo." Llama and lion hats, Vidcon and Playlist Live, hanging out with Chris and PJ. Making videos together. Walking in on Phil pigging out on Dan's cereal. Watching animae together. Phil screaming his name and freezing cold water-
"Dan?" The brunette blinked, realizing he had tears running down his face. It felt like a lifetime ago. And it still hurt.
"Sorry," he whispered back.
"I'll wake you up in a little bit, alright?" Dan mumbled a response, all too glad to let sleep overcome him. If he was lucky, maybe he'd see Phil in his dreams…
He wasn't sure how long it had been. Liam had woken him up what he would assume was every two hours since they'd gotten back, but through the window the sky was tinged with the blue-gray of predawn. Liam was lying next to him, sound asleep. Dan was still exhausted, and had no idea why he was awake. Sleep was nice. Sleep was good.
Then he heard it. There was a noise. Loud enough he could pick it out, but faint enough that he wondered how it had woken him up. A scratching sound, almost like when they'd had rats that one time. Dan sat up on the bed, blinking to clear his eyes. Was it mice? No...it was different. More defined. Dan stood up, moving toward the sound. It wasn't in the bedroom. Not the kitchen.
The lounge. The door. The lock.
Dan bolted back into the bedroom, clamping his hand over Liam's mouth. Green eyes sprang open, hand going for the gun hidden between the headboard and the wall.
"Shamrock." Dan hissed. Liam froze. Dan moved for the window, and they'd just managed to get it open when the lock in the door clicked open. Dan was out first, then Liam. Dropping to the roof one floor below. Scrambling down a drainage pipe and a fence. Sprinting down an alley. A hanging flower pot shattered right next to Dan's head.
They ran. Dan struggled to keep his balance, staying right on Liam's tail. The wove between streets, hopped fences, dodged through traffic, but still their pursuers kept up. Liam led him behind a shady restaurant, and they climbed a mountain of wooden pallets to get to the roof. Not missing a beat, they darted across, and over the adjacent building.
Early morning dew slicked the tiles. He slipped. His hands were grasping madly for a hold, and he was sliding.
"Dan!" Green Eyes grabbed at him, but it was too late. He was falling. His head met the ground with a sickening thud. The world was spinning, whirling, blurring, and then...nothing.
CRACK.
"Liam!"
Dan jolted awake, only to be met with a splitting headache. His breath came in short gasps, his hair and skin damp with sweat, and he couldn't care less because he remembered. It was flooding back, every moment he'd lost suddenly back in place, the questions he'd been so tortured by gone, the answers at his fingertips. He remembered everything.
And he was terrified.
A/N: Dun dun DUN. 0.0 Okay guys, do you wanna know what the ever loving fluff is going on, or charge ahead with the plot?
Sorry I've been MIA for so long, a lot's happened to me lately. I've got some updates for my series, but they probably won't be finished for awhile. Reviews are love- gimme some!
And special thanks to LittleLizard13 for the shout out in her last chapter of 'Obsession', can't wait for the next one! Both our mysteries are drawing to a close...
