Off the Pedestal:
Chapter Three:
Full Summary: AU. Paul POV. First in the 'Disturbed' trilogy. His grandfather had always warned him about his powers, shifting especially. He'd ended up a cripple, and didn't want to see Paul end up like that. But it eventually got to Paul too, and though he's fine physically, he's now insane… Look out, Carmel, Paul Slater's coming to town.
A/N: This chapter gets kind of violent, in a way: you've been forewarned.
I will also remind you that Paul's opinions are not mine. In this chapter, there is some rather… unpleasant opinions on Christianity. Myself being a Christian, I say that I don't share the opinion, but I need to get into the guys head, don't I?
Damn that bloody ghost. Don't ever want to see a ghost again, eh? I was perfectly happy without any ghosts around. But no, now I want one. I am not in the best of moods. What's better than to go and further degrade one of the bunch of walking dead?
They shouldn't look at me with the fear that they do, though. I mean, it's their fault that they're dead and haven't bothered to bloody even attempt to move on. They just sit there and go, 'oh, holy Mediator, I beg of you, send me to Heaven!' And I just glare at them. I am NO Mediator. Mediators are weak and pathetic. I am a great and all-powerful shifter – not some bloody weakling. At least, with the respect I get, they recognize my power, and that I'm obviously superior to them.
I also return the favour; removing them from this Earth that they're plagued on.
But don't worry; I'm not soft. I don't actually send them on to Heaven or whatever the Hell else that they think is up there. I give them a one-way ticket to Hell – returning the favour for them trying to destroy my life, yeah?
Anyway, I'll curse that bloody Latino. I'll incinerate him – making me think of ghosts again. Bloody bastard, he is. I'll cause him to spontaneously combust if I have to – now wouldn't THAT be fun? There's no downside, too: I'd find who they were looking for, plus there'd be a massive explosion tearing down this bloody 'Mission Academy', and people would be crushed and the old scheming priesty dude would know that I haven't fallen for his stupid, underhand scheme.
I can figure him out way too easy.
Which is why I'm going to go out ghost hunting, right now. You never know, I could join one of those green parties, all this cleaning up of the environment that I'm doing. But, anyway, I seem to have a little date with the grim reaper – and his latest victims.
Finding a ghost was ridiculously easy. I mean, do the little fuckers ever actually go straight onto their next life? 'When I died, I dropped my hair clip: oh, woe is me!' For whoever's sake, what the fuck is with that? GET YOUR OWN FREAKIN' HAIRCLIP. They can't understand plain English. You tell them to pick it up, and they still can't do it. It's not exactly hard, is it? It goes:
Bring down your hand. Close your fingers over the object. Pick it up.
The difficultly level of that? A big fat ZERO.
'Yes,' they say, 'but my hand goes right through it,' and they demonstrate.
I copy. They stare – the typical wangsty ghost that 'they' is referring to, anyway.
'But… you're alive!' they exclaim.
I glare at them. They shrink backwards, astonished. 'So, if I can do that, you can pick it up. And I leave them weeping, shoving their hand through their most prized possession, seeming to will their hands to allow them to pick it up, some wailing as they realized that they'd never get it.
Yes, that's what my ghosts are like. Therefore, it surprised me when the one I found said, "Are you alright?" My eyes, which had been closed in a motion of exhaustion, snap open. The ghost backs away, seeming scared of my raw power. "You can see me?" he whispers in disbelief.
Oh. That.
"Oh, no, I can't," I say, voice dripping with more than just sarcasm – it almost seems as if people think I'm some kind of poison, and react accordingly. I glower at the man-ghost, who's backing away, white glowing face paler than I was used to seeing it. Why the Hell did he even ask a question if he didn't expect me to see him, anyway?
Distorted logic: I guess losing your body does that to you.
Well, I'm not one to idly have conversations with ghosts, so I add, in my most innocent voice that always seems to make people more scared, "want to move on?"
Of course, he knows what that means. He seems to be one of the idiot kind, and instead of inquiring further, just goes, "sure! You… you can do that?"
"Yes," I snap. He's questioning my power AND my authority! That is NOT to be taken lightly! Oh, he's definitely going to get it, and get it good, he will!
Without conversing any further, I grab him, and he jerks back in fear and surprise. Oops, did I forget to be all-gentle with the poor widdle baby ghostie? Shame. He's scared that somebody can touch him? Aww, poor baba… scared of everything…
Seriously. This guy DESERVED to die. He's a bloody lunatic.
So, yeah, I shift and let go of the freak. He stumbles backwards and stares around fearfully, then stares at me and his eyes widen. "You… you're dead?"
I start laughing hysterically then. "Dumbass… I'm not dead… I'm not like you, and never will be. I'm still very much alive," I chuckle. I note him trying (and failing, might I add) to suppress a shiver.
That's right… Don't question me…
"So, what is this place?"
"Some call it Shadowland," I say idly, using the word for the place, I call it. Of course, I can't resist the thing that I'm sure will make him react in a most amusing way. "And others call it Purgatory."
His eyes widen, and he falls to his knees, seemingly analysing the situation. "But… never did anything wrong! I led a good life! I even ran a homeless shelter!"
A homeless shelter? I laugh aloud. "That's not a good life," I inform him. "That's a boring life. A good life is doing a lot more… suggestive things, and getting a little more intoxicated."
I smirk at his expression, and begin laughing somewhat manically again, unable to calm myself down.
He looks at the floor helplessly. "I… I… I never meant to offend you, but if it's your judgement that I be sent to Hell, then so be it…"
This sobers me up. I stare at him. "You what, now?"
"But," he looked confused, "isn't this where I get judged?"
For a moment, I'm confused, and then my education kicks in. End of the world… judgement… holy crap, did he think I was Jesus or something? I start laughing hysterically at the thought; it was just so ludicrous. "I'm not bloody Jesus or anything…" I gasp, in between fits of laughter. Though maybe one day I'd overthrow the old fool if he even existed, at the moment, I wasn't him. "I'm the evil version," I inform him, watching as he freezes and backs away in sudden, relentless fear.
I want to laugh again, but refrain myself. I was actually saying the truth. "I'm in a good mood today," I say airily. "So, I'll show you the way out. Actually, it shows itself; you just need a push in the right direction." He looks at me, longing to go, and I smirk and tell him exactly what I was planning on saying. "Go into the light."
He doesn't even seem to question me. His loss. I had warned him; I'd told him the truth, hadn't I? I'd told him that I was like the evil version of his bloody personified God. It's no great tragedy, anyway.
I watch him walk into the light. Closer and closer, towards the brighter and brighter light…
And then… a scream. Lots of screams, actually. Burning. His skin (if he'd have had any, that is) really would have looked like it was burning off, too; he hit the floor in pain (hey, so ghosts can actually have considerable pain… I have to try this method again, sometimes) and was currently twitching, rolling around and making strangling noises when he discovered that he could no longer scream.
I watch as he begins to be eradicated. I watch his pain. I watch as his body seems to fold in on itself, becoming smaller, and smaller… I watch until what was once a man (okay, a ghost of a man, but same difference – he was probably equally annoying when he was alive) seems to become ashes, rising up into the air and scattering like leaves. I watch and I smirk.
I chuckle darkly, and make my way to IT. I had a good excuse for being here anyway, did I not? You know, aiming to help a poor, innocent soul… and it's not my fault if he's a gullible one, is it? IT is the only good looking thing in here… and IT is important. I reach for IT, ready to use it, but-
"You!" a bellowing voice shouts. I turn around and see my current nemesis: the gatekeeper. I glare at him. He glares at me. He drags me away from IT. "You are not permitted entrance, so stop trying to breach the security."
I smirk again, and then I shift. Next order of business: finding out how to get past the gatekeeper, which is easier said than done…
A/N: D'you like it? Review!