Rating: R.
Warnings: This story contains content that may be offensive such as cursing, sexual content, self-infliction/self-injury, strong language, and violence. It may also contain spoilers and lines/scenes of Ask Not, The End of the World, Harvest, Wipe Out!, Meet the Dupes, To Serve and To Protect, The Departure, Ch-Ch-Changes, and Graduation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell or any other character, location, or whatever is mentioned in the works of Melinda Metz or Jason Katims, FOX, WB, and UPN.
Author's Note: Forgive me if this chapter slightly lacks what my previous chapters have. I'm a bit pooped out and it's hard to try to keep up or top the previous chapters. Originally this was one long part, but to get the full feeling of this section of the chapter, I felt it would be best if it were in its own post.
As some of you may have picked up (if you didn't, read this), in the last chapter (Chapter 12) where Liz cuts herself, the date was December 15, 2000, Friday. If you remember from the last, last chapter (Chapter 11), Zan and the gang left on December 16-18, 2000, Saturday-Monday. This is why I leave the same note in my author's note on every chapter posting: Pay attention to the dates. They play a key part! Well, they do till I eventually feel they don't matter as much anymore. Hehe.
Chapter Thirteen - Part A:
Don't you feel so very pointless in the feelin' of the rain and the violence of the sun?
I must confess that I feel graciously bigger than the rain and hotter than the sun.
What do you do, what do you say when the blood you've spilled is of your loved one,
and the kremlins of the world fall all around you?
We deal in dreams.
We deal in dreams.
We deal in structures that grow cold in our hearts.
Oh fearful crying people,
the fool is by the river, watching but not swimming.
It takes energy not to get used to it
and fall into this place
where everything runs together and dies.
This quiet kingdom, she is now
and forever will she be in silent celebration.
We deal in dreams.
We deal in dreams.
We deal in structures that grow cold in our hearts.
"We Deal in Dreams," Live.
December 15, 2000, Friday; Roswell, New Mexico:
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
The sound of droplets was deafening. The water was calm despite its rippling effect. The cool breeze came rolling in from the small crack of the window. All seemed calm, but looks could be deceiving. There was no sound other than the water and it was the echo of the drops that Liz first heard when her eyes opened. Groggy, she found herself soaking in her bathtub. What time was it—was it morning, evening, night? How did she get here? When had she undressed herself? Why was she in her tub? As the questions came pounding into her head, she realized she couldn't remember. The light bulb above her was flickering as if there was an electric malfunction causing the bulb to rapidly blink. As she analyzed her surroundings, she tried to remember what happened to her. It felt as if she had lost hours of her life, had a blackout, or even sleepwalked. The water was clear and not bloody like she had last remembered. Wait, bloody water? Why would the water be red? Why blood?
Drip.
Drop.
Adjusting to her position, she realized she couldn't even feel if the water was cold or warm. She just felt surrounded as if she was being held down by an unknown force. The feeling unnerved her. Bracing her arms on each side of the tub, she tried to get up, but she couldn't. Her legs wouldn't move; only her upper body was mobile. Trying not to freak out, she tried to wiggle her toes, but there was no movement. Thinking it was just her imagination and that the water was playing tricks on her, she tried again and again, and again.
"Move!" she commanded, growing frustrated with each passing second. But her toes did not obey.
Drip.
Drop.
Fear began to course through her veins. She was immobile and trapped in her tub. Her eyes flickered around the room. Sure enough it looked like her bathroom, but there was something off about it. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. The bathroom was too dark to be her own. The bulb continued to flicker and sway from side to side. This felt all too much like a scene out of a horror movie; she couldn't help but feel like a ghost or a spirit will lunge out at her at any second. She eyed what was around her. There was the mirror cabinet, the sink, the toilet, the tub (her in the tub), her toiletries, and the walls—wait! That's what was different. Where were the walls? Instead, there was nothing but pitch black beyond the model of her bathroom. She could see where the tiles on the floor stopped and after that was nothing. Where was she? What was happening?
Then all of the sudden, a shrill scream echoed from the darkness. "LIZ!" cried out a voice.
Frightened, she searched for the body of the voice, but she saw none. There was nothing but black. "Who's there?" she hesitatingly asked, unsure of what was out there.
"LIZ!"
Someone was shouting for her, but who was it? The voice was unknown to her. Trying to cover herself up with her arms in fear that someone may walk in on her state of undress, she asked again, "Who's out there?"
"OH MY GOD, LIZ!"
The voice continued to thunder and all Liz could do was sit and listen. The pausing silence, the sound of her name, the pained out of breath voice—it all began to infuriate her. This voice was calling for her, but who was it that needed her?
"Who's out there? Come out and show your face!" she yelled. She couldn't move, she couldn't get out of the tub and search for the owner of the voice. Here she was stuck, only able to twist her head back. How could she help this person in need when she couldn't even help herself?
Drip.
Drop.
"Why did you do it?" asked a voice from the dark. This voice was different from the previous one she head.
"Do what?" she replied harshly. What was going on?
"LIZZZZZZZZZZ!"
"Why did you do it, Liz?" it asked a little more forcefully.
Liz shook her head. "DO WHAT?!"
It continued. "Why?"
"LIZ, NO! NO, NO, NO!"
"Why did you do it, Liz Parker?" said the voice, growing louder.
"How do you know my name? Stop this, please! STOP!" she cried as the hot tears flooded down her face. She didn't know why she was crying. Perhaps it was a reflex from all the fear she was feeling. Whatever the reason, she just wanted her mother in this moment.
Then suddenly someone stepped out from the black, but Liz couldn't see who it was. There was no face, only the shape of a body as if it was just a shadow. It kept walking towards her.
"OH GOD, LIZ, PLEASE!"
The screaming voice began to repeat one after another, growing in number, and it seemed like they would never stop. They kept coming and coming as if they were trying to attack her. All she hear were screams and her name. Covering her ears, she screamed in pure rage, unable to do anything else. The voices were driving her mad. They stirred such anxiety within her.
"STOP IT, STOP IT!" she cried.
The thing that came from the dark moved closer. It was a phantom—pure black like a shadow, like a distorted image from the television, like something one only saw in movies. It strode towards her, flickering like the light bulb as if it was disappearing and reappearing. It came closer to her and Liz could feel nothing but panic. She struggled against the water, but she only succeeded in splashing the water out of the tub. Her fingers clawed at the porcelain and still she could not move. Her breathing quickened as her eyes grew large. The flickering black knelt down before her.
"Why, Liz Parker?" it asked her.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Liz shut her eyes in fear and sobbed. "No, no, please stop this!"
"DON'T DO THIS TO ME! DON'T! PLEASE!"
"WHY DID YOU DO IT?" it screamed at her. Just as its long fingers thrust out and gripped her arms, Liz screamed. In mid-scream, the figure disappeared in a billow of smoke as if it was frightened by her scream.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
It quickly reappeared before her eyes. "REMEMBER!" it yelled. She struggled as best as she could, but nothing happened. Her arms flailed, her head shook from side to side, but her legs did not even flinch. Then in another scream, as it gripped her chin and forced her to look into its eyes, she couldn't stop the rush of images that began to play out before her eyes. Like a horrible video destined to repeat over and over again, as if her eyes were held open by a wire speculum, the memories came flooding back to her. It was just snippets at first, still images, but then the images slowly became a movie like an optical illusion moving picture book. She recalled the events that happened only moments ago. Or was it only just moments ago? It felt longer than that, like she was reliving a lifetime. She remembered that she had tried to take her own life.
Flashback: There was no longer a point to live. There was no one to live for, no one to love her back, and nothing left to make things right. She was alone and her life had ceased. So she grabbed the razor and made the cut. One slice seemed enough, but the razor had other plans. Four blades equaled four deep cuts. The skin puckered upwards in a curl and exposed her flesh. More, more, more. The blood spilled through the slits as if a faucet had turned on. The crimson life flowed down her arm, staining her, tattooing her. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't over yet. She wasn't finished. Then her other wrist met the same fate.
Falling out of the memory, the figure was gone and Liz found her hand in front of her face in a position that told her that her hand was having a muscle memory of the incident. There was nothing in between her fingers yet she swore she felt the cool blades pressed against her fingertips. Quickly, she touched her wrists and found they were uncut and scarless. There was nothing there—just her dark blue veins beneath her pale skin. She asked herself how this was possible. She was sure she had cut herself… that she had tried to end her own life.
Drip.
Drop.
What had she done? Was it all just a dream? It couldn't be. If that was the dream, then wasn't this a dream as well? "What's going on?" she asked in agony to no one particular. She was physically and emotionally exhausted. The tears had stopped only for a moment, but they threatened to spill once again.
"Why did you do it?" said a voice behind her. It was back.
She turned her head around and saw the shadow again. "Who are you? What do you want from me?" she asked. Was this hell? It was, wasn't it? Oh god, this is hell, she thought. She had been religious once, but didn't aliens go against everything in the bible? She faltered in her belief, but now... she was sure she was in hell. This was the price she was paying for killing herself. Was she really doomed to spend an eternity in this place to be tortured so? To be taunted by these voices and replaying her death repeatedly? God, what had she done?
"You know me," it said.
Her head fell back against the porcelain. "I don't know you. Please tell me."
"I can't. You have to see for yourself."
"I am looking at you and I don't know who you are! Maybe if you weren't completely drenched in black, I could—"
"You do! Look closely. Look deep within. You know who I am!"
Liz tried to think up of a list of names of the people she knew, but no one fit the profile of this darkness. "I don't know. Please, stop this."
"Remember what happened. What happened, Liz?"
Drip.
Drop.
Liz bit her quivering lower lip. "I… I tried to k—… I killed myself."
"What else?"
"What do you mean what else? I killed myself!"
"What happened?"
"I was angry! I was angry and I thought, why the fuck not? Why couldn't I kill myself? I thought and I knew I had nothing left to live for, so I took the fucking razor and cut myself. I cut myself and bled. I bled and fucking bled till I died. I KILLED MYSELF! I FUCKING KILLED MYSELF! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"
The black flickered and disappeared again. Liz's face scrunched up in tears. This was pure torture. She knew she had killed herself, but being forced to relive the moment made it all seem too horrible, all too real. She could feel the stinging pain of the razor coming into contact with her wrists yet they remained untouched. She could feel the blades dragging slowly against her tight skin, the warm blood rushing out, and the liquid running down her arm as if it was tracing her veins on the outside. She felt it, but she couldn't see it.
As the tears came, as she sobbed, she weakly choked out, "What do you want from me?"
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Drop.
To be continued.