THE LOST

Four

He was alone. His back pressed against the bathtub, he sat, petrified, in the dark room, his breath harsh and irregular with panic. He sat with the tray in one hand and the baseball bat in the other, soaking wet and covered in glass, and waited. He didn't know what for, but he waited. It was in there with him - he could feel it.

'Come on,' he whispered to nobody inparticular, 'come on...'

Nothing happened. For want of anything else to do, he pushed himself up to his feet against the bathtub. He toyed with the idea of running, of bursting though the door suddenly and seeing how far he could get before the inevitable happened. He flicked a brief glance up at the window. It was too small to fit through. Wasn't it? Perhaps if he opened it up all the way, he could squeeze out and find a safe way down to the dark street below, and then it would just be a matter of...

Suddenly it was there. He felt strong hands grabbing the back of his head, holding it still. He thrashed wildly with his arms, hitting nothing but air. There was something in his mouth - something hard and invisible and dirty tasting. Oh God... Oh God... what was happening to him? He couldn't scream, and was too surprised to think to bite down on the violating object as it hit the back of his throat. He gagged. It pushed in again, forcing its way down his throat, and he felt the wave of hot vomit rise up to meet it. His head was released and he fell forward to the toilet bowl in just enough time before he threw up.

'What the fuck...?' he gasped, still spitting out the last few globs. What was it doing? It was playing with him! What had it pushed into his mouth? Why had it left him, alone? His head span. Appalling mental images were flashing through his imagination. He used the toilet cistern to drag himself back onto his feet, too afraid to collect the weapons he had dropped. He pressed himself into a corner and screamed at the nothingness in the dark room.

'If you're gonna kill me, just kill me!'

In answer, the bathroom light snapped on. Eric yelped slightly, narrowing his eyes against the uncustomary brightness. But he saw it before the light flickered off again - the single word, carved over and over again into the wall - REMEMBER.

'Why are you doing this?'

The light flashed on again. The word was everywhere this time - scrawled into the walls, the door, the ceiling, the cupboards, the floor... oh Jesus. He spotted the cuts in the front of his sweater and held the waistband out in front of himself. PLEASE, ERIC! The words had been cut in his sweater upside down, so he could read them while still wearing it. He wanted to cry. Again, the lightbulb switched off and he was plunged into darkness.

'...please, eric...' It was only a small voice. He hadn't really heard it. It was in his head, not in the room. But it wasn't the voice that he spoke to himself with. It was familiar, nonetheless. '...please. come back...'

He clawed at his forehead, furiously. 'No! No! Go away! Get outta here!'

The invisible hand slapped him, hard, across the face. The force of it slammed his head sideways into the wall. He gasped for breath, shocked and stinging, and tried to grope his way out of the corner, but his head was grabbed from behind and he was slapped again.

'...Come On!...' the disembodied voice in his head was getting louder, was becoming more insistent. '...Come On, Eric!...'

The walls began to pound. He was weak. Weak and suddenly very, very heavy. He could barely move his limbs as the many hands dragged him roughly over to the bathtub, now somehow full to the brim with murky water. He tried to grab the shower curtain for support as he was pulled along, but it ripped from its rail in his hands, sending shampoo bottles flying as it did. He could feel his legs beginning to buckle.

'no...' he pleaded before he was pushed down to his knees amongst the shards of glass, in front of the tub. He felt the pressure on the back of his head and just managed to draw a deep breath and hold it before his face was forced under the foul, freezing water. His head was jerked up again suddenly, and he coughed and spluttered blindly, trying to take another gasp of air. He was thrown off his guard, however, by another hard slap to the face, and his head was submerged yet again before he was ready. And they held it under this time, while he thrashed and flailed helplessly. His body was growing steadily heavier and weaker. And colder. His lungs ached to take another breath, and he could hear his loud heartbeat throbbing in his ears. It was slowing down. This was it. He was going to die. He'd told the Thing to kill him, and it was killing him. He stopped fighting, and let his heavy, tired arms fall by his side. He could feel the floor pushing up at his bent knees, as if he were in an elevator rocketing skywards. It wasn't fair! He was too young! Why take him now? He'd only just started to turn his life around. Sure, he was broke, he was living in a basement and working all the hours God sent, but he was free for once, dammit... free to live how he wanted and be with the people he wanted. Free to be himself. Only now the people he wanted to be with were all gone, and he was gonna... gonna...

He was breathing again. He'd been pulled out of the bath - he wasn't sure when - and laid down face up on the floor. He was soaked and freezing, and still horribly heavy. There seemed to be a draught coming from somewhere. He coughed and choked, spitting out water. The hands were still there, but they were no longer grabbing or slapping him. They were merely patting at his cheeks, gently. Eric groaned, squinting up into the gloom. For some reason, the world around him was turning a dark shade of green.

'Eric? Eric?' The voice at his side was perfectly clear now. 'Come on, Eric. Please!'

He was vaguely aware that there were more hands around him. One set was stroking his hair. Another was tenderly holding his hand. The hands that were patting his cheek briefly stopped to feel the faint pulse at his throat.

They're trying to ease you into their world! They're trying to lull you into death!

Faint shadows were starting to form amongst the dark green that surrounded him. Far off, a girl was quietly crying. Something licked his face, and he gasped.

Another voice spoke, from just above his cradled hand. 'I think he's coming 'round!'

No! No! You mustn't let them take you! Don't go to that place!

He screwed up his eyes, fighting back the green, wilfully slipping from the hands that held him. The lonely black bathroom asserted itself around him once more, but their voices followed him back like terrible echoes.

'No! (...no...) He's fading again! (...gain...)'

'Please come back, Eric, (...eric...) please don't die! (...die...)'

'Do something, Hank! (Hank! Hank!)'

He tried to scream as the hands found him once more, dragging up onto his feet, but no sound came from his throat. The word REMEMBER was everywhere - just everywhere. He could see it even in the darkness, shining out, daubed on every surface, etched into his skin, carved into the air itself. REMEMBER! REMEMBER! REMEMBER!

Remember what?

'Remember, Eric? Remember the ride? Remember the Realm? Please remember. You're not home and dry yet. I need you to come back. Come back.'

He found his voice. He found a pool of strength somewhere from deep deep inside him to throw his head back and scream.

'No!'

'Come back!'

'No!' He was shaking now, by the shoulders, his head rolling around like a rag doll's.

'Come on, you're nearly there.'

'No! I don't... I don't want...' The green was returning.

'You hate this world, don't you?'

'Yes!'

'But you remember it. Don't you?'

Eric closed his eyes against the green. '...mmmuh...'

His eyelids were physically forced open.

'I know you hate it. But it doesn't just go away like that.'

Eric looked in horror at the sight before him. The bathroom was gone. The whole house was gone. It had been replaced with a dusk lit swamp. He was still heavy, cold and weak. His head was wet and there was the taste of vomit in his mouth.

'You have to stay with us,' said the voice from behind him. 'You mustn't die.'

Eric blinked pathetically in confusion. '...die...?'

Hank turned him around to face him, still holding him upright. 'You were poisoned, Eric. You were dying.'

Eric shook his head drunkenly, struggling to bring the fair youth into focus.

That's the guy... the guy from the... um...

'I wasn't... I was fine.'

'Keep moving.' Hank slung Eric's arm over his shoulder and began to walk, forcing Eric to walk with him. 'Let me guess,' he continued, 'you were back home, but weird things started to happen, and everyone began to disappear.'

Eric wondered only silently how the other young man had known this, watching his own feet as they stumbled and struggled to walk.

'You all had the same dream, Eric, together.' Hank shifted Eric's weight slightly, trying to force the youth to carry himself more as they walked. 'You thought I was dead, thought what I was doing to wake you up was a ghost trying to kill you all.'

'You did die...' mumbled Eric, 'I was doin' OK an' then you brought me here...'

'Oh yeah?' Hank stopped walking and turned his head to Eric's. 'what was home like? Give me some details. What did you do?'

Eric frowned, blankly, attempting to search a memory that suddenly was full of meaningless static. 'Um...'

'See?' said Hank calmly, 'you're beginning to forget it already. Just like all the others...'

'Th'others...' slurred Eric, but Hank was looking off into the swamp, suddenly distracted.

Eric tried to focus on the swamp, searching for whatever had caught the Ranger's eye. There was a stirring in the mire, then a large, deep, 'Glop'. Hank pushed Eric off his shoulder quickly, letting the other lad fall weakly to the ground. Eric barely had the strength to look up as Hank swiftly drew his bow and fired. A terrible screech from the swamp grabbed his attention and he shifted his head just in time to see the mud covered creature fall back in pain, flailing with its giant, snakelike body and hissing and screaming with its fanged, female, human face. The beast rose up again, briefly, lurching at Eric, its fangs bared, but another burst from the bow sent it reeling once more and slithering away.

'Wha...' Eric gaped as Hank dragged him back onto his feet. 'What the Hell was that?'

'Swamp Mermaid,' scowled Hank, 'don't you remember DM's warning? They like their dinner still alive, their brains still ticking, so their poison paralyses and causes hallucinations. Hallucinations that can be shared between more than one person. From what you guys have said, it seems your dream was something good enough that you didn't want to be woken up, but not so perfect that you started to suspect. And, since I didn't get bitten, it tried to write me out of the picture...' Hank trailed off, concerned at Eric's lost expression. 'Don't you remember, Eric? Don't you remember anything?'

'I don't...' stammered Eric, 'I don't know...'

Hank frowned again, slightly. 'No jokes?'

'...I... I'm sorry, I...'

'Jesus. You're still pretty bad, aren't you?'

Eric hung his head, limply, closing his eyes. He was still way too heavy and cold. he wanted to lie down and go to sleep for a long, long time. Hank caught his face and slapped it again, lightly. The memory of invisible hands grabbing and slapping him brought him back into consciousness with a start.

'Presto said that thing got you first,' continued Hank, 'bit right through your amour. You must have got most of the poison, because you were damn near impossible to wake up. Even with everybody else awake and helping me... we tried yelling at you, shaking you, throwing water at you, hitting you... we even tried making you sick, since that worked with Sheila...'

'...you wrote to remember...' mumbled Eric.

Hank shook his head. 'What good would that do, Eric? You were asleep. In the end, we had to submerge you in the coldest puddle we could find. We held you down as long as we could without drowning you.'

'...mmm...'

Eric closed his eyes against the memory of the freezing water, and his own helplessness beneath it. Not wanting to be slapped awake again, he gathered his strength to open his eyes once more. He almost slumped as Hank released his shoulders gingerly, but somehow his legs managed to keep his upright.

'Can you stand?'

Eric shrugged. 'Guess so.'

With a pat to Eric's back that nearly knocked him over, Hank turned away from him.

'Probably better if you try to get back without my help,' he told Eric, 'get some your strength back. We'll need to move again soon.'

Eric nodded, but didn't move.

'I'll see to the others,' continued Hank, 'They're all recovering fast. You should soon, too.' He shot the other boy a worried look. 'See if we can get a blanket conjured up or something,' he added, half to himself, 'you're still looking kinda... blue.'

Eric finally found his voice. 'Why did you interfere?' he croaked, 'Why not just let us be?'

Instead of the look of irritation Eric was expecting at his ungrateful outburst, Hank broke into a relieved smile.

'Hey,' he replied,'you're not getting out of the Realm that easy, Buster.'

'I wasn't joking, I meant it,' muttered Eric in response. But Hank was already gone.

Eric stumbled forwards a little, catching a nearby branch to keep his unsteady legs from buckling and catching sight of his reflection in a nearby puddle as he did. "Kinda Blue" had been far from an exaggeration. He looked like a zombie - a blue tinged, black-eyed, exhausted zombie. He blinked at the face in the puddle. He could no longer remember the details of the dream that had nearly killed him, but he was vaguely aware that he had been happy. His life had been going in the right direction. He had found things within his friends and himself that were now lost. He had let the darkness and the fear in again, and he had lost it all.

'I meant it...'