Chapter 36: Here, There And Everywhere

3:22 PM, December 11, 1967

John's POV

Delilah's voice travelled from the front door to the kitchen in the back of the house, where I was sipping at a glass of orange juice. "Johnny, I'm going out. Do you want anything?"

"Oh, I think you know what I want," I called back, the smirk in my voice evident.

I could almost see her rolling her eyes at my immature response. "So nothing then? I'll be back in an hour."

With that, she shut the door tightly before I could even tell her I loved her. I shrugged and dumped the rest of my juice in the sink, placing the glass back on the countertop. No, I thought, better not. I checked myself and transferred the glass into the sink. Delilah hated it when I left dishes on the counter and I wasn't about to be given hell for it when she came back.

I whistled a random tune and touched my fingers to the spot where my mustache used to be. I grinned to myself and ran my fingertips across the coarse area above my lips, glad to be rid of the damn thing.

I was marvelling at my reflection in the living room mirror when a shadow streaked across the surface. I whisked around to find Delilah standing directly behind me, smiling sweetly.

I creased my eyebrows. "Whatcha doin', luv?"

"I just...forgot something," she replied in an odd tone.

She had an unfamiliar air about her. She seemed more...confident. Yes, that was it. The way she held herself caught me off guard and the way she looked at me nearly knocked me over. Only one thing I could find in her eyes: lust. It was strange; in that exact moment I experienced a rather rare case of the feeling that you can say only in French. Deja vu!

I felt like I'd been here before. Standing before her, I watched my future unfold, predicting everything as it happened. Though I knew my fate, I had no way of altering it. My body wouldn't do as my brain commanded, my mouth wouldn't speak.

My senses became heightened to an extent that seems impossible to achieve. I felt every individual hair on my body stand on end, the beads of sweat forming behind my pores, my lips unsticking as I opened my mouth in protest. Protest at Delilah's eyes swirling with black, her face morphing into an expression of evil satisfaction, protest at the knife in her hand swinging toward me at a gravely slow yet intimidatingly fast pace.

The world stopped for a moment as the sharp blade merged with my skin. The point of it pricked the soft flesh of my stomach and made a crater that expanded and decreased all in the same instant. I felt the blood rushing toward the cold piece of steel. My eyes bulged and I clenched my teeth, hunching forward as blood ascended up my throat, gushing out from between my lips. She retreated the knife from my stomach and pushed me to the floor.

"Delilah," I spluttered weakly, choking on the blood and trying desperately to grab at her leg while simultaneously holding a hand to my abdomen.

"I'm going to finish her," she grinned crazily, giving me a kick to the stomach and walking away as she laughed darkly.

Realization dawned on me. "NO! No don't you touch her you...you thing!" I roared, flopping around uselessly on the carpet like a fish out of water.

Delilah's POV

I hummed the lyrics to "In My Life" quietly as I proceeded up the front walk, my voice and feet faltering when I heard John's unmistakeable sobs seeping through all the little unknown cracks and holes divided between the window panes and spaces around the front door. I let out a strange, meek sound that I don't have a name for and rushed to the wooden door, keys in one hand, bag of vegetables in the other.

After a few huffs, curses and fumbles with my shaky hands, I pushed the door open. I couldn't believe my eyes; John was lying in a blood-soaked heap on the oriental rug, both hands pressed into his stomach. The brown bag and keys dropped from my slack fingers onto the floor. A few potatoes rolled out of the bag with ominous rumbles and the keys jingled merrily as they clashed together.

My legs became jelly and my stomach dropped. My knees hit the floor and I crawled to him, cupping his sweaty face in my hands. "John! Johnny, Johnny, what happened to you?"

"It was you."

"What?" I searched his eyes as his bloody hands left his stomach, rising up to carress my tear-stained face.

"You, Delilah," he choked.

He must've meant my double. My evil twin. Whatever you wanted to call it. I hadn't realized how deadly it was. Not only had it predicted my death, it had now made a nearly successful attempt at murdering John. If it was simply an entity conjured up by my imagination, then how could it be...real? None of it made sense. This thing obviously wasn't human, so what could it be if it wasn't just my own subconscious projection? Sure, I believed in ghosts, but this was impossible. A ghost was supposed to be the spirit of someone who was dead. I wasn't dead, so how could my ghost exist?

So many questions that needed answering. No time for them. "Hold on, Johnny. I'll save you, I promise."

He was fading fast. I didn't get a reply from him. His eyes were sliding shut and his breathing was slowing. I looked up from his face to grab the phone on the table next to me. There was no dial tone. There was nothing. I panicked, hanging up the phone and trying again. Only this time, there was no phone. I was holding the blade of a bloody knife in my hand. Red flowed from my wounded palm as it clattered to the floor. John was nowhere to be found. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but white.

The white turned into black and I screamed. My lips pulled back, I felt the air on my tongue, but nothing came out. I felt the pressure in my throat but no sound made its way to my ears. I looked down at my legs. Horizontal slices appeared on my thighs. Little spots of blood rose to the surface of the cuts and soon, the tiny droplets multiplied. They multiplied until they ran down my legs in steady streams. I felt the life being sucked out of me.

There were gashes all over my body, everything was being torn apart by a hand. My hand. I looked up, my nose touching against my own nose. I grinned at myself wickedly and shoved a knife into my chest, twisting it into my wildly beating heart. I felt my hair brush against my face, my reflection staring back at me in my now-obsidian eyes. I gave the knife one last turn and heard the repulsive squishing sound it made as I gagged, blood coming out of my mouth. I smiled and backed away, leaving the dagger in my heart.

I produced a small hand-mirror from behind me and reflected it at myself. Red stained my vision as I watched the blood flow from my mouth, my nose, my eyes, my ears, everywhere on my body. I looked up helplessly, the red curtain closing off the world as I experienced my last sight: I was staring down at me, smirking with an 'I told you so' expression.

...

"Delilah! Wake up, baby! Wake up!" John hollered in my face, shaking me roughly.

I gasped and reached up, snaking my arms around his neck as he cupped my face, staring at me with concern. "Are you alright?"

"You...you died," I stuttered, my voice cracking as I tried to regain my composure.

"I'm here, it was just a dream," he cooed, kissing behind my ear and brushing his hands up and down my back, coming to rest on my waist.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

I sniffled. "She was there. And, and she stabbed you and you were lying on the floor in the living room and I tried to help you...but you disappeared and she killed me, too."

John's grip on me loosened and I looked up to find her staring down at me with a look that twisted my gut. I shrieked and tried to push her away, but she kept a tight hold on me, smiling all the while. She grabbed my wrists and shook me, telling me to wake up. But it wasn't her. It was John.

"Delilah, wake up! Come on, wake up!"

My lips trembled and I uttered a nearly silent gasp. I was going insane. I blinked rapidly and gazed at him wordlessly. My eyes shifted to his untouched stomach.

"So it was just a dream?" I whispered, looking up at him hopefully.

He dropped my wrists and sighed. "Sort of..."

"What do you mean sort of?" I gulped uneasily. There was no way any of that had been real.

"Well, you went out and that thing tried to attack me. But for some reason it can't touch me. I can touch it, but it can't touch me. It's strange..." he was off in some faraway place, pondering this thought before continuing. "When you came back it...it managed to get at your legs and then just ran off. I've been trying to wake you since then."

His eyes travelled down my body. I held my breath, afraid to look. I finally plucked up the courage and exhaled deeply, biting my lip. I looked down at my exposed thighs. Blood dripped from two horizontal slashes that ran quite deep, judging by the flow of the red liquid. I hadn't even noticed the stinging until just now.

John touched his fingers to my wounds, only to retreat them just as fast when I squirmed in pain. "Can you walk?"

I looked up from the gashes and nodded slowly. Truth is, I wasn't sure of anything at that moment. I bent my knees and winced, gritting my teeth as John secured me in a tight hold, pretty much dragging me up from the floor.

"I'm fine, really," I grunted. He gave me an unsatisfied look of disbelief.

A sudden rush of anger bloomed in my chest. "John, I'm sick of always relying on you for everything! I can do this myself, okay?"

He opened his mouth in shock, seemingly hurt. "I'm just trying to help you. You're being terrorized by something that shouldn't even exist and you expect me to sit back and do nothing?"

My gaze slid down to the floor. "I'm sorry...I just feel like a burden. I thought I'd do you a favor and handle things alone for once."

"You're not a burden. And this might sound a bit sick, but I actually kind of like it when this happens. 'Cause it means I get to take care of you. It makes me feel helpful. Gives me something to hope for."

I blushed and hid my face in his chest. "Okay. You can clean my filthy, oozing wounds if it really makes you feel better."

"Hmm, yeah I'd like that," he chuckled softly, playing with my hair.

"Could you...carry me? It hurts to stand, so walking would probably be a lot worse," I admitted sheepishly.

He pulled back to give me a wink and scooped me into his arms. "Of course."

"I feel like a toddler who's always getting into things. And you're the mum that always has to bandage me up and give me cookies," I chattered as we walked to the bathroom by the living room.

He set me down on the counter gently and looked at my legs before turning away to find the medical supplies. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

A comfortable silence overcame us as he placed one hand on my thigh, the other one dabbing at the wound. He abruptly stopped and snapped his head up to look at me.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if you just took a bath or something. Then we'll bandage you up after."

I smiled. "You're just looking for an excuse to see me naked."

"True. But it really would be easier," he shrugged, grinning impishly.

"Alright, whatever you think is best."

I pulled my dress over my head and tossed it to the floor, waiting patiently for him to help me to the shower. He tilted his head to the side and sucked on his bottom lip, ogling my naked form.

"Come on, Lennon. We haven't got all day!" I interrupted his little daydream and he smirked, hoisting me into his arms and setting me down in the bath.

"Are you sure you don't need any help? I mean, you look pretty seriously wounded," he grinned coyly.

I tapped my finger against my lips, pretending to think. "Mmm, okay."

He sighed in content and turned on the water. I shrieked and backed away from the icy stream, giving it a chance to warm up. John snickered and pulled off his clothes, stepping in with me. He kissed my neck tenderly, sending shivers of pleasure throughout my body. I forgot all about my butchered legs and leaned in to kiss him as he planted his lips on mine, easing his tongue into my mouth.