Author's Note: No, I haven't lost my mind. I assure you I know exactly what I'm doing.
Chapter 16: Ever Get the Feeling...
"Shhhhhh!" Lance glared at me from down the hall. "Quiet! You wanna get caught?" We were just outside the Tyrant's room, eyes wide with the excitement and danger of what we were doing. I felt a good deal better after school. Whatever had been bugging me earlier had begun to fade after about second period. It wasn't gone completely, I could still feel it in the back of my mind, buzzing insistently, but I was able to ignore it.
"What are we looking for, exactly?" Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"We'll know when we find it. Now will you shut up?" He glanced around furtively, making sure the coast was clear. But we both knew it would be. Mom was off winning the bread, and the Tyrant... well, he was sleeping of his last of his drunken stupor, downstairs on the couch. Later, he'd crack open another bottle, but for now, it would take a parade to wake him. Seventy-six trombones and all.
"Let's get this over with, then." I was proud of how steady I'd managed to keep my voice. I didn't feel brave, I didn't feel strong, I just wanted to get this over with, and go play outside. Away from stupid closets, and evil Tyrants, and ...
~Sir Colt!~
My insides froze. That voice was so tantalizingly familiar, but... No, telepathy was impossible. It was just the stress of what we were doing.
"Colt?" Lance was looking at me sideways, concern mixing with frustration at the delay. "If you're done standing there...?" He handed me the key, and moved out of the way.
"Wait.. What? Why do I have to open it?" I wasn't liking the way this was going at ALL.
"Because I have to stand guard. You're not chicken, are you?" I shook my head before he could begin clucking. It was a common argument between us. Like most brothers, I suppose. Either way, it worked, as it always did. Anything to keep my brother from thinking any less of me. Sure, we loved each other, and were inseparable, but... Sometimes I wanted to smack him. Instead, I brushed past him, and unlocked the door.
I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I saw. The door swung open to reveal... Nothing. The closet was empty. No, I was wrong. Tucked in the darkest corner of the top-most shelf was... something. "Lance..." I hissed, trying not to let my voice carry. "Gimme a boost!"
Soon enough, standing on Lance's shoulders, I discovered what it was. Dan's electric guitar. Once, he'd dreamed of being a rock-star. Now, though, he took it down and stared at it, nights when he thought we all were asleep. I'd never heard him play, but the way Mom talked, he'd been pretty good, once upon a time. But he was just another has-been now. "What is it?" Lance's voice floated up from below me.
"It's the guitar!" I didn't need to explain, of course. Lance had seen it as often as I had.
"Bring it down, let's see it!" Lance's voice had taken on an eager edge that I didn't like, but I, still stinging from being called a chicken, began to pull the guitar case from the corner. And that was when the worst happened. My nose, itching from all the dust, decided to call it quits, and I sneezed. Not just any sneeze, though. A sneeze like a shot-gun blast. Eyes watering, I lost my balance, and tumbled backwards. The world seemed to slow down and, forgetting myself, I let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead. Of course, if all I was worried about was zombies... The guitar case flew across the room and slammed into the wall. A dissonant twang marked the end of the guitar. And a roar of rage marked the end of us.
"What in Sam Hill is goin' on up there?" Dan's voice floated up from downstairs. Lance and I exchanged panicked glances, and turned towards the guitar as one. It was beyond our ability to repair, of course. Wasn't that just the way of it?
"Holy shit, Colt... what are we..." But he was cut off by another angry bellow.
"What did you li'l shits do to my guitar?" He rounded on me. "I'm g'na tan your hide, boy!" His hand groped for his belt, but froze when his gaze fell on something else. Lance's baseball bat, left where we'd discarded our things before playing Mission: Idiotic. Something feral gleamed in his eyes, and I knew at once that I was screwed. And not in the good happy sense, either.
All three of us leapt for the bat at the same time, but Dan had the advantage of size, and we were still shaken up from the fall, so he beat us to it. Grinning triumphantly, he turned back to me. "Learn you to disrespect your betters."
"Betters? You stupid ass. You're not worth half of him!" Lance stood, shaking with rage and hatred. And then I remembered. Oh gods... Eighteen. I'm eighteen. And Lance is ... Oh, FUCK!
"Lance, no! He'll kill you!" Even as I spoke, Dan raised the bat, and took a swing. "NO!" A sword! If only I had my sword... But I had to make do. "Don't touch him!" I tried to grab his arm, but in my teenage state, I was less than half his size. He backhanded me nonchalantly, without even looking. My head struck the night stand, and my ears started to ring. Ring? No... That was... A dial tone! I grabbed the phone, and dialed 9-1-1...
"Nice try, Colt." The voice on the other line was cold, but familiar. The Sorcerer. Shit! "I couldn't have you interfering with my plans, after all. Enjoy your stay in the past. Although... I hope you don't mind, but I rewrote the ending a little." With a cackle that sounded as though it had been the first assignment in Villain Cliches 101, the line went dead. I wanted to weep. So this was how my story ended, then? Trapped in a scene I'd barely survived the first time? No. I wouldn't let it end this way.
"You're not real." I whispered, between gritted teeth. Dan turned and started towards me; Lance was little more than a stain on the rug. That's not how it happened, I thought, surprised. Lance died in the hospital the next day!
"Your turn, Colt." Dan grinned at me, showing fangs that would have made even the greediest dentist faint.
"You're not real! None of this is real! You called me Colt! Dan NEVER called me Colt!" As soon as I said it, I could feel the threads of reality stretch. "Lance died in the hospital!" More stretching... The pressure was tangible. "And I am NO LONGER AFRAID OF YOU!" The world tore, and I spiraled into the darkness once more.
Chapter 16: Ever Get the Feeling...
"Shhhhhh!" Lance glared at me from down the hall. "Quiet! You wanna get caught?" We were just outside the Tyrant's room, eyes wide with the excitement and danger of what we were doing. I felt a good deal better after school. Whatever had been bugging me earlier had begun to fade after about second period. It wasn't gone completely, I could still feel it in the back of my mind, buzzing insistently, but I was able to ignore it.
"What are we looking for, exactly?" Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"We'll know when we find it. Now will you shut up?" He glanced around furtively, making sure the coast was clear. But we both knew it would be. Mom was off winning the bread, and the Tyrant... well, he was sleeping of his last of his drunken stupor, downstairs on the couch. Later, he'd crack open another bottle, but for now, it would take a parade to wake him. Seventy-six trombones and all.
"Let's get this over with, then." I was proud of how steady I'd managed to keep my voice. I didn't feel brave, I didn't feel strong, I just wanted to get this over with, and go play outside. Away from stupid closets, and evil Tyrants, and ...
~Sir Colt!~
My insides froze. That voice was so tantalizingly familiar, but... No, telepathy was impossible. It was just the stress of what we were doing.
"Colt?" Lance was looking at me sideways, concern mixing with frustration at the delay. "If you're done standing there...?" He handed me the key, and moved out of the way.
"Wait.. What? Why do I have to open it?" I wasn't liking the way this was going at ALL.
"Because I have to stand guard. You're not chicken, are you?" I shook my head before he could begin clucking. It was a common argument between us. Like most brothers, I suppose. Either way, it worked, as it always did. Anything to keep my brother from thinking any less of me. Sure, we loved each other, and were inseparable, but... Sometimes I wanted to smack him. Instead, I brushed past him, and unlocked the door.
I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I saw. The door swung open to reveal... Nothing. The closet was empty. No, I was wrong. Tucked in the darkest corner of the top-most shelf was... something. "Lance..." I hissed, trying not to let my voice carry. "Gimme a boost!"
Soon enough, standing on Lance's shoulders, I discovered what it was. Dan's electric guitar. Once, he'd dreamed of being a rock-star. Now, though, he took it down and stared at it, nights when he thought we all were asleep. I'd never heard him play, but the way Mom talked, he'd been pretty good, once upon a time. But he was just another has-been now. "What is it?" Lance's voice floated up from below me.
"It's the guitar!" I didn't need to explain, of course. Lance had seen it as often as I had.
"Bring it down, let's see it!" Lance's voice had taken on an eager edge that I didn't like, but I, still stinging from being called a chicken, began to pull the guitar case from the corner. And that was when the worst happened. My nose, itching from all the dust, decided to call it quits, and I sneezed. Not just any sneeze, though. A sneeze like a shot-gun blast. Eyes watering, I lost my balance, and tumbled backwards. The world seemed to slow down and, forgetting myself, I let out a scream loud enough to wake the dead. Of course, if all I was worried about was zombies... The guitar case flew across the room and slammed into the wall. A dissonant twang marked the end of the guitar. And a roar of rage marked the end of us.
"What in Sam Hill is goin' on up there?" Dan's voice floated up from downstairs. Lance and I exchanged panicked glances, and turned towards the guitar as one. It was beyond our ability to repair, of course. Wasn't that just the way of it?
"Holy shit, Colt... what are we..." But he was cut off by another angry bellow.
"What did you li'l shits do to my guitar?" He rounded on me. "I'm g'na tan your hide, boy!" His hand groped for his belt, but froze when his gaze fell on something else. Lance's baseball bat, left where we'd discarded our things before playing Mission: Idiotic. Something feral gleamed in his eyes, and I knew at once that I was screwed. And not in the good happy sense, either.
All three of us leapt for the bat at the same time, but Dan had the advantage of size, and we were still shaken up from the fall, so he beat us to it. Grinning triumphantly, he turned back to me. "Learn you to disrespect your betters."
"Betters? You stupid ass. You're not worth half of him!" Lance stood, shaking with rage and hatred. And then I remembered. Oh gods... Eighteen. I'm eighteen. And Lance is ... Oh, FUCK!
"Lance, no! He'll kill you!" Even as I spoke, Dan raised the bat, and took a swing. "NO!" A sword! If only I had my sword... But I had to make do. "Don't touch him!" I tried to grab his arm, but in my teenage state, I was less than half his size. He backhanded me nonchalantly, without even looking. My head struck the night stand, and my ears started to ring. Ring? No... That was... A dial tone! I grabbed the phone, and dialed 9-1-1...
"Nice try, Colt." The voice on the other line was cold, but familiar. The Sorcerer. Shit! "I couldn't have you interfering with my plans, after all. Enjoy your stay in the past. Although... I hope you don't mind, but I rewrote the ending a little." With a cackle that sounded as though it had been the first assignment in Villain Cliches 101, the line went dead. I wanted to weep. So this was how my story ended, then? Trapped in a scene I'd barely survived the first time? No. I wouldn't let it end this way.
"You're not real." I whispered, between gritted teeth. Dan turned and started towards me; Lance was little more than a stain on the rug. That's not how it happened, I thought, surprised. Lance died in the hospital the next day!
"Your turn, Colt." Dan grinned at me, showing fangs that would have made even the greediest dentist faint.
"You're not real! None of this is real! You called me Colt! Dan NEVER called me Colt!" As soon as I said it, I could feel the threads of reality stretch. "Lance died in the hospital!" More stretching... The pressure was tangible. "And I am NO LONGER AFRAID OF YOU!" The world tore, and I spiraled into the darkness once more.