Author's Note: Oh my goodness. I came back to this story and did not realize how bad of a cliffhanger I left you with for six odd months. Well, I've updated everything in my profile including what I am working on and the little journal detailing my plans etcetera. So... um... yeah. Sowwy for the horrendous temporary ending ;_;
and thank you to Androgynous Napkin for BETAing
Chapter 9- Things That Burn AND Make Noise
Johnny was panicking. Flames leaped everywhere he turned, thick, acrid smoke choking him. He stumbled into the kitchen, wincing as black ash stung his eyes. He coughed and whirled around, searching for a way out. Pain arched across his hand and he jerked away, agony flashing through each finger. Johnny reflexively clutched them and screamed as burning hot pain flashed through the reddening skin. The scream cut off as black smoke coated his throat and he doubled over with sharp, aching coughs.
As if in a dream the fire parted for one moment and revealed a door. Not caring that the aperture had not been there before, Johnny lunged for the doorknob and flung it open. He stumbled down the stairs, which seemed endless, and collapsed on his hands and knees to the concrete below.
He shivered and coughed, tasting coppery blood on his tongue. Johnny struggled to get up, to run, to escape. His knees wobbled and he almost collapsed but reached out and grasped a doorknob. Slowly, he pulled himself up, hand throbbing and burning by his side. To his shock there were even more stairs below the landing, the knotted wood descending into blackness.
Over here, Johnny.
Johnny twisted, stumbling in his smoke-filled daze and clutched a crack in the wooden wall for support. Bloodshot eyes frantically searched the darkness and he clenched his teeth against another fit of hacking.
"Who--" he cleared his throat. "Who are you?"
Colors swirled around him, the walls blending into one massive dark blob. Johnny swallowed, wincing at the raw pain that shot through his throat.
I... I am a product of your imagination, Johnny.
"What, like some sort of fucked up schizophrenic hallucination?"
A chuckle, dark and molassesly that burned in Johnny's gut and raised bile to his already harsh throat. I suppose. A shift in attention and it was if a great weight was pressing into Johnny, driving him to his knees. You have... quite a lot of imagination. How do you think... you would fare if it went away?
Despite the pressing headache, Johnny laughed, fighting the urge to vomit. "Zat's 'mpossible! Yer fuckin' wit my brain!" He clutched his head, eyes bulging. "Urgh..... ow. Fuck."
Mmmmm... perhaps it is impossible. Oliver certainly did not seem affected too much. It is possible... to redirect it.
Johnny barely registered the voice. His brain tried to explode through his skull and he was certain the warm trickling down his chin was blood. He was vulnerable in this position, he realized. The fire couldn't have stopped and... oh god he was somewhere below with no escape. He was going to die. At first he felt utter terror and adrenaline rushed through his veins, urging him to run. But he knew that wouldn't help and he calmed his pounding heart. He... was trapped with no way out and he was going to burn to death. Or die from smoke inhalation.
Johnny flung out his non-burned hand and found something to pull himself up. It was warm and dripped through his fingers. He opened teary eyes.
Johnny gasped, gagging on the sudden taste of pennies in his mouth. He tried to jerk his hand away from the wall but it wouldn't budge. The wall bled bright, fresh red. Leaking through the cracks and knots, it pooled on uneven surfaces and ran runnels of peeling ochre through the grain. The blood was creeping onto his skin, fingers slowly consumed with hot crimson.
Johnny.... The pressure in his head, the sudden explosion of hissing whispers, all bunched together in his pounding, foggy skull. What would you do, Johnny, if you didn't have to die? What if... you could live another day, live to go on that date with Danny. What would you sacrifice for that?
Johnny stared in a sort of numb horror as the red creeped up each finger and spread thin tendrils across his palm. He could smell the acrid stench of smoke wafting from somewhere above and his lungs ached with every breath. Johnny blinked. He didn't want to die. He wanted to at least have a chance with Danny, he wanted to live and he wanted that fucking fire out, gone, kaput. The wounded man turned his eyes to one of the walls and whispered into the darkness, half hoping the bile-inducing voice wouldn't hear.
"Anything."
Excellent.
And everything went black.
Fucked up schizophrenic hallucination indeed.
