Title: Hell on Earth
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
Author's Note: I'm incredibly sorry this has taken so long. Drama and boy problems have taken up most of my time lately, and when I did finally write a new chapter (which was really really good, if I do say so myself) my aunt's computer completely screwed up the disk I'd saved it on, so I lost it. I've only just now had time to sit down and work on any writing at all, so I thought I'd start with this. I hope you think it's worth the wait.
His mind was on fire.
Micah had made it as far as the spacious porch of the hotel before the unbearable pain in his head made his legs give out; the moment his lips had left Gabe's, his entire being had seemed to explode in an inferno of unthinkable agony. The voices all joined together in a screaming torrent of sound, shrieking in foreign tongues and familiar ones, the sheer force of their rage threatening to make his head shatter like porcelain against stone.
"Our Father, who art in heaven," he was mumbling frantically, hoping like mad that his desperate prayer would somehow satisfy the obviously angry deity in his head. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned -- I have -- oh God --"
You have sinned. Ha. Sinned?! You have destroyed CENTURIES of planning, AGES of waiting for the right moment to strike --
"Our Father," Micah whimpered pitifully, and let out a shaky cry as another stab of pain nearly sliced his mind in two.
SILENCE, blaspheme! Do you have ANY idea, ANY idea how long it has taken to move everything into place?! And you have ruined EVERYTHING with your sinful adolescent urges!
Micah's fingers twisted painfully in his thick, dark hair; Gabe's hands had been there not even five minutes ago, but his touch had none of the tenderness hers had. His scalp was beginning to throb with a dull ache from the way he was pulling on it -- it was nothing compared to what He Who Walks Behind The Rows was doing to him.
"I have -- sinned --" he gasped desperately, and that was all he could manage; the pain was beginning to make him incoherent.
Everything is ruined. All my plans, all my work... shattered in an instant by a foolish boy. Isaac may have been a mistake, but you, Micah, are a tragedy.
The agony began to intensify, slowly but surely, and Micah forced his mouth to form words.
"She could help!" he nearly shrieked.
For one blessed moment, the pain stopped.
Micah collapsed in an exhausted heap on the porch, barely feeling the crack of his head against the cool cement. There was a long pause as the voices quieted to an odd kind of curious hush, but at last He spoke again.
Go on, boy. I'm listening.
Micah wet his lips, trying to remember what it was he had realized in his moment of agony.
"Gabe -- the girl -- I mean, the threat --" His mind was still reeling, so he took a breath or two before continuing. "She's important to the other children. She has influence. Maybe -- if I get close to her -- if I change her --" Another deep breath. Micah knew He wouldn't tolerate rambling. "She would be able to convert the other children. I teach her, she teaches them, and the insubordination stops." There was another long pause, one that made him tremble in anticipation -- he wasn't sure he could handle any more of His punishment.
You have surprised me, child. Yes, you will work your charm on her and convert her to our ways. But you CANNOT fail -- remember, what I have showed you here is only a sliver of what I can do to you. Fail, and I will make you wish I had left you in that dark place to wither and die.
He fell silent; Micah laid there against the cool concrete for a minute more, and then finally got to his feet, somewhat shakily.
"I will not fail," he whispered, and set out to find the archangel.
Gabe's steps were slow and deliberate, but she was barely paying attention to where she was going. As much as she hated it, Micah was all she could think about.
"Fuck," she hissed softly under her breath, and kicked a small rock across the road, watching it skitter over the asphalt and careen off the curb. "Shouldn't even be thinking about this. He's a murderer, a grade-A psycho, a..." Gabe trailed off; she looked upwards at the clear night sky and let out a slow, even breath. "A damn good kisser," she muttered, somewhat guiltily. She stopped walking and slowly tilted her head back, looking at the swollen late summer moon. Gabe's brow creased slightly; a line from the play they'd read last year, "The Crucible", was running through her mind again and again. "I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl," she whispered, remembering the far-from-proper Abigail's defense. It was weird that she should remember something like that out of nowhere, Gabe observed dimly, but for some reason it was playing through her head like a broken record. I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
"Now you're following orders?" a dry voice asked, and she nearly tripped over a chipped old fire hydrant in surprise.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Gabe spat heatedly, straightening so she could face Micah fully. He was sitting neatly atop the small brick wall jutting out from the hardware store; his legs were crossed in a cool display of defiance, and the small smirk playing on his lips made her want to stalk over and smack it off of him. "Can't you ever just say 'hi' like a normal person?!"
"So angry, child," he murmured. "I don't mean to offend." In a fluid, catlike motion, Micah slid off the wall and landed neatly on his feet, regarding her with some interest. Before she could think of a biting retort, Gabe's attention went to how he had briefly licked his lips after looking her over; her face flushed suddenly red, and her eyes flicked to the ground.
"You don't mean to offend." She crossed her arms self-conciously over her chest and tried to focus on a small oddly-shaped rock. "Then what the hell were you doing in the auditorium, Romeo? Or are you Amish people like the Mormons? Spread the seed wherever you can?" Micah opened his mouth to speak, but Gabe glanced up and sneered openly at him. "Or was that the kiss of death? Like the Mafia? How long do I have before I start receiving dead fish in newspapers on my front porch?" Micah had been staring at her the whole time she was talking, his head tilted and a very small smile on his face, and now that she was done his smile broadened.
"Are you always this defensive, archangel, or is it just when you fear you've caught cooties from a boy?" he asked in a good-natured tone. Gabe's mouth popped open in a surprised 'o' and hung open like that -- she could think of nothing to say. Instead she thought again of how good his mouth had felt on hers, and her mind played that endless defense: I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
"I'm not being defensive!" she spat at last, but Micah only chuckled and walked closer, leaving less than a foot of space between them.
"You should go home." His voice was low and not threatening at all -- but it was infuriating. Gabe decided, with gritted teeth, that she liked it better when he was yelling at her about hellfire than when he patronized her.
"I... don't... want... to," she said slowly, forming each word carefully and giving it to him as if he were a small child. Honestly, Gabe did want to go home, but there was nothing she hated more than being patronized. And, a little voice she'd tried to ignore insisted, she was intrigued by his sudden mood swing. And, yet another voice piped up, she was wondering exactly where he was headed with the conversation. I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
Micah gave her another pleasantly cool smile, one he knew would make her even angrier than she already was. Who knew that the way to get to the sharp-tongued blonde was to simply be nice to her?
"I could escort you to the houses, if you're too scared to go alone," he said evenly, and her chest hitched in indignation.
"I'm not scared," Gabe snapped vehemently. "I'm just trying to get the hell away from you! Now why won't you take a god damned hint and just --" She began to whirl away, but Micah seized her easily by the shoulders and pulled her back with a jerk, making their faces so close that their noses touched.
"You will come with me," he said in a dangerously quiet tone, his patience having ebbed just slightly. "There will be no struggling on your part, or I will drag you to the fields myself and have a sacrifice. You will come with me, and I will show you exactly what happens to infidels who challenge the word of our God, and you will learn. You will learn and you will remember." Micah began to release her, then, deciding he liked the look of pure surprise on her face, tightened his grip again. "Do you understand, archangel?"
"My name is Gabrielle," she whispered, and after a mere moment of defiance she lowered her eyes. "I understand."
"Good," he murmured, and released her. "Follow me."
Gabe followed him up the seemingly endless flights of stairs, her heart racing -- and now not from curiousity. When he said he would kill her, he had meant it; stubborn as she was, she wasn't ready to die yet. When they reached room number 911 (a number, she observed, that might've been helpful if they had any policemen), Micah opened the door and held it there in an almost mockingly gentleman-like manner. Setting her jaw in an expression of defiance, Gabe moved forward and into the room; he followed and shut the door behind him. Oh God, she thought suddenly, but her fear of dying was gone as fast as her initial curiousity; Micah was standing in front of the door, his back pressed against it, his face masked by shadows. Nothing really had changed, but her mind said it again -- Oh God. It was then she had realized, in that dark hotel room in the middle of a town ruled by psychotic teenagers, that she wanted Micah to kiss her again.
She was standing in front of the window, what little moonlight there was filtering past her shape and resting on the carpet. Micah tried to keep his eyes from wandering, but he couldn't help it; he suddenly wanted this girl, wanted her like he'd never wanted anything before in his life... yet he couldn't, he had to follow the Lord's plan, he couldn't fail, but oh God how his breath was getting quicker...
"See that cross?" he said at last, not moving from the door but pointing out the window. Gabe obediently turned her head to look. Micah took the opportunity to inhale deeply, struggling to control his breathing, then went on. "Nailed to that cross is the one adult in this town who was stupid enough to resist the word of He Who Walks Behind The Rows. I believe he was a police officer... he was so foolish he actually pulled out a gun and attempted to shoot me in the head." He laughed softly, but instead of sounding threatening like he had meant it to be, it seemed like just a breathless rush of air. "Our Lord would not tolerate such a loss. The bullet exploded in mid-air, shattering and sending shards of red-hot metal into the infidel's eyes. He was blinded by his own blood ..." He trailed off, seeing her wince slightly. "The Children, in honor of their leader's deliverance by He Who Walks Behind The Rows, cut out his tongue and raised him on the cross. He's been blindly 'watching' the fields for over two weeks now... no one has bothered to see if he still breathes." Micah tried to step away from the door, but it seemed to be his sanctuary and he remained leaning against it. Gabe's eyes were wide and shockingly blue in the dim light; she stared at the cross dumbly, at a loss for words, and he tried not to think about how he'd never seen a blue that shade before. "You see, archangel," Micah said, his voice nearly a whisper as he finally stepped away from the door and put less than half a foot between them, "our god is no god of love and redemption. Our god thirsts for blood and obedience, and that is all you need provide him with. He will not tolerate insubordination -- nor will I." She finally turned to look at him, and her shoulder pressed gently against Micah's chest; he hoped desperately she couldn't feel how deeply he was breathing.
"What are you trying to prove, Micah?" Gabe asked softly.
And in that instant, he kissed her again.
She had barely finished saying his name before she found his mouth pressed hard against hers; Gabe immediately lifted her hands and slid them into his thick, dark hair, abandoning all worries or thoughts except for one -- I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
Micah felt her hands inch into his hair and waited for the explosion of pain, but there was none; his own hands wandered to her waist, pulling her closer against him as he kissed her with every pent-up emotion he had in him. Everything that had been suppressed before and after Hemmingford was coming out in this kiss, whether he liked it or not.
"Mm --" He made a sound of surprise as he felt her hands leave his hair and begin to nimbly unbutton his shirt. Micah took one of her hands in his, stilling it, and Gabe looked at him; their eyes met for one brief moment, and then He spoke.
Go on, child. Do what must be done. Bind her to you, and she'll be yours to shape.
After that brief moment of hesitation, he released her hand and pulled her back to his mouth.
Gabe went back to unbuttoning his shirt, not even fully sure of what she was doing. She wasn't exactly new to this kind of thing, but the situation was hardly normal -- and yet there she was, stripping the leader of the corn-cult's shirt right off his back as he fumbled clumsily with hers. In a matter of moments, she had inched them towards the bed, and though it took a prompting tug, Micah leaned her back against it and moved atop her. He hesitated once more, the clasp of her bra seeming to be a terribly perplexing prospect, but Gabe expertly undid it and looked at him expectantly. Micah swallowed, licked his lips, and pressed his mouth against hers again as she moved for the button on his pants.
I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
Out in the cornfields, the wind was blowing gently over the stalks, swaying them carefully in the breeze like a mother rocking her newborn child. The night summer air was thick and warm, and the moon hung heavily in the sky as though swollen. And somewhere in Hemmingford, the two most important pieces in the plan of He Who Walks Behind The Rows unknowingly sealed what was to come in the days ahead.
And He was pleased.
Author: Meagan-bird
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU (alternate universe). Say that Frank Redbear died before he could push the Harvester forward. Well, what then? Press on, children, press on! I need lots of reviews to make sure I'm doing this right.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the fic you see before you and the citizens of St. Cecilia. Can't sue me, I'm makin' no money! HAH! COTC and whatnot belong to Stephen King and all those people.
Author's Note: I'm incredibly sorry this has taken so long. Drama and boy problems have taken up most of my time lately, and when I did finally write a new chapter (which was really really good, if I do say so myself) my aunt's computer completely screwed up the disk I'd saved it on, so I lost it. I've only just now had time to sit down and work on any writing at all, so I thought I'd start with this. I hope you think it's worth the wait.
His mind was on fire.
Micah had made it as far as the spacious porch of the hotel before the unbearable pain in his head made his legs give out; the moment his lips had left Gabe's, his entire being had seemed to explode in an inferno of unthinkable agony. The voices all joined together in a screaming torrent of sound, shrieking in foreign tongues and familiar ones, the sheer force of their rage threatening to make his head shatter like porcelain against stone.
"Our Father, who art in heaven," he was mumbling frantically, hoping like mad that his desperate prayer would somehow satisfy the obviously angry deity in his head. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned -- I have -- oh God --"
You have sinned. Ha. Sinned?! You have destroyed CENTURIES of planning, AGES of waiting for the right moment to strike --
"Our Father," Micah whimpered pitifully, and let out a shaky cry as another stab of pain nearly sliced his mind in two.
SILENCE, blaspheme! Do you have ANY idea, ANY idea how long it has taken to move everything into place?! And you have ruined EVERYTHING with your sinful adolescent urges!
Micah's fingers twisted painfully in his thick, dark hair; Gabe's hands had been there not even five minutes ago, but his touch had none of the tenderness hers had. His scalp was beginning to throb with a dull ache from the way he was pulling on it -- it was nothing compared to what He Who Walks Behind The Rows was doing to him.
"I have -- sinned --" he gasped desperately, and that was all he could manage; the pain was beginning to make him incoherent.
Everything is ruined. All my plans, all my work... shattered in an instant by a foolish boy. Isaac may have been a mistake, but you, Micah, are a tragedy.
The agony began to intensify, slowly but surely, and Micah forced his mouth to form words.
"She could help!" he nearly shrieked.
For one blessed moment, the pain stopped.
Micah collapsed in an exhausted heap on the porch, barely feeling the crack of his head against the cool cement. There was a long pause as the voices quieted to an odd kind of curious hush, but at last He spoke again.
Go on, boy. I'm listening.
Micah wet his lips, trying to remember what it was he had realized in his moment of agony.
"Gabe -- the girl -- I mean, the threat --" His mind was still reeling, so he took a breath or two before continuing. "She's important to the other children. She has influence. Maybe -- if I get close to her -- if I change her --" Another deep breath. Micah knew He wouldn't tolerate rambling. "She would be able to convert the other children. I teach her, she teaches them, and the insubordination stops." There was another long pause, one that made him tremble in anticipation -- he wasn't sure he could handle any more of His punishment.
You have surprised me, child. Yes, you will work your charm on her and convert her to our ways. But you CANNOT fail -- remember, what I have showed you here is only a sliver of what I can do to you. Fail, and I will make you wish I had left you in that dark place to wither and die.
He fell silent; Micah laid there against the cool concrete for a minute more, and then finally got to his feet, somewhat shakily.
"I will not fail," he whispered, and set out to find the archangel.
Gabe's steps were slow and deliberate, but she was barely paying attention to where she was going. As much as she hated it, Micah was all she could think about.
"Fuck," she hissed softly under her breath, and kicked a small rock across the road, watching it skitter over the asphalt and careen off the curb. "Shouldn't even be thinking about this. He's a murderer, a grade-A psycho, a..." Gabe trailed off; she looked upwards at the clear night sky and let out a slow, even breath. "A damn good kisser," she muttered, somewhat guiltily. She stopped walking and slowly tilted her head back, looking at the swollen late summer moon. Gabe's brow creased slightly; a line from the play they'd read last year, "The Crucible", was running through her mind again and again. "I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl," she whispered, remembering the far-from-proper Abigail's defense. It was weird that she should remember something like that out of nowhere, Gabe observed dimly, but for some reason it was playing through her head like a broken record. I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
"Now you're following orders?" a dry voice asked, and she nearly tripped over a chipped old fire hydrant in surprise.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Gabe spat heatedly, straightening so she could face Micah fully. He was sitting neatly atop the small brick wall jutting out from the hardware store; his legs were crossed in a cool display of defiance, and the small smirk playing on his lips made her want to stalk over and smack it off of him. "Can't you ever just say 'hi' like a normal person?!"
"So angry, child," he murmured. "I don't mean to offend." In a fluid, catlike motion, Micah slid off the wall and landed neatly on his feet, regarding her with some interest. Before she could think of a biting retort, Gabe's attention went to how he had briefly licked his lips after looking her over; her face flushed suddenly red, and her eyes flicked to the ground.
"You don't mean to offend." She crossed her arms self-conciously over her chest and tried to focus on a small oddly-shaped rock. "Then what the hell were you doing in the auditorium, Romeo? Or are you Amish people like the Mormons? Spread the seed wherever you can?" Micah opened his mouth to speak, but Gabe glanced up and sneered openly at him. "Or was that the kiss of death? Like the Mafia? How long do I have before I start receiving dead fish in newspapers on my front porch?" Micah had been staring at her the whole time she was talking, his head tilted and a very small smile on his face, and now that she was done his smile broadened.
"Are you always this defensive, archangel, or is it just when you fear you've caught cooties from a boy?" he asked in a good-natured tone. Gabe's mouth popped open in a surprised 'o' and hung open like that -- she could think of nothing to say. Instead she thought again of how good his mouth had felt on hers, and her mind played that endless defense: I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
"I'm not being defensive!" she spat at last, but Micah only chuckled and walked closer, leaving less than a foot of space between them.
"You should go home." His voice was low and not threatening at all -- but it was infuriating. Gabe decided, with gritted teeth, that she liked it better when he was yelling at her about hellfire than when he patronized her.
"I... don't... want... to," she said slowly, forming each word carefully and giving it to him as if he were a small child. Honestly, Gabe did want to go home, but there was nothing she hated more than being patronized. And, a little voice she'd tried to ignore insisted, she was intrigued by his sudden mood swing. And, yet another voice piped up, she was wondering exactly where he was headed with the conversation. I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
Micah gave her another pleasantly cool smile, one he knew would make her even angrier than she already was. Who knew that the way to get to the sharp-tongued blonde was to simply be nice to her?
"I could escort you to the houses, if you're too scared to go alone," he said evenly, and her chest hitched in indignation.
"I'm not scared," Gabe snapped vehemently. "I'm just trying to get the hell away from you! Now why won't you take a god damned hint and just --" She began to whirl away, but Micah seized her easily by the shoulders and pulled her back with a jerk, making their faces so close that their noses touched.
"You will come with me," he said in a dangerously quiet tone, his patience having ebbed just slightly. "There will be no struggling on your part, or I will drag you to the fields myself and have a sacrifice. You will come with me, and I will show you exactly what happens to infidels who challenge the word of our God, and you will learn. You will learn and you will remember." Micah began to release her, then, deciding he liked the look of pure surprise on her face, tightened his grip again. "Do you understand, archangel?"
"My name is Gabrielle," she whispered, and after a mere moment of defiance she lowered her eyes. "I understand."
"Good," he murmured, and released her. "Follow me."
Gabe followed him up the seemingly endless flights of stairs, her heart racing -- and now not from curiousity. When he said he would kill her, he had meant it; stubborn as she was, she wasn't ready to die yet. When they reached room number 911 (a number, she observed, that might've been helpful if they had any policemen), Micah opened the door and held it there in an almost mockingly gentleman-like manner. Setting her jaw in an expression of defiance, Gabe moved forward and into the room; he followed and shut the door behind him. Oh God, she thought suddenly, but her fear of dying was gone as fast as her initial curiousity; Micah was standing in front of the door, his back pressed against it, his face masked by shadows. Nothing really had changed, but her mind said it again -- Oh God. It was then she had realized, in that dark hotel room in the middle of a town ruled by psychotic teenagers, that she wanted Micah to kiss her again.
She was standing in front of the window, what little moonlight there was filtering past her shape and resting on the carpet. Micah tried to keep his eyes from wandering, but he couldn't help it; he suddenly wanted this girl, wanted her like he'd never wanted anything before in his life... yet he couldn't, he had to follow the Lord's plan, he couldn't fail, but oh God how his breath was getting quicker...
"See that cross?" he said at last, not moving from the door but pointing out the window. Gabe obediently turned her head to look. Micah took the opportunity to inhale deeply, struggling to control his breathing, then went on. "Nailed to that cross is the one adult in this town who was stupid enough to resist the word of He Who Walks Behind The Rows. I believe he was a police officer... he was so foolish he actually pulled out a gun and attempted to shoot me in the head." He laughed softly, but instead of sounding threatening like he had meant it to be, it seemed like just a breathless rush of air. "Our Lord would not tolerate such a loss. The bullet exploded in mid-air, shattering and sending shards of red-hot metal into the infidel's eyes. He was blinded by his own blood ..." He trailed off, seeing her wince slightly. "The Children, in honor of their leader's deliverance by He Who Walks Behind The Rows, cut out his tongue and raised him on the cross. He's been blindly 'watching' the fields for over two weeks now... no one has bothered to see if he still breathes." Micah tried to step away from the door, but it seemed to be his sanctuary and he remained leaning against it. Gabe's eyes were wide and shockingly blue in the dim light; she stared at the cross dumbly, at a loss for words, and he tried not to think about how he'd never seen a blue that shade before. "You see, archangel," Micah said, his voice nearly a whisper as he finally stepped away from the door and put less than half a foot between them, "our god is no god of love and redemption. Our god thirsts for blood and obedience, and that is all you need provide him with. He will not tolerate insubordination -- nor will I." She finally turned to look at him, and her shoulder pressed gently against Micah's chest; he hoped desperately she couldn't feel how deeply he was breathing.
"What are you trying to prove, Micah?" Gabe asked softly.
And in that instant, he kissed her again.
She had barely finished saying his name before she found his mouth pressed hard against hers; Gabe immediately lifted her hands and slid them into his thick, dark hair, abandoning all worries or thoughts except for one -- I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
Micah felt her hands inch into his hair and waited for the explosion of pain, but there was none; his own hands wandered to her waist, pulling her closer against him as he kissed her with every pent-up emotion he had in him. Everything that had been suppressed before and after Hemmingford was coming out in this kiss, whether he liked it or not.
"Mm --" He made a sound of surprise as he felt her hands leave his hair and begin to nimbly unbutton his shirt. Micah took one of her hands in his, stilling it, and Gabe looked at him; their eyes met for one brief moment, and then He spoke.
Go on, child. Do what must be done. Bind her to you, and she'll be yours to shape.
After that brief moment of hesitation, he released her hand and pulled her back to his mouth.
Gabe went back to unbuttoning his shirt, not even fully sure of what she was doing. She wasn't exactly new to this kind of thing, but the situation was hardly normal -- and yet there she was, stripping the leader of the corn-cult's shirt right off his back as he fumbled clumsily with hers. In a matter of moments, she had inched them towards the bed, and though it took a prompting tug, Micah leaned her back against it and moved atop her. He hesitated once more, the clasp of her bra seeming to be a terribly perplexing prospect, but Gabe expertly undid it and looked at him expectantly. Micah swallowed, licked his lips, and pressed his mouth against hers again as she moved for the button on his pants.
I'm a good girl, I'm a proper girl.
Out in the cornfields, the wind was blowing gently over the stalks, swaying them carefully in the breeze like a mother rocking her newborn child. The night summer air was thick and warm, and the moon hung heavily in the sky as though swollen. And somewhere in Hemmingford, the two most important pieces in the plan of He Who Walks Behind The Rows unknowingly sealed what was to come in the days ahead.
And He was pleased.