A/N: I'm back at uni and already snowed under with work (I'd forgotten how near to impossible my degree is!), so updates are highly likely to be spasmodic from now on. However, rest assured this fic will never ever be abandoned - updates may be weeks apart, but it will get finished, I promise!
A/N 2: One evening when I had some free time and was supposed to be writing this, my muse trotted off down another path and so although that slightly delayed the writing of this chapter, it does mean that you get a short one-shot (Holding You Holding Me) to read as well. I hope you like it!
Part 7: Never Dream Of Dying
Chris headed straight for the nearest blank, metal door. He threw it open and strode into the pitch-blackness without a second thought.
The fathomless whirlpool of bright blue and indigo caught him at once, taking away his spatial comprehension and threatening a resurfacing of the chicken soup. Lightning flashed intermittently.
Then it was over and Chris found himself standing on a roadside path. Bleak terraced houses stretched down its length on both sides and streetlamps stood tall and thin at intervals, but offered no light to combat the clouding over of the sky. The silent street was devoid of pedestrians and traffic, no life showed through the net-curtains hung at the house windows and there wasn't a skulking cat or fluttering bird to be seen. It was eerie to say the least.
Thunder boomed from a distance, black beasts of clouds rushing forward to banish the paler and weaker, casting the day into a mock night.
Let's try again, shall we? offered the dark disembodied tones of the Nightmare demon.
"Bring it on," Chris muttered, shrugging off the unease the creepiness of the locale gave him.
Thunder boomed again, startlingly loud and close this time, the clouds bruising deep purple. Rain began to pelt down in straight lines.
Then the heavy raindrops weren't water anymore.
Arrows were failing from the ferocious sky. Darklighter arrows. They fell as straight and numerous as the raindrops.
It was his telekinetic power that saved him. Chris swept his arms over his head, magically keeping a space clear around him, as he ran for his life. His footfalls were quick and light on the pavement, taking him past the silent, unblinking houses.
The road sloped upwards, rapidly steepening. Chris's breath became harsher in his throat and the arrows ricocheted off the ground, threatening to stab him in the leg. He lowered one arm to ward them off, while continuing to keep the falling arrows at bay with his other. It was draining, both physically and magically. The sky showed no sign of relenting and the steepness of the road was forcing his pace down to a stumbling jog.
"This isn't real at all!" Chris cried, between gasping breaths. "A Darklighter firing at me is one thing, but arrows can't just fall from the sky!"
Wrong, oh, so very wrong. There was satisfaction amongst the pity in the Nightmare demon's voice. I grow stronger all the time, Chrissy-boy. I can make even the make-believe real now.
That didn't sound good.
The street was now so steep that Chris had to climb up on his hands and knees, the terraced houses alongside at an impossible and bizarre angle. He swatted the arrows away with his magic, but he needed his hands for climbing now too, and the poisoned tips were getting dangerously close to his shoulders.
I can hear your mortal heart thumping: lub-dub, lub-dub! the Nightmare demon called, happily. But you can't keep this up forever! Tick-tock, tick-tock…
"Can't we talk about this for a minute?" Chris yelled, desperately.
A poisoned arrow soared past, a hairsbreadth from his cheek.
Ok.
The demon's answer was simple and amiable.
Suddenly the street was stripped away and Chris was plonked in a different dreamscape, a sickening twist of his stomach sending him staggering across an immaculately trimmed lawn.
"Crumpet?"
Chris blinked against the brightness of the sun and looked across at the Nightmare demon, who was sat at a little table gesturing with a china plate. The smell of the hot buttered crumpets piled high on the plate did nothing to ease Chris's nausea.
"No?" The demon raised his delicate eyebrows. Then a cruel smile twitched at the corner of his mouth and he set the plate back down on the prim white tablecloth. "Perhaps some tea, then. Would you like Chinese or Indian?"
Wondering what the heck the demon was prattling on about, Chris's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath and take in his new surroundings.
They were in a landscaped garden in the rolling grounds of an old English manor house, which stood handsome and proud behind them. The tall windows of this house showed movement within, as servants milled about inside and out. Peacocks called to each other from amongst the trees and a lively spaniel bounded about on the lawn teasing a hedgehog. Above them all, the sky was clear and pale blue, an early afternoon sun warming everything with its comfortable glow.
The Nightmare demon in his nineteenth century tailoring was perfectly in situ. He acted it too; his legs loosely crossed as he lounged in his wicker chair and sipped from a dainty blue and white teacup.
"If you won't eat or drink anything, at least take a seat," the demon instructed, his cup lightly clattering as he gently lowered it to its saucer. "Don't just stand there dithering, boy!"
Scowling, Chris pulled back a chair and stiffly sat down facing his omnipotent adversary.
"What exactly is it you wanted to talk about?" The demon took another sip of tea.
"How are you able to do all this?" Chris asked, gesturing to encompass their fabricated environment.
The Nightmare demon chuckled, amused and patient. "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."
"What?" Chris stared at him blankly.
"Tell me your big secret and I'll toss you a tidbit or two."
"I don't have a big secret," Chris declared, stubbornly.
The demon laughed again. "Of course you do. No one seems to know why you came back to 'save' the future. It couldn't have been a decision made by the Elders or some similar committee. A foolish child like you isn't a realistic choice. Sure you're expendable, but no one would risk sending someone so sure to bungle everything up."
Chris determinedly kept himself as poker-faced as possible, the slight tightening and grinding of his jaw not enough to give the extent of his emotion away.
"No, you have a personal interest in this quest," the demon said, with surety. He leant forward, his stare boring into Chris's skull, the greyish oceans in his eyes constantly and subtly changing colour. "What did Wyatt do to you?"
"He killed my fiancée." Chris allowed anger to flash into his eyes for a moment.
"Aaw, poor baby," the demon cooed, leaning back again and mock pouting. "So you're doing all this for the love of some silly girl who got herself killed by the big bad overlord, eh? Didn't have the strength to directly get your vengeance and couldn't live without her, hmm? I should've known!"
"If I'm so useless and sure to fail, why are you bothering to eliminate me?" Chris asked, with an arrogant cock of his head.
"Did I say you were sure to fail? Well, I take it back. Love can be a very power-giving motive." Amusement flickered darkly around the edges of his friendly expression.
The demon refilled his cup with a matching little teapot and Chris waited quietly while he lifted it to his lips and sipped.
Lowering the cup and staring down into it, the demon ran a manicured finger around its rim.
"Now tell me the real reason."
His eyes flashed up to lock onto Chris's, blazing darkly and potently.
Chris couldn't stop himself from gasping and pressing back in his chair.
"A lost love isn't justifiable for the need to be kept secret."
"Yes, it is," Chris insisted. "If anyone knew I wasn't sent back by someone, they wouldn't think I'm capable of changing things."
"They don't need to know that to see you're a waste of space and time," the demon replied, nastily.
"Then why don't you let me go?"
"Maybe I like a little sport. Cricket, badminton… And torture."
"Everyone has their hobbies." Chris shrugged, easily. "Mine is vanquishing demons."
The demon chuckled. "Very nice. Touché!"
Chris smiled grimly back at him.
"Well, if you're going to insist on not accepting my hospitable gesture of tea and crumpets, shall we get on with things?" The demon set down his teacup. "What should I prepare for next time? Would you have preferred sandwiches or perhaps iced buns? Or- "
"Fine, let's get on with it," Chris cut in, exhuming confidence.
The Nightmare demon grinned and clapped his hands once.
At once the manor house and its picturesque grounds were gone, replaced with a jolt of the senses by a draughty, gloomy corridor of what appeared to be a castle.
A torch burned in its iron holder, spitting and stinking of oil. With a chattering squeak, a large black rat ran along the bottom of the damp wall.
Chris sighed, wondering if he'd made the wrong choice in opting to change dream world.
The sound of rustling silk reached him. He turned sharply and saw a young woman coming around the corner.
She was wearing a beautiful cream dress that was drawn in at her tiny waist by a gold sash and then cascaded down to the floor, hiding her delicate slippered feet as she came to a startled stop. The low cut of the neckline showed the quickening of her breath, a large ruby pendant rising and falling with her bare chest. Her hair was in soft blonde curls over her shoulders, half pinned back under a tall, cone-shaped hat, which was gold with a fine lace veil falling from the peak like a flag behind her. Wide, bright green eyes stared at him from beneath long lashes and her pink lips were in a pretty, surprised 'O'.
"Are you one of them?" the girl asked Chris, fearfully.
"One of whom?"
"The assassins. The castle is full of them, lurking around in the dark waiting for a chance to strike."
"Does someone want to kill you, then?" Chris asked, wondering if the girl was an innocent trapped like him or perhaps a deadly trap.
"Yes. Oh, I am so afraid!" She took a step towards him. "Is someone trying to kill you, too?"
"Yes."
"I can help you get out of here. I know a way, but I can't do it alone – the door is too heavy for me to push open."
Chris stared at the girl in shock. Was this chick for real? He was used to the intelligence, strength and bravery of the Charmed sisters, which was far from coming just from their wiccan powers.
Tears welled up in the girl's eyes, as she looked at him pleadingly.
"Ok! Sure. I'll help you," Chris told her, hastily.
The girl clasped her hands together and smiled with such relief and gratitude that Chris feared she would fling herself into his arms.
She did.
The torch chose that moment to splutter, leaving the castle's corridor in darkness. It alit again just in time to glint off the sharp blade of a plunging jewel-encrusted dagger.
Cold metal bit deep into Chris's flesh, evoking a terrible burning.
It answered his question – the girl was a trap.
She slipped off his shoulder, grinning cruelly at the pain lines in his face. With a sudden movement, she yanked the dagger out of his belly and he cried in agony, almost toppling over.
She twirled the blood-covered blade admiringly in her hand, a look of triumph and dark delight morphing her pretty features into hideousness.
Then she wiped the dagger clean on a lacy handkerchief and slipped it back into its hiding place in her voluptuous skirts. One last cruel smile and she was gone with a rustling of silk and padding of slippers.
Chris's hands clutched his stomach, blood pooling between his fingers. He sunk down onto his knees and hunched over, rocking in response to the pain. His breathing was ragged and sweat dripped from his pallid forehead.
Déjà vu? the Nightmare demon's disembodied voice asked, cheerily.
Chris ignored him, which wasn't difficult when the fiery agony in his belly was such a strong distraction.
"This isn't real. This isn't real." Chris repeated it like a mantra, between clenched teeth.
However, there was no disputing the pain.
It hurt so much.
Too much.
Chris squeezed his eyes shut tight.
But it would be okay, he reassured himself. Leo would heal him in the real world.
"Oh my God! He's bleeding!" Phoebe cried, staring in horror at the red stain spreading across the front of Chris's shirt.
"Leo, quick!" Piper waved her hands urgently.
The Elder sprang forward and held his palms out over Chris's abdomen. Golden, healing light shone down onto the growing patch of crimson.
Nothing happened.
"Something's blocking me," Leo explained, anxiously. "I can't heal him."
To Be Continued...