Rocky Horror does not belong to me; it belongs to the eternally awesome Richard O' Brien.

This story is rated T (at least for now; I may change it to M later on down the road. Maybe.)

Nobody panic! I'm alive!

Sorry, that was the first thing that came to mind. Anyway, I hope you are all hanging in there during this time. Be careful, take care of yourselves, and take care of each other.

I'm also sorry about taking so long with this one. To make a long story short, I kept putting this one off for two reasons: a required Python coding course that was more stressful than it needed to be, and ramping up the job search so I'll hopefully have something when I graduate in July.

One last thing: This story got its first review! Thanks to CalvinHobbesGatsby, and I'm sorry for not responding to you sooner.

Columbia's portion of this chapter brought to you by "Somebody Super Like You" and "Life at Last" from Phantom of the Paradise. Now, on with the show!

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7. No Way Out

As was usually the case with dreams, everything was slightly off from how it was in the real world, and she didn't care.

The good news was that this dream wasn't the same one with the mirrors.

The bad news was it was something much worse: that day all over again….

The freezer door is open. Everyone's bustling about, going back and forth, conducted by Frank. He's shouting orders and pointing; Riff Raff and Magenta are at the machines, twisting the dials and ignoring the whirring sound that kept getting louder. She leads the phantoms in and out of the freeze; they're all carrying things

Brad and Janet…well, she didn't know what they were doing, but she knew they were there somewhere.

An agonized scream rings out. It doesn't register with her; neither does the severed arm she's carrying out of the freezer's mist. The next thing she knows, she's in her same position as before, between Riff Raff and Magenta, with a good view of the main event...

There he is! He's alive! They're both alive! Never mind that they both just appeared

It's not "Hot Patootie." She doesn't know what it is. It's not exactly something she can dance to, but she finds herself moving as best she can. She's not really paying attention to everyone else, but she assumes they can say the same thing.

Eddie doesn't put her over his shoulder and carry her to the platform. He lets go of her hand, drifting away until he's dead-center in the lab, almost like he's giving himself up to Frank. She tries to open her mouth, string together the words that would save his life. But her mouth doesn't cooperate; it stays in that beaming smile.

The song trailed off into a blood-chilling scream. She hears every ounce of pain in that scream. She's the cause of that pain; who else? If it hadn't been for her, he wouldn't have stuck around. He wouldn't have lost half his brain to a living sex toy. He wouldn't be killed in the most brutal way.

She doesn't have to see him be killed again. She doesn't want to. Yet, here she is. The first stab has him clutching his chest as if that could stop the knife in his back. The second stab brings him to his knees. He locks eyes with hers. What were they saying? "Help me!" "It's your fault!"

With the third stab, he reaches for her. The scene slows down; she feels her legs moving through molasses, trying to get to him and hold him in her arms again before his life - what little of it is left - drains away.

Frank raises the knife again. She doesn't see anything else. There's another scream, except this one is hers...

She shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. A hand covered hers and she jumped.

"It's only me." The lamp beside her bed switched on. Magenta was sitting on the edge of her bed. How long had she been there? This wasn't her night to share the room; she wasn't here when Columbia went to bed.

Regardless, the look in Magenta's eyes told her why she was here. "Eddie again?"

The tears spilled over as she hugged the maid close to her. Despite this, her voice was calm as she recounted what she could remember of the dream. "Is this my life now?"

Magenta, normally uncomfortable with any displays of affection from her little friend, didn't try to say anything. She never knew what to say during these times. She just let Columbia hold her close.

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For once, Frank wasn't clinging to him in his sleep. That was a relief; he didn't think he'd be able to get his thoughts straight otherwise.

It had been a long day. Not necessarily because he had nothing to do; he stuck to his usual routine of working out and trying to avoid everybody. Frank, however, decided this would be one of those days where he refused to leave Rocky's side.

Wherever he went, his creator was right beside him. At meals, he'd make sure their chairs were so close they were touching. In the gym, he'd "ooh" and "ahh" over every little move. It snowed a little in the afternoon, so Frank took him outside and showed him how to catch snowflakes on his tongue.

There was the usual movie after dinner – another Hercules, although this time with Mickey Hargitay, who wasn't bad, but not as good as Steve Reeves. In bed, he did his usual thing of helping Frank with his "tension." Although his creator clearly enjoyed it, he himself couldn't keep his mind on it. Something was nagging in the back of his mind.

Now, with Frank asleep and the house quiet, that something came forward. One of his first memories: Eddie bursting out of the freezer, and what came after.

Surprisingly, that memory didn't come up too often, or at least, not in its entirety.

He just stood there.

He reminded himself he wasn't even an hour old at that point. How was he supposed to know?

Everyone looked like they were having so much fun dancing, and he wanted to join them. When he saw Frank coming over, he thought they would dance together. Getting dragged to the side and the popsicle shoved in his face to distract him.

The screams. The blood. The look of despair on her face.

He kept repeating what he knew to be true (or at least, what Frank had told him that first night): it wasn't his fault. He had nothing to do with what happened. He didn't kill Eddie.

So why did he keep feeling guilty? No one blamed him.

Well, he had a pretty good feeling she did. Unless that came from Eddie's half of the brain.

That wasn't me, kid. That was all you.

Frank's arms wrapping around his torso put an end to this line of thinking.

It was hopeless. Even on a good day, when he could go hours without seeing or talking to anyone, his creator was always there. When he could be alone, he was still stuck with his thoughts. And he hated it.

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Thanks for reading. See you next chapter! Stay safe.

I have a couple more chapters of silent introspection and the occasional conversation, but things will start to pick up for real; I promise.