Someone was hammering away inside his head, and it hurt. The pain was crippling him, and he yelled out, shouting that they had to stop, that they were breaking the wall, and if they broke it, he would be broken...

But they wouldn't listen.

They just kept swinging at it, the stocks of their rifles slamming again and again at the surface, and it was crumbling... oh god, it was crumbling...

And one of them turned and stared at him, its face featureless save for the black pits of its eyes, and opened its mouth and said,

"Son. Wake up now."

And he blinked, and woke.

He groaned, and tried to cradle his pounding skull, but his arms were stuck in something, held fast by something tight around his wrists. He struggled, not understanding who had him, or where he was, because everything was dark.

Someone had his head, someone was pushing his head down, on something soft... a bed? Had to be... why were they doing that? Where was he?!

Thrashing, he started to yell out, and someone pressed down over his shoulder, gentle but firm.

"Son," the voice came again, "be quiet now, you're alright, I'm not trying to hurt you."

That voice. Memory tickled his brain, but he couldn't quite place it, give it a name or a shape. Things were still sliding around loose in his head. He just knew the voice was familiar.

So he stopped struggling, and eased back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with the efforts of his fear.

"That's it son, just relax..." The voice soothed, and he heard the squeak of an old metal chair as the man next to him shifted slightly.

"Who..." he said with just air, as no voice came from his throat. He swallowed hard and groaned again as the pounding of his head grew worse.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," the man said, "What's your name?"

He turned his head to face the voice, and winced at the motion. "I'm..." Then he stopped, because nothing presented itself as an answer. He went searching then for it, but found a wall instead, and pressing at it made his head flare with a violent hurt. Something wet trickled down over his lips.

"Oh dear... just a moment, you've got yourself a nosebleed."

The chair squeaked again, and the sound of scratchy footsteps on a hard floor followed. They returned and the sudden contact of something against his face made him jerk back, startled.

"Easy... hold on, let me take this off," the man said, and the darkness started to lighten. "I was trying to ease the swelling."

As the cloth wrapped icepack was removed, he blinked up rapidly at the pale bluish light of a caged fluorescent lamp above his head, then took in the rest of the room. It was spare of clutter, with walls, ceiling and floor of poured concrete. Against the adjacent wall, sitting next to the door, was a row of shelves stacked with medical supplies.

His gaze drifted then to the old man standing next to the bed. Short and stooped, his hair was white and closely cut, and thick grey eyebrows floated over small and clouded grey eyes. The lines in his face spoke of deep thought and a heavy share of sadness.

Memory snapped and locked into place. This man... he knew this man. He... knew this place! He was in the bunker, in the hospital...

"Doc?" he whispered, a little uncertainly. "Doc Adams?"

He'd grown so old? Had he been gone that long?

The doctor's eyes grew wide in surprise, but the man said nothing. Had the doc forgotten who he was?

"Doc, it's me... Caleb!" he cried excitedly. "I made it back!" With a wide grin on his face, he reached forward to grasp the old man's hands, but his arms were stopped short.

Confused, he looked down at himself. He was lying on a thin hospital bed, and his wrists were bound in padded restraints.

"Why..." he mumbled, and tugged on them hard. They were firmly buckled and held him fast.

Frowning, he looked up at the man, who was watching him carefully, brows drawn down deep.

"Doc, why am I tied up?" he asked, struggling with them again. "I don't understand? Did I do something wrong?"

He thought back hard, trying to find the reason for this, for being here, for being tied up. But his mind was a mess. What was the last thing he'd done? He'd been talking to his brother. He'd been a little... frantic.

"Joshua hit me!" he yelled suddenly, indignantly, and shook his head slowly. "He didn't see me right." His eyes sought the old man's then, pleading. "But you do, don't you doc?"

Caleb stared at the man who'd been so good to him, who he'd come to see as a father figure, almost more so than his real father, though he'd never ever let his dad hear that. His heart sank. The doc was giving him the same look Joshua had, only... less filled with spite, more drawn in confusion.

Sighing, Caleb let his head fall back, wincing as it flared in a mighty pain. "You don't. I can see it in your eyes. You don't recognize me." His heart clenched, and he turned away, suddenly overcome with a deep sadness, and not wanting the doc to see.

"I don't understand..." he said quietly. "I beat death. The Lord's brought me back home, but no-one can see me right. It's like I'm a stranger in my own home."

As he wrestled with the lead settling in his chest, wrestled with a throat growing tight with tears, he felt suddenly the warm, coarse hand of the doctor's patting his own.

Surprised, he turned to look at the man. The smile the doctor was wearing was thin.

"Son, you sure sound like Caleb," he said quietly. "Tell me, what happened to you? How'd you get here?"

"I am Caleb, doc.. I am," he sighed. "And it's a long story."

"I'd like to hear it, boy," the man answered, crossing his arms.

Caleb released another sigh, heavier than the last, and nodded slowly.

"I made it to that city with the money you gave me."

The doctor blinked at his words.

"It was hard," he continued, looking at the concrete wall across from his bed. "People were hard in the city. Not like dad... a different hardness. Like a wall, everyone was behind their own wall, and I couldn't really reach anyone. Couldn't break through anywhere. Couldn't get a job." He snorted and looked back at Adams. "You had to have something on paper, and phone numbers for references, and I had none of that. I had nothing." His gaze returned to the wall. "Your money went quick. I followed some kids who lived between shelters and in tunnels and in old building basements. That felt a little like home, odd enough."

"Caleb..." the old man whispered.

A tear fell down Caleb's cheek and he scowled, unable to wipe it away. "Something happened then doc... something terrible. There were people who... they looked dead. They were dead, they did terrible things..."

Adams nodded. "I know of them, boy."

Caleb shifted in bed, feeling his body starting to tighten in fear again. Not liking that at all. He didn't want to relive that again. Couldn't.

"What happened?" the doctor asked, and Caleb scowled.

"I managed to keep clear of them for a long time. We knew secret ways that nobody else knew, we knew the best places to hide, secure places you could keep watch from. They smelled us, but they couldn't get to us. And we knew where to get food, the places we'd stolen from before..." His eyes fell. "I'm sorry doc, but I did bad things in the city. I had to... I..."

The doctor patted his hand again. "It's okay now, you tell me what happened."

With a heavy breath, Caleb squirmed in the bed, wishing he was free of the restraints, wishing he didn't have to remember.

"I was... dumb," he said quietly. "I was too slow getting out of an old apartment complex we'd been through a couple of times that had some great stuff. I'd found some photos, got all caught up in them, they'd been twins too, see?" He glanced at the doctor, then shrugged. "Made me miss Josh real bad, made me slow, made me dumb. I got back out on the street, and I wasn't thinking right, my head was back here..."

He swallowed. "I took a wrong turn. I ended up in an alleyway that didn't go nowhere. And... I... he..." He swallowed again.

"He?"

Caleb nodded, his heart starting to pound in his chest. "The demon. The dead kid. He caught me. He killed me." His eyes swiveled to the doctor. "It hurt, doc... it hurt bad to die."

The doc's hand slid from Caleb's, fast, as the man's eyes went wide with shock.

Caleb frowned down at his hand, missing the contact. Not blaming the doc though, 'cause what else could you do, someone tells you they died?

"He ate... my thoughts," he continued, looking at the wall again, looking through it. "Ate them all up. But... I came back... next thing I know... I'm at my old campsite, the one up the mountain Josh and I made? Felt him trying to take me again, but I fought him. The cross kept him away. I need that cross back doc. Can you get it for me?"

The doctor stared at him, his face drawn in a terrible sadness. Looking away, he walked over to the metal chair, sitting on it heavily before leaning forward into his hands. "Oh Caleb... my boy... I never should have let you go."

Caleb stared at the doctor. The man wasn't looking at him, hadn't looked at him when he'd talked just then. It was as if he wasn't there.

"Doc, I don't blame you," he said, trying to make him feel better. "Wasn't your fault."

Doc Adams didn't say anything for a moment, didn't respond, didn't look his way.

Then his eyes rose to meet Caleb's, and Caleb felt an anger there he'd never felt before from the man.

"I could blame you though, son, couldn't I," the man said in a low voice.

The words hit Caleb strange, and he didn't know what to say for a moment. What did he mean? That he could blame Caleb for leaving? Was that it?

"I... I guess it was my fault I left. I'm sorry doc, but I thought you said-"

"Stop it boy!" the man snapped, getting to his feet so sudden Caleb jerked back against his restraints. "You just stop pretending. Why have you come here? The dead get dealt with quick in this place, don't matter if you're breathing now or not, and acting like Samuel's kin won't save you. So why are you here?!"

Caleb felt as if he'd been slapped. The doctor's voice, the anger rolling off of him made his stomach churn, and he realized that Doc Adams didn't believe him at all.

"But doc..." he cried, his throat growing tight again, "I am Caleb, I'm not-"

The doctor made an aggravated sound, interrupting him. "You come here out of guilt? Looking for redemption? There's none to be found here boy, unless you feel it comes with a painful death. That's all the judged get here, death by the sun and the crow, a death for all to see, long and slow." The man shook his head, and the anger fell from him all of a sudden, his shoulders slumping forward as he approached the bed. When he spoke, his voice was low, as if he didn't want to be overheard. "You may have killed Caleb, but I wouldn't wish their judgement on you. You want, I can give you a quick exit right now, something in a needle that'd be fast and gentle."

Caleb's mouth fell open as his heart began to race, and he pulled away from the doctor, desperately tugging at his restraints once again. "You've... lost your mind... you stay away from me!" He looked over at the doorway then, frantic. "Josh! Dad!"

"I've lost my mind?" the doctor echoed with a short bark of a laugh. "Seems you've lost command of yours too boy, telling me you're someone you're not." He straightened up from the bed then, watching Caleb close, and crossed his arms with a heavy sigh. "Okay then, you're convinced you're Caleb... tell me, this demon you say killed you. Describe him."

The request threw him off. "What? Why?"

"You'll see. Think hard now, what'd he look like?"

Caleb frowned at the doctor for a long time, then closed his eyes, searching that moment, and the emotions hit him hard as his head started to pound again. His breath came heavy and fast, and he twitched, remembering the viciousness of the attack, those dead eyes, the teeth bared and bloodied, cold hands clawing at his face, oh god...

"No, god, please.. he's got me... he's biting me!" he cried, trying to bring his hands up, but they wouldn't come. He couldn't protect himself!

"Stop." Doc Adams voice cut through the terror sharp, and Caleb's eyes snapped open as he jerked on the bed. "Freeze that moment. Describe him."

"H-he's tall... taller than me," Caleb said in a ghost's whisper. "Dark hair, almost black, hanging over his eyes. Thin... angular. Had cuts on his face. His eyes were horrible pale. Dirty red hoodie, torn jeans. He's one of the dead. He opened my throat doc, he tore me open and he-"

"Stop it," Doc Adams growled, silencing him again. "Don't tell me how he died. I don't want to know." His face fell hard, and he wiped a gnarled hand over his eyes. "He was the closest I had to a son, Caleb was. Always hoped he'd survived. I'd been glad he was far from this place... happy he was free. They've gone wrong here boy... they've gone so wrong."

Caleb didn't know what to say. He felt the doc's sadness as his own, but it felt as if he were hearing a speech someone might say over his grave. But he was here now, everything was as it should be. He was home.

The doctor gripped the bed frame then, and shifted it with a jerk, twisting it in stages to face something on the near wall that Caleb had only glanced over before.

A big mirror.

"Going to show you something now boy. Need you to look at it long and hard, so you'll understand..."

With a final jerk, the doctor brought him within view of himself.

"...that you are the demon."

At first, his eyes didn't seem to track things right, and he didn't understand why there was another patient in front of him, some guy with dark hair, tied down too.

But then... but then he truly saw who it was... the face, that angular face, that brow... eyes no longer dead but startlingly blue, skin no longer grey but flush with life. But... the same face...

As the one who'd killed him.

And he screamed. The sound ripped from a place of pure terror inside him, and he thrashed against the restraints, his body wild with fear, steeped in the memories of that day, and unable to run.

The thing in front of him thrashed too, bloody mouth open wide, the same terror in its eyes, and somewhere deep inside, a part of him understood...

I'm looking at myself.

With that thought, buried under a miasma of terror and vivid memories of pain and death, something of Rowan's true mind stirred.

That's... me... I'm...

Caleb felt the change inside himself, and his panic went wild. It was coming, the demon was coming to take him again, to pull him back down to darkness and unknowing and he couldn't let that happen, he couldn't!

Clamping his eyes shut, he started to pray, fervent prayers he'd learned as a boy, a mantra of fearful supplication his dad had drilled into him as soon as he'd formed his first words. He said them over and over, hoping to drown out the dawning awareness of the other inside, and it seemed to help, seemed to focus him and calm him back into himself, complete.

"Stop that now, I need you to see boy. You have to see," the doctor's voice came, cutting through his calm, and he flinched back as he felt those gnarled hands cool on his face, and dear god, over his eyes and...

The doctor was trying to pull his eyes open.

The prayers came to an abrupt end as he twisted out of the man's grip, still squeezing his eyes shut tight.

"Don't!" he yelled, turning his head to the far side. "You can't do this, he'll take me again!"

Doc Adams moved away then, and Caleb had a moment's hope that he'd got through to him, that the doctor had seen the danger too, before the man returned to his side, and he felt a sudden sharp sting on the inside of his elbow.

With a choked, disbelieving gasp, he pulled away, only to be stopped short by the restraints. He stared in horror as the doctor finished the injection and slipped the needle out again, pressing a finger over the site, while those old eyes watched him closely.

"What'd you do?! What was that?" he blurted out, already starting to feel a strange distancing between himself and his arm.

"You're going to relax now son," the doctor said calmly, and patted his hand again. "And you're going to look in that mirror, and I'm going to talk to the real you."

Caleb shook his head, but the motion didn't work as he'd wanted, and his head fell back against the bed. Licking lips that felt suddenly dry, he shook his head sloppily again. "No.. no, I don't..."

"Relax boy..." the man said, his voice low and soothing. "Relax now... everything's fine. You're just fine."

Caleb let out a sigh, long and deep, as the doctor's words washed over him, and he felt his body grow heavy and peaceful. It felt surprisingly good, and he found himself settling, nestling into the mattress, as his body relaxed completely.

The doctor nodded approvingly. "There, that's it. You're safe, son. Nothing's going to harm you."

The words were warm, and brought with them a lovely calm that made Caleb sigh again, as his head rolled back.

This was good. He felt good. Real good... better than he remembered for a long time. Since that day he'd done the white stuff that kid brought to the shelter, watching as the kid burned it in the spoon, drew it up in a syringe, injected it and fell back. He was curious, and took some too, and it felt like the world was shrinking around him, and he was so big, so powerful, so good, he was going to wipe the world clean and start over and everything would be perfect, and everyone would feel this good all the time...

That'd ended with him a sweating, shaking mess, vomiting his guts out in a dingy bathroom stall, surrounded by scrawled obscenities and dried puke.

The memory surfaced with a groan, and Caleb squirmed, trying to shake his head again. "S-stop... don't... wan..." His tongue got tangled up in the words, and he stopped and sighed again, as the doctor shifted his head to face forward.

To face the mirror.

Caleb blinked at the figure lying in the bed before him, and the figure blinked slowly back, looking pale, bruised and miserable. He squirmed again and tried to turn his head, but the doctor held him firm, and he had nowhere to go.

"There you are son, now you look long and hard at yourself, and you'll see everything's just fine."

"No... not me," he managed, and closed his eyes again.

The doctor shook him gently. "The cut on your cheek boy, where'd you get that?"

Cut on my cheek? Confused, he opened his eyes, and the demon caught his gaze again. Sucking in a sharp breath, Caleb pressed back into the bed as far as he could, and stared back, frozen by those eyes.

Brilliant blue, familiar eyes.

Mine... those are... my eyes..

"No..." he moaned, as a tear fell slow along his cheek.

Lost... he was lost...

"That's it," the doctor said soothingly. "That's it. That's you."

"Me..." he sighed, and something fell away from him then, something terrified and alone, as it sank back into the void.

Slowly, his body relaxed against the bed, as a small rivulet of blood trickled from his nose.

"What's your name boy," the doctor whispered, leaning in close.

With a thin sigh, his head fell back, and the blood continued to flow, leaking over his lips, his teeth, his tongue, as he took a shallow breath.

"Row'n," he breathed.

The doctor gave a very small smile and pulled away from the bed, releasing his head.

"Rowan," he said quietly, nodding. "Good." Crossing his arms, he gave a deep sigh.

"You killed Caleb."

Rowan stared at his reflection, at the blood dripping down his chin.

The wall is breaking...

"Rowan, look at me now."

His eyes swiveled to the doctor's.

"You killed Caleb," Doc Adams said flatly. "Didn't you."

Rowan frowned.

Did I?
That wasn't very nice.

But then the memory clawed it's way up, with the cold, flat thoughts of his dead self, and he realized that yes, he had indeed.

It hadn't been a good meal.

"Yes," he whispered in answer, then he grimaced. "Didn' like... eating... him. Too sad... too 'fraid... lonely. Hard memories.."

The doctor made a short, choked sound, and his arms stabbed down by his sides, his gnarled fingers curling into tight fists. "You... bastard."

Rowan's gaze fell to those clenched fists, then away.

He shrugged.

"Dead," he said simply.

Doc Adams glowered at him darkly. "How long ago did he die?"

With a thin breath, Rowan shrugged again. "Years."

"No, you'll give me something specific," the doctor growled. "I deserve that much."

Rowan frowned, but delved into the hollow memories of his dead life, and tried to remember. It was hard. Couldn't keep focused, and he didn't feel good anymore. Breathing wasn't working right.

"Whad do t'me?" he mumbled, staring down at his arm, where the needle had slid in.

"Gave you a barbiturate. The years Rowan. How many?"

Rowan squirmed, pulling an arm up against the cuff around his wrist. Couldn't move, couldn't breathe right.

"Too much.. gave too much.. too.. fast.." he sighed.

"Perhaps," the doctor said. His voice was soft and somewhat resigned as he shifted to the metal chair, sinking into it slowly. "How long ago did he die? Think of seasons as they passed, that may help."

Taking in a breath he meant to be deep, but wasn't, Rowan let his head fall back again, and sought an answer. How long ago...

It'd been hazy in the sky that day, and the heat intensified the scent of the living, and the dead. Air rippled off the surface of roads baking in the sun, strewn with the carcasses of cars and the fly ridden remains of humanity.

"Sum..mer. died.. summer.." he breathed, and drew in another short breath. Fear began to poke holes through the haze in his head, and he tensed, trying to suck in a deep breath. His body just didn't seem interested.

"Summer," the doctor echoed, and his face tightened in pain. "That... that's right. I remember. It was six years ago."

The doctor's words reached Rowan through the fear, and he stared at the man, perplexed.

"What?" he whispered.

The man looked up at him. "I saw him. At home. Had my nose stuck in a book, heard someone say 'Doc', and I looked up, and... and Caleb was standing there. The most haunted look on his face." The doctor's face crumpled with the memory. "I was so surprised, didn't know what to say. I turned to see if he'd come through the door, and when I turned back... he was gone."

Guilt wrapped tight around Rowan's heart as the man spoke.

The doctor leaned back in the chair then and looked long at him. "I dismissed it. Figured it was just the day being hard. You start talking and I realize... it was truth. It was my boy, come back to see me, before he went, wherever the true dead go."

Rowan lifted a wobbly finger to the ceiling.

"Up," he said quietly. Then he frowned deeply, his gaze falling from the doctor's milky eyes. ".. 'm sorry..."

Adams nodded. "Yes. I am too."

The man stood then with a heavy sigh, and walked over to the shelves. "Had a mind to ask why you were here, what your purpose in coming was..." He pulled down a small bottle filled with a clear liquid. "But, I don't rightly care anymore. Caleb was my hope, you see. I guess a part of me figured he'd come back, stop Samuel, pull this place back from the brink. As I never could. And you've ended that."

He returned to Rowan's side, taking the syringe he'd used before, piercing the seal and drawing up the entire bottle of clear fluid.

The label caught Rowan's eye, and he blinked, trying hard to focus. When he did, the fear inside flared wildly.

It was morphine.

An opiate after a heavy, fast dose of a barbiturate?

Oh shit...

Was the doctor going to euthanize him?

"No... no, don't.." he whispered, struggling dazedly against his restraints just as someone knocked on the door.

A voice, one Rowan immediately recognized from the hazy memories of Caleb's as Joshua's, came through.

"Doc?"

"Josh..." Rowan sighed, and tried again to move, to pull away from the doc, but the man's gnarled hands closed on his arm and held him in place.

Sucking in as deep a breath as he could, Rowan tried to yell. "Josh!"

There was a pause, then the door knob rattled, and the knock came again. "Doc, open up."

"Not now Joshua," the doctor answered over his shoulder with a sigh. "Give me a moment please."

Rowan moaned, as the syringe was pressed against the inside of his arm. "Stop... please..."

The doctor would not look at him, and slid the needle through his skin.

FUCK!

"S-stop!" Rowan yelled. Fueled by a sudden rush of adrenaline, he pushed himself up, swinging his head forward as the doctor pressed the plunger down. His skull slammed against Adams' forehead, and the elderly man staggered back, then fell over, his head catching the edge of a shelf hard, before he hit the floor and lay still.

Reeling from the impact, Rowan fell back against the bed, just as something hit the door with a dull thunk.

The room swam sloppily, and blinking slowly, he looked down at his arm.

Oh god...

The syringe was still stuck in him, fully depressed. Doc Adams had given him the whole dose.

Rowan moaned, and tried to move, tried to pull the thing out, but a strange warmth spread swiftly through his body, settling over him with a deep, peaceful heaviness, and the urge slowly fell away. Blinking languidly, he tried to think, tried to come up with some way to save himself, but the thoughts lost cohesion as he sank further into stillness, and just watched as the door across from him exploded inward and Joshua stumbled into the room.

Black spots were starting to eat at the edges of his vision, and Rowan realized distantly, as the man rushed over to the doctor, that he hadn't taken a breath in a while.

He tried to be relaxed about that too, but it got uncomfortable, and as Joshua suddenly appeared before him, talking, he wondered how he'd get his body to breathe.

Counter drug..

Caleb's brother pulled the syringe from his arm, and talked to him again, then reached up and shook him hard, his motions growing frantic.

The jostling seemed to restart something, if only for a moment, and Rowan took in a breath, a sweet lungful that sharpened his mind enough for him to remember.

The name of the drug...

"Nalox..," he whispered, his eyes desperately catching Joshua's before blurring out completely. "Naloxo..ne... nal..."

Then that was all the breath he had left. As he started to fall backwards, through the bed, through his body, away from everything, he felt Joshua gather him up, freeing him from the restraints, and hold him close.

Everything grew dark and still, and Rowan's last thought before nothingness claimed him was to wonder if Joshua would act in time to save his life.


Long one, sorry. :) The final version (the first version) of the whole story came to just under 150,000 words. Whether it will stay that length when I'm done with my little tangent and/or editing, who knows, but it's led to some hefty chapters. This one flows pretty quick though as it's pretty intense. A little side note. Anyone notice a recurring pattern with doctors here? :D Yes, apparently I act out a love/hate relationship with them through my writing... I pity anyone of the medical profession who comes near Rowan, as they either get knocked out, scarred for life, shot, eaten (Jack) or, well.. you'll see. It's not intentional! Really! Regardless, thanks for reading, and leave a review if you can, means a lot.