A/N: Thank you for the reviews! They truly do encourage me to update quicker (though you wouldn't think it with the lateness of this chapter being posted - I'm so very, very, very sorry about the wait!).
Part 3: Doorways to Oblivion
"You need to get a hobby," Phoebe declared, derisively.
Chris graced her by looking up from Devilry and Demons, accompanied by a scowl.
"This is my hobby," he deadpanned.
Phoebe quietly sighed, rolling her eyes as she backed off. Chris had a well-lit view of the page he was trying to read for measly seconds, before the elder sister's shadow stepped up as a replacement.
"Did you sleep at all last night?" Piper asked, a note of accusation in her voice.
"Yes," he lied. His gaze was obstinately fixed on the book and he shifted to bring it back into the light.
"Well, you look like you didn't. In fact, you look like you haven't slept for days."
Chris's eyes flew up to Piper, blazing.
"Who are you? My mother?" he snapped, mocking and bitter.
The turmoil of emotion in him was too turbulent for Piper to read, though anger seemed dominant. She responded in kind; bristling and moving into a confrontational stance, blocking him from the artificial light. He looked sickly pale in the moonlight slipping in through the conservatory windows.
"No," she stated, hands on hips. "I am the mother of the child you're supposed to be protecting." A finger pointed at the toddler in his playpen. "A job you can't do if you can barely keep your eyes open!"
"So, you want me to sleep for Wyatt's sake, is that it?" he drawled, and clenched his jaw, refusing to look over at the fair-haired child.
"What Piper means," Phoebe said, placative, coming to stand beside her sister, "is that you should get some rest for all our sakes, yours included."
A frustrated sigh fell from Chris's lips, but a wave of suppressing fatigue swept over him and he yawned instead of replying.
An evening of page turning and note taking was the perfectly wearing follow-up to a long day of hanging around demons bars with his eyes and ears open, interspersed by paying house calls to put pressure on informants. Yet, it was important work, and Miss Annoyance and Miss Distraction were not helping in the least. He was about to bid them a grumpy adieu and orb himself off to the backroom at P3, when he realised there was a reason why he had chosen to work at the manor. The actual reason itself was slower to surface in his tired brain.
A click reached his ears as the front door closed behind its entrant.
His memory was slow. Paige. Something about Paige...
The youngest sister found them in the conservatory and flopped down into a seat.
"Boy, what a day," Paige exclaimed. "My boss at Ricco's Bar sure is a slave driver. It's no wonder he's having to take on temp staff to cover the shifts. And it's right across town, too," she grouched. "However, I shouldn't have to stay there for much longer." Her expression brightened. "I think I've found my innocent requiring rescuing." A sly grin appeared on her lips, as she added, "And he's pretty hot, too."
"Oh, he's a he, is he?" Piper raised her eyebrows.
"Yup. David. Californian hunk with these simply amazing blue eyes."
Phoebe nodded approvingly.
The cogs continued to turn in Chris's brain. Something about that guy…and a landlady...
"It seems he's having some trouble with his landlady, not being able to meet rent deadlines and such like, and he swears the cranky old lady gets up to some kooky stuff in the basement. Black smoke, black cats, black magic."
"No, no she doesn't...no..." Chris muttered, thoughtfully.
"He's invited me around for dinner tomorrow night," Paige continued, none of them really hearing Chris's soft mutterings. "So I'll be able to suss her out then."
"No," Chris said, much more loudly and firmly this time. The three sisters looked at him in surprise and question. "He's the demon, not the landlady. A Jardax demon."
"Hey!" Paige frowned. "I'm supposed to work these things out for myself, y'know!"
"Yeah, well, you were very close to being turned into human rice pudding last time."
"Ew." She crinkled her noise in distaste. "Alright, Mr History Buff, how do I stop him?"
"I don't remember offhand." Chris scrubbed a hand over his face. "It's in the Book of Shadows. You three should have no trouble in summoning him and then performing a vanquish."
"Ok." Paige stood up and held out her hands to orb her sisters up to the attic.
"Wait." Piper grabbed a baby monitor and switched on its pair next to Wyatt's playpen. "You be good, sweetie." Her son looked up at her with his wide, innocent eyes. "Mommy'll be back soon to put you to bed." She then turned to Chris. "Keep an eye on him, can't you? We'll only be upstairs."
"I will," Chris promised.
The sisters orbed up to the attic, leaving him alone with Wyatt. The young Halliwell went back to quietly playing with his toys and Chris picked up his book again.
It wasn't long before Chris's eyelids felt heavy and the printed words were blurring. The room was quiet, the only sounds being the soft jingles and clacks of Wyatt's toys. Stealthily, sleep crept up and pulled Chris under before he realised what was happening.
Chris knew he was dreaming. The horribly familiar endless corridor of metal doors was a bit of a giveaway.
He sighed. This was not a reoccurring dream he wanted.
Welcome back, Christopher.
The disembodied, haunting voice was accompanied by a numbing chill in the air.
Are you going to cooperate this time? Or do you require further encouragement?
Chris scrubbed his hands over his tired face. This dream was going to be more tiring than staying awake. He ignored the voice and concentrated on trying to will himself awake.
The voice laughed, lightly.
What are you doing?
There was more amusement than threat in the question. The unexpected change in tone caught Chris's attention.
I'm holding you here, and with no one to wake you up outside of my fabrication, you're trapped. Sorry, m'boy.
The voice didn't sound apologetic in the least, but the light-hearted tone remained intact.
It was true that Chris had found himself bumping against some kind of barrier whenever he felt himself getting close to awakening. The invisible force felt demonic when he touched it. Fear settled low in his stomach. He started to doubt that he was experiencing a natural reoccurring dream.
Your only hope of escape lies beyond the doors.
Chris listened to the voice with more heed this time, but then instantly dismissed the idea of going through one of the doors. He had already ascertained that they were portals to a place of strong demonic power.
You have no choice.
The voice had changed; biting menace laced the words.
I can be very persuasive.
I will fight you! Chris clenched his fists at his sides, his own substantial magic tingling just under his skin and making the hair at the nape of his neck stand on end like an electric charge.
"Who are you? Show yourself!" Chris demanded, out loud. None of his fear rose to cause a quiver in his voice; it was overruled by determination and anger.
Oh, if you insist.
The cheeriness was back.
No need to get your knickers in a twist.
A dark figure shimmered into existence in front of Chris, at the optimal distance for theatrical effect; he was given a raven-haired head to patent leather toe view of the tall, thin man that appeared with his tailored frock coat swishing aesthetically around his legs. Piercing eyes, which were grey, blue and green all at once, sparkled with enjoyment that was matched by the smile on thin, pastel lips, all standing out from a narrow face that would have been handsome were it not for its unearthly pallor.
"You're the Nightmare demon I was warned about," Chris said, voicing what he had been on the brink of concluding as he'd demanded the demon to show himself.
"Oh, how astute you are." It was said mockingly, but without aggression, as the Nightmare demon stepped towards Chris. "But, gah! That name is so vulgar. I much prefer to call myself a Sandman's apprentice. It's more…disingenuous." Mischievousness danced across the demon's features. "And humble, don't you think?" he added. His fine eyebrows arched with false pondering. "Hmm, perhaps not."
Ignoring the demon's pompous display, the witch and whitelighter powers within Chris rushed through him like adrenalin, ready for immediate use.
"I won't let you get to Wyatt," Chris declared, vehemently.
The demon gave a laugh – a musical note tinged with darkness.
"Your thoughts are so linear, so blinkered. Come now, try to rise above your habitual stupidity. Wyatt isn't having this dream, now is he, hmm?" There was no mistaking the darkness that filled the eyes and twisted the mouth, as it deepened the voice. "You are."
"Me? You're after me?" Surprised, Chris blinked wide-eyed. "Why me?"
Smug pride at his own perceived intuitiveness added flamboyance to the demon's hand gestures, as he gave his explanation. "You are here to prevent Wyatt being turned. I, however, think a future of evil will be a good world to live in. And since Wyatt will be lording over the waking, surely I'll be free to rule the sleeping."
"You have no idea." Chris shook his head in disbelief, taking his turn to be amazed by the other's naivety.
"Doubt me, mortal, if you so wish," the demon replied, irritation marring his brow for a moment. Then his expression relaxed. "Now, back to the doors."
"Is this the point where you threaten to kill me again?" Chris cut in. "Because you'd be wasting your time. This is just a dream – you can't really hurt me."
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong." The Nightmare demon clapped his hands together with glee, darkness blazing from the depths of his eyes as they bored into Chris's skull. "This isn't just any old dream. It's my creation and I'm in control. Your wounds really will bleed, your bones really will break. You can die here." The grin twisted further. "And if you die in here, you die out there in the world of the waking, too."
The blood had drained from Chris's face, leaving him ghostly pale. The fear in the bottom of his stomach grew into a beast that gnawed at his insides.
He swallowed before speaking. "What's behind the doors?"
"Ah, the doors, the doors!" Pleasure spread across the demon's face.
"Do I have to pick the right one?" Chris continued to struggle to keep the wavering in his voice under control.
"Pick one? Dear boy, it doesn't matter which one you go through. They all lead to the same place."
"What place?"
"You'll see."
"I won't open any of those doors," Chris resisted.
"Of course, you will." The demon flashed pearly white teeth. "You have no choice."
"You can't kill me in this corridor. If you could, you wouldn't be so eager for me to go through the doors," Chris reasoned, his mind racing even faster than his pounding heart.
"Don't be so sure of that. Perhaps I just want to give you a sporting chance."
"No. All I have to do is wait here until someone wakes me up."
"Excuse me, I think you'll find I'm the one who knows what can and can't happen," the demon said, indignantly. "You're weaker than last time and as such I have a much greater hold on you. If anyone were to discover your body now, they would find you slipping deeper and deeper into a coma."
The hint of colour that had only just returned to Chris's cheeks fled once more.
"I could kill you in this corridor," the demon said, sounding reluctant to do so. "But I can do much more exciting things to you beyond one of the doors." His eyes flashed with excitement. "Of course, it is there that I risk you being able to escape. But I'm confident enough in my entrapment for that to not bother me. However, I think it will be a point of serious contemplation for you."
"You're lying," Chris responded in anger born out of fear and frustration.
The demon gave a short sigh, rolling his eyes. Then he shimmered out.
Chris stared at the empty space where the Nightmare demon had stood seconds before. Confusion and anxiety shredded his nerves. He took a tentative step forwards, and then turned in a full circle, his wide eyes seeking either the demon or a new threat.
His heart beat furiously in his chest and Chris became aware of a familiar tightness, as his lungs failed to draw in enough oxygen.
The pain quickly worsened and the accompanying ache in his head grew so bad he could barely think straight. His legs gave way and he sank to the floor, feeling as though he was dropping through quicksand.
"Same as before," he gasped out, as he toppled forwards and his hands splayed out on the floor in front of him to support his weight. "All you…can do?"
Of course, not.
The disembodied voice was good-humoured.
As I told you, I can do much more beyond the doors. And that's the only place you have any hope of escaping.
Chris's brain was clouded with a woolly fog, his thoughts struggling to make their way through it and join together.
There was no way of knowing if the demon was lying or not… But if he stayed in the corridor, the rapidly thinning air would kill him in minutes… It wasn't a case of trusting the demon… His only hope was beyond the doors…
He had no choice.
On his hands and knees, Chris dragged himself over to the nearest plain, metal door. His eyes locked onto the chrome handle. Grudgingly, he reached up.
The demon didn't speak a word, but the pain in Chris's chest eased up slightly. It gave him the strength to grasp hold of the cool, smooth metal of the handle and pull it down. As he pushed forwards, the door swung open a few inches. Dark shadow pooled out of the gap like rays of light.
Chris used the doorframe to help haul himself up onto his feet. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door fully open. He shoved his fear aside and drew all his strength together, his magic coursing through him.
Then he stepped over the threshold into the pitch-blackness beyond.
Chris found himself in a world of swirling blue and indigo light, which was irregularly slashed through by flashes of silver lightning. He lost all sense of up and down, left and right, in front and behind. Time and space meant nothing. All there was were the colours, the lightning and the feeling of being on a wildly out of control merry-go-round, and the knowledge that his stomach was going to turn inside out if it was all kept up much longer.
Mercifully, the movement stopped. The bright colours vanished and were replaced by a copse on a sunny hillside. Birds swept across the clear blue sky and squirrels chirruped to each other as they jumped from branch to branch. Warily, Chris moved through the trees, but, aside from the wildlife, he was alone in the remote countryside spot.
Coming to a stop in a clearing, he opened his mouth to yell the demon's name, when he realised that he didn't know it. This proved not to be a problem, for at that moment the Nightmare demon shimmered in.
"Well now, isn't this a cheery little place?" The demon spread his arms to embrace his fabricated surroundings. "I bet you're glad you stepped through the door!"
Chris's expression was grim and he didn't answer.
"Let's see, I could fight you directly myself…" The Nightmare demon tapped a finger to his bottom lip in mock contemplation. "But that really isn't my style – I'm not one to get my hands dirty." As if to illustrate the point, the demon straightened the crisp, white shirt cuffs sticking out from under his tailored coat. "Instead, I'll create someone to do the messy deed for me."
With a grin, the Nightmare demon clicked his fingers and then shimmered out.
Never fear, I shall be watching you. Right up until you draw your last, pathetic breath…
The cold, taunting words were followed by a laugh of dark mirth.
Chris's eyes darted around him, searching the tree line for the direction from which the demon's promised minion would approach.
There was a brief whistling as something shot past his ear. His gaze settled on the arrow sticking out from the trunk of a tree in front of him.
Spinning around, Chris found himself confronted with the demon his whitelighter power sensed: a Darklighter.
The demon was telekinetically flung across the clearing, before he could raise his crossbow for a second shot. The twigs of a prickly bush broke under his weight and the weapon fell to the ground.
Quickly opening his palm and reaching out, the crossbow flew across to Chris's hand. He aimed the weapon at the fallen Darklighter as he approached him, putting a stop to the demon's attempts to get up. With a scowl, the demon disappeared in a shower of black orbs.
Chris silently berated himself for allowing the Darklighter's escape. Then, sensing a presence behind him, he spun around. Chris's instant firing of the weapon vanquished the second Darklighter that had just appeared. That put a stop to his regrets. He lowered the crossbow, now that he had no arrow to load it with.
Chris stood and waited. All his senses were on high alert.
Black orbs announced the arrival of another off to Chris's left. He used his free hand to blast the demon up into the air. It crashed into a tree trunk.
Dropping the empty crossbow, Chris reached his hand out for the loaded one. He turned right and telekinetically knocked a newly arrived Darklighter off his feet. The loaded crossbow arrived into his hand.
Spinning back to the left, he fired and vanquished the fallen third demon before he could reach the abandoned, empty weapon.
Chris turned to pick up the other dropped, but loaded crossbow and deal with its owner. He wasn't aware of what appeared like a dark line streaking across the clearing.
A sharp, burning agony in his side was the first Chris knew of the fifth Darklighter's arrow.
His eyes widened into two bright, green pools of shock. A shaking hand hovered over the black arrow. The deadly poison that the tip had been dipped in was making its way into his blood stream. Numbness in his extremities was followed by a swift collapse to the ground.
Chris lay in an awkward heap in the grass, already far too weak to raise his hand to grasp the arrow and pull it out. Black spots amassed across his vision and he had to fight to stop his eyes from rolling up into his head.
"Ah, dear, dear." A taunting and slightly disappointed voice announced the return of the Nightmare demon.
Chris's blurred gaze focused on polished toes of black shoes, as the demon stepped up to stand next to where he lay, helpless.
"Defeated at the first hurdle." The demon sighed, a little petulantly. "Really, I had hoped for more. Maybe I should have gone after Wyatt after all – he would have put up a better fight."
Despite the scorching agony of the Darklighter's poison coursing through his body, the jibe was still painful.
"Does it hurt so very badly?" the Nightmare demon asked, with a pretence of concern. "Never mind, you've slept so little lately that you're body is too weak to put up much resistance against the poison. It won't be long now."
A dark laugh shattered all illusion of caring.
The poison's effects swept through Chris in waves of dark power, bringing beads of sweat out on his ashen forehead. Every part of him hurt unbearably. His strength was all but gone and he hung to consciousness by a thread. Breathing was difficult and the effort was becoming too much, while his heart was cloaked in poison and weakening with each beat.
"Well, you can't stay here any longer," the Nightmare demon said with a note of finality, his shoes shifting impatiently. "I can't have dead bodies littering up the place."
Chris's eyes were shut, so it wasn't vision that announced to him his change of environment. Rather it was a subconscious realisation, gained from his other fading senses, that he couldn't hear the birds or the wind any more and his head was pillowed on something plump and soft instead of grass.
It took a tremendous enough, but eventually he managed to half open his eyelids.
A smudged version of the Halliwell Manor conservatory blessed his eyes. He felt relief at being graced the comfort of dying there, instead of in the Nightmare demon's fabricated world.
Movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. He shifted his head ever so slightly and struggled to focus on what he soon recognised as Wyatt. The sight of the fair-haired toddler triggered something within Chris.
He didn't want to die. He couldn't die. He needed to protect Wyatt.
From somewhere within him he found the miraculous strength to sit up. Ignoring the crazy spinning of the room, he attempted to stand. Instead he ended up pitching forwards. The chair was no longer beneath him; he was surrounded by air and was falling.
Chris hit the table in front of him, but was beyond feeling pain. He slid off to one side and down onto the floor.
As his sightless eyes closed, the last thing that registered in Chris's mind was the crying of the child in the nearby playpen.