Twice Cursed
One Hell of a Nap

The man in the attic lay crumpled on the floorboards of the attic, as the light of the morning streamed through the stained glass windows and onto his face. His right hand twitched slightly, and he half opened his eyes before quickly closing them again. He had never felt so weak before, with not enough energy to lift a finger. He hadn't felt like this since…

Phoebe.

The name echoed in his mind.

Phoebe.

Oh, God…

Phoebe.

Cole Turner opened his eyes fully and resisted the urge to close them. He stared around at his surroundings the best that he could without moving his head. But even by staring at the beams of the ceiling told him where he was. In the attic of the Manor.

The Manor. Which meant that somewhere here, Phoebe was too. Maybe she was lying in her bed, maybe she was taking a shower, maybe she was eating breakfast with her sisters at the kitchen counter…

But…why was he here? He wasn't supposed to be, that was for sure. He was dead, he knew that very well himself. The Charmed Ones made sure of that. Phoebe made sure of that—it was his last memory, the cold look in Phoebe's eyes when she threw that potion…

Oh, God.

Cole tried sitting up, and with some effort found that he could do so. He looked down at the tattered rags that once were his clothes. One thing was for sure—hell had not been kind to him for the time that he had been there.

Yes, hell. Like he once said to a pair of grimlocks so very long ago, back to when he was courting Phoebe: "There's dead, and then there's dead." The second vanquishing really had been efficient—no bothering with the wasteland this time, no, he had went straight into the pits of fire and stayed there. And it had not been fun.

Then again, hell was not exactly cruel to him—not excessively so, anyways. He could only guess that some of the terrible things that he had done were alleviated by the good deeds he had done during those happy times with Phoebe. Too bad it wasn't nearly enough to wipe out all of Belthazor's legacy, especially with "becoming the Source of All Evil" added to his rap sheet.

In a weird, twisted way, however, hell had given him a benefit that he wouldn't have gotten any other way—any other possible way, that is. Hell made him sane again, as strange and paradoxical as it sounds. Perhaps it was because he couldn't get any crazier, thought Cole with just a hint of bitterness, meaning there was no choice for the pits of hell but to revert his insanity. The fire was almost cleansing, too, in a way. He felt his newly gained powers being slowly stripped away as he burned in the pits of hell, leaving his basic powers of shimmering and energy balls behind.

That was not to say that hell had been a good experience. Hell was the reason for all his bruises and for his complete lack of energy. It had also been responsible for all his broken, dead bones as well, which were healed with his acidic blood. It had been the last of his powers to go, and he had been sucked out of hell before hell had the time to break any more bones.

Who had brought him out, anyways? Cole was corporeal, not a ghostly image of himself, which meant that he had to be alive. His first thought before he passed out was that the Charmed Ones must have brought him back to life to torture him some more. But that didn't seem to be the case anymore, since none of the sisters were there. He shifted his position and let out a low groan. The pain…such unimaginable pain…though maybe not so unimaginable after all. Being without Phoebe or being in hell—they were basically the same thing anyways. Still, he relished in the feeling of breathing in strong, clean air, and feeling the sturdiness of the cool floorboards beneath him.

He looked around the attic. There, sitting perched on its stand, was the Book of Shadows, with its cover firmly shut, a yard or two away from him. It seemed thicker than the last time he saw it, but of course that was to be expected. There was also a lot more stuff in the attic—a few good stacks of stuff, really. There was a broken stroller sitting dejectedly in a corner, with one of its wheels seemingly blown off. Melinda, Cole guessed. He would not allow himself to think of the stroller belonging to Phoebe, though he knew that there may be a chance of that happening. What year was it, anyways?

Suddenly, he heard footsteps coming up toward the attic. He sat still for a whole second, then mustered up all his energy to drag himself behind one of the gigantic piles of stuff in the attic. A few moments later, Paige emerged, still in her PJs, heading directly toward the Book. She took it in her arms and almost seemed to cradle it. "Hello, there, Book," she said to it, shifting its weight to her hip. "Long time no see, huh?" She sat down in one of the chairs in the attic, her back partially to Cole. "You're practically getting dusty." She wiped off the cover before opening the Book. "It's been a while, and I'm definitely not complaining, but—" she sighed, and Cole from a small gap of space he was provided saw her run her hand through her hair. "I have a feeling something may be up again. With Phoebe."

Cole tensed. What was wrong with Phoebe?

"Everything's wrong with Phoebe," Paige continued, as if she had heard Cole's question. "Well, not with her, though she does need to get her head checked for being so goddamned blind to that miserable…" she ended her sentence with a few grumbles. "Anyways," she sighed again to the Book, "As much as I hate to say it, but when Phoebe starts acting calm and almost happy, then something has to be wrong." She flipped randomly through the big tome. "God," she said suddenly, propping her elbows on the Book and putting her head in her hands, "I'm such a bad sister." She looked up. "Anyone wanna help?"

Paige received no reply, so she shrugged and flipped a bit more before closing the book decisively and putting it back on the stand. "Guess not," she said softly to herself. She headed toward the doorway and Cole was about to crawl out from his hiding spot went Paige suddenly froze. Her suspicious gaze swept around the attic, her eyes lingering on Cole's hiding spot before she relented and went back down the steps.

It was until Cole couldn't hear Paige's footsteps anymore that he allowed himself to breathe.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. A few notes…

It actually does seem like I lost a few comments to the site, three, actually, from Shel, cutleryismyfriend, and svata2004. I've read the comments though, because I have them sent directly to my email box, so it's all OK.

Also, to Charmed-Snow (this goes back to the comment you left for the chapter "Cry")—I'm sorry I made you cry! Hopefully, it didn't damper your day. I was pretty surprised, though, I didn't expect to elicit such powerful emotion.

To all—see,this onewas longer, hehe. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!