DISCLAIMER: I own nada of TFATF. Ya sue me, ya get nuthin' but lint and dust-bunnies... maybe not even that, since I just cleaned my room.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know I've been kinda vague about Brian's accident... it's deliberate, but for a good purpose, I swear! Hang in there with me people! Your curiosity shall be satisfied, soon! Oh... and how about Brian playing guitar as part of the pub's entertainment when it re-opens? Review or email me your opinions. Take care, y'all! OH! And I changed Jameson's kids around a bit: Vincent isn't his anymore; Logan is. Vincent is Naomi's, whom you'll meet later on. And if you're confused about Jameson, he's Brian's twin brother!
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He could see it again, plain as day. He didn't want to see it, but there it was. It was happening all over again.
The sights came first. They always did.
Careening down the exit ramp, driving like he did when he raced... trying to head off the suspect, who was leaving the scene of the crime. He saw the blue Mercedes pull out onto the freeway, causing two other cars to swerve away. The Mercedes bounced off the median strip and was air-born, rolling in suspension, before it landed to the ground. It exploded. He saw the other two cars crash into each other, and rebound from the impact. Some part of his mind that was detached from all this noted that it was the dark green Dodge Spirit that rammed him first. He rolled, colliding with the other car, a silver Jaguar. They slid into the fiery remains of the blue Mercedes. He saw windows smashed, glass in his arms, blood on his body. He saw the flames of hell rise into his vision, finally coming to reclaim him for all the mistakes he'd made... to make him pay for his betrayal.
Sound was always next. That was when he knew it was The Nightmare... again. Fuck, he wanted to wake up; wake up and realize that it was all over already... that it was all in the past....WAKE UP!
He could hear the roar of the flames. He'd thought it sounded so cliché before, because how can fire roar? But it did. The sound was an inhuman wailing, like an animal in the heat of fury. He heard the snap and groan and screech of metal twisting and melting in the heat. He heard police sirens like a vague background buzz in a bad connection. He heard his own keening of pain as a cacophonous overtone to the howls of the flames. He heard something explode, louder this time, and closer. He heard the people in the silver Jaguar screaming and screaming and screaming... he heard his bones snapping in his body....screaming...
Feelings came then; overwhelmed him with their intensity. He could feel tears coursing down his face, and his lungs begging him for air as he sobbed. But even feeling could not wake him up... WAKE UP GOD DAMMIT!
A hot, searing knife pierced and ravaged his leg. He felt the heated metal as it went into his leg. A bone snapped, muscles and tendons ripped, and flesh burned. He could feel the horrible heat of the flames, their terrible closeness to him. And then they were upon him, burning his flesh with a vengeance only hell could spare. His right arm was trapped though; caught under and crushed by the roof and part of the silver Jaguar. He couldn't breathe; the fire sucked all the oxygen from around him, and he was pinned between the dashboard and his seat. And oh God... his leg was going numb, finally... but fucking God in Heaven, his arm was in fire! And then water... blessedly cool and copious water came. It rained down its brand of vengeance upon the flames of Hell, telling them that they couldn't have him just yet. And holy fuck, his head throbbed....
"Well, if your head hurts, it's your own fault, ya silly ass! Wake up!"
Brian's eyes flew open at the sound of his step-sister's forceful voice. Disoriented, he saw three of her red-haired, pale-faced personage before he managed to blink again and get his ragged breathing under control. His body realized the fact that it was on the floor, and that he'd hit his head off the metal ledge of his bed frame. He blinked again, and recognized that Sarah was still wearing her jeans and t-shirt from earlier.
"You hit your head off the ledge when ya fell outta bed," she said flatly, regarding him with an appraising look, "I heard you screaming. Nightmare?" Brian nodded, not trusting his voice, and hating every second of his life. He used the bed as leverage to stand up, weaving slightly from the head rush. He irritably brushed away Sarah's steadying hand.
"Go away," he muttered dully, crashing onto his bed once more, pretending to go to sleep. He heard Sarah sigh, and could just picture her with hands on hips, head cocked to the side regarding him with an upraised eyebrow. He listened to her leave, grateful and a little surprised that she'd chosen to leave it just like that. His leg ached dully and distantly. He considered getting up for another pain killer and a sleeping pill, but decided against the effort it would require. He really didn't feel like getting out of bed at all.
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Vince refused to meet Dom's gaze for the rest of the night. He knew that the team could feel the new tension between him and Dom, but Vince really didn't give a shit at that point. He needed time to brood.
He headed out for a drive as soon as dinner was done, avoiding Mia, who looked like she wanted to apologize for sending him after Dom. He really didn't want her pity and apology anyway. He was too confused; too much in turmoil. He could feel the heat begin to rise up through him, signaling that a huge outburst was coming. So he opened all the windows of his car, letting the night breeze streak his hair out behind him and make a mess of his beard.
Why the hell did Dom have to bring up Brian O'Connor? Vince turned the thought over and over in his head. Every direction he took it, the thought brought up two solutions: find Brian and confront him, or forget Brian and leave it at that. The trouble was deciding which path to take, and when he chose, deciding who to tell.
Vince didn't care where he went, he just drove. He drove through neighborhoods he knew, and some he didn't. He wound up near Black, his favorite pub. The name changed to suit the favorite color of every new owner, and Vince had been pissed off when it had closed. As he approached it, though, he noticed that the dumpsters were full to almost over-flowing. Huh, must be going to open back up, he thought a little more cheerfully, about damn fucking time, too. Wish they were already fucking open... I need a fucking drink! He cruised past the windows obscured by newspapers, the door bolted with heavy chains and locks, the neon signs that glinted dully in the streetlight.
The wind felt so damn good. Vince had left the music off, but he turned it on now. With the volume turned up and the beat thrumming through his system, he drove through a neighborhood he'd only been through a few times before. It was fairly upper-middle class, and it had been his secret dream growing up as a poor kid to one day live in a neighborhood like this one. He didn't really want to anymore, because it would mean a nine-to-five job and a career that didn't include street racing. Racing was his life, in his blood, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
He passed the houses, some with lights on and others completely dark. He remembered breaking and entering into one of them when he was a kid. He'd stolen some diamond earrings and a TV set, and had gotten away with it too. He'd used that money to start saving up for his first car. Damn, that had been a sweet car, he thought. He almost smiled at that thought. He rounded a bend, and saw the strangest house he'd ever seen.
It was a large Victorian house, and its color variations were barely distinction. It loomed above the street like a vigilante. What struck Vince as strange, though, was the sheer size of the house. It was huge, with three floors, and a parking lot that looked like it belonged to a store. And there were only a few spaces empty! He slowed down to cruise by, trying to get a better look.
Most of the lights in the house were off. The only brilliance came from two big bay windows, and it spilled out onto the wrap-around porch. Somebody was swinging alone on the porch. He saw them take a swig from a beer bottle, and he slowed down further for a better look. He recognized the redhead from the supermarket. He beeped at her, and she waved enthusiastically.
Vince almost stopped to talk to her; for some reason, he felt drawn to the house. But he kept his foot on the gas, and steered away from the house. So this is where she lives, he thought. He wasn't sure why that was so important to him—it wasn't like she was hot or anything. Vince drove on, and eventually wound up back at Dom's house. Sighing, he noticed that the living room light was still on. Taking a deep breath, he shut off the ignition, and mentally prepared himself to face whatever Dom had to say.
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A/N: yeah, I know this was short. Sorry.... I've had some recent developments in my life that have kept me distracted. Please bear with me.... and thanks to all those who reviewed last chapter. You guys are the BEST! HUGS FOR ALL!!!!