It is far past midnight and Eric Draven is screaming.
It's been so long since he has wanted so badly for someone to hear him. He remembers being a kid, hearing gunshots outside, hiding under a blanket and whimpering. Wishing his parents could hear him in the room next door and wishing that they would come with kisses and comfort if they did.
That hadn't been how things worked then, and it wasn't how they worked now. Nothing heard.
Death was dark and cold. It was far from silent, however. There were snatches of voices, memories and spirits all around him. Slowly, a crowd began to form.
He couldn't understand why they were all so focused on him, this shivering wretch, huddled down as far as he could manage. Trying to drown out the blackness with more blackness.
He thought he might be blind, knew he wasn't, and wished he was.
Pale wisps of spirits swirled around him. It occurred to him that he was the only one not moving. He wasn't going anywhere.
And why?
Because Shelly wasn't with him.
He wouldn't leave without her. He had never wanted to leave her in the first place, and now that he had been separated from her by them-
(Fucking kill them. Every one, with blue and highways and full moon and darkness and dark, so dark)
There was a quick burst of thought and the spirits danced back, pale shapes unsure of what to make of this unruly, rebellious thing. They heard nothing of what he wanted them to hear, only felt the pulsing frustration and anger and grief that surrounded his prone form. They whispered amongst themselves, and he felt strangely left out. Left out among spirits-what a laugh.
But he was so alone.
There was a sudden burst of blue as a spiritswam slowly toward the end of all things, seeming to hesitate, looking. It turned just as he looked up, and their eyes met.
Shelly.
His mouth opened, and there was a flicker of hope. None of it would matter if he could just have her. He'd make himself forget what they had done if they could be together.
He reached up for her, but found himself rooted where he was, unable to rise. Shelly!
She reached back for him but rose still. Tears wisped from her face and disappeared in the blackness.
It hit him harder than the bullet ever could have. She couldn't stop for him.
She wasn't rooted to reality like him, her heart so pure that she released all of her own anger at her captors.
She was leaving without him and could do nothing about it.
She cried. Oh! He'd always hated to see her cry, and when he couldn't reach out to hold her-
(Screaming a name, mine and they won't let her go, forcing her down, can't get up to save her oh Shelly, what are they doing to you while I lie here on the floor?)
The spirits were silent, watching the exchange between the pair as they moved themselves. That was why they had gathered, after all. He was the only one staying still.
He reached his hand for hers, and thought he might reach it. Then she was gone.
His hand fell, slowly, as though reluctant to acknowledge the fact that she was gone.
Gone.
Gone.
(Beat her and I am falling but I can still see her face, hear her screaming over the wind and someone is shouting in a raspy voice)
"Don't look." That was what the voice had said. "Don't look."
He held his arms tightly around himself as the spirits broke apart and faded away. He was forgotten again. And now…he was truly alone. He had waited for her, only to remember his own fury and become locked down.
He burst up suddenly, flexing his arms as though to break the chains that bound him. And he screamed.
Every spirit turned in shock, ghostly, shifting faces all showing awe. They didn't know just what it was, but something had happened here, just now.
A shape flitted down from the blackness to rest in front of Eric, seeming to emerge from no where, though he couldn't quite discern what direction it came from.
It could have been a man or a bird, but was certainly not another ghost. It glowed a soft blue as intense as neon, the bright light casting shadows in the scars on his chest.
"You've had a hard time of things, huh Eric?"
It was so strange to finally hear a voice that his eyes widened with shock. It was so hard to make thoughts fit properly in this place, but something held his battered spirit together, allowing him to speak as the others could not. "They killed her."
"And you too. And now you can't go any further than the doorstep to the afterlife, right?"
He nodded, cautious. "Help me?" There was something so desperate in that that the figure seemed to soften.
"Help you with what?"
"Help me get to her. She's gone."
The thing slid its dark eyes to the side, watching spirits flutter around them. "I think I can."
He could have cried for joy. Until he continued, that was. "But you'll have to go back first."
"Go back?" he asked, voice numb with shock. "But…"
"Don't worry, boy. It will all be explained in time. Just sit still, and don't…look."
There was no further warning. Snatches of memories flooded past as every second of his life was slammed through him, forcing him to remember. He tried to shut his eyes, tried to make it stop…and it wasn't until that night that he could finally stop looking. It didn't matter, he would only see it later. But when he saw it then, it would give him purpose.
When he opened his eyes again, they met cool, puckered satin, and his ears caught the sound of rain, muffled by dirt.
FIN