Additional Disclaimer: The name 'Schnabelewopski' isn't my own creation – it was first used by Heinrich Heine, in his amazing book 'Aus den Memoiren des Herrn von Schnabelewopski'. Me, I found the name so funny that I simply had to use it.

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Behind the Veil of Shadows

by kaeera

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Chapter Two: The dream of a despondent mind

John staggered backwards, his mind reeling. His brothers continued their whispered conversation, but the words flew past him, didn't even enter his brain. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the pale face sunk deeply into the pillows.

It was his own face, no doubt, the very image he saw reflected in the mirror every morning when he went to the bathroom. Though a lot paler, with a breathing tube in his mouth and a sick, sallow complexion.

"This is a joke, right?" His voice came out in a ragged gasp, and he looked around wildly. "Gordon, please tell me that this is one of your stupid jokes!"

But Gordon didn't answer. The copper-haired Tracy had his arms crossed as he stared at the bed with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Gordon! Stop ignoring me!" John felt the familiar presence of panic in his mind. "GORDON!"

The last word was a shout, but still none of them reacted. It was as if he didn't even exist. And that, John realised with a sudden feeling of dread, was probably true. Because if the body on the bed was him...his mortal shell, or whatever people wanted to call it – then he was a mere shadow.

"You can't see me." He whirled around and jumped in front of Scott. "Scott, please tell me that you can see me! Do something! Tell me that this is all but a nightmare!"

Scott didn't even look at him. His eyes went right through, as if he was invisible.

"Damn." John swore, and then squeezed his eyes shut. Alright. He couldn't panic; that wouldn't help matters. He didn't know what had happened, but that could be changed. If he analysed the situation...yes, he was good at analysing. Thinking.

He took a step away from his brother and one towards the bed. "I'm not dead," he frowned. "But I'm not alive either...well, my body is, but me...I'm..." he trailed off. How the hell was he supposed to make sense of this when he didn't even know what he was?

It reminded him of one of those mystery/new age novels Alan read occasionally. Soul transfers, wandering ones, spirits, all things that were regular occurrences on those kinds of books. John used to laugh about those; after al, he lived in space half of the year and there was nothing spooky about that. He had always been a man of science; not a total disbeliever, but sceptical. John knew that there were still a lot of things in the human mind that couldn't be explained by modern medicine, but still...soul wandering? Out-of-body experiences? It sounded pretty far-fetched.

Now he wasn't so sure any more. Because right now, he seemed to be living through such an experience.

Or maybe I'm just having a bad dream. Damn, I really shouldn't be eating pizza that late...

"Not a dream," John whispered softly and stretched out his finger to touch himself. He almost expected his hand to glide through his own body – now that would have been creepy! - but to his surprise, he was able to feel the skin. It gave him a tingling feeling, like the one people get when their limbs fall asleep, and it was very strange, but it was there...

And what does that tell me now? That I'm a ghost with touch sensors?

He frowned and turned his attention back to his brothers. So it hadn't been Gordon they were worried about, but him. Well. Although John knew that his brothers worried about him when he was in danger, it was a bit disconcerting to see it written clearly in their faces. After all, he usually wasn't awake to see those pensive expressions. It touched and humbled him at the same time.

Scott looked dark, his face marred by a tight frown. His stance appeared rigid and in-control, but John knew better. The eldest Tracy was fighting an internal battle.

In contrast to him, Virgil's face was an open mask of worry – and was that a glint of fear in his eyes?

Gordon looked tired and solemn, something that was alarming in itself – things were pretty intense if the redhead didn't crack a joke.

"Guys?" John tried again, though he hadn't much hope that they would be able to hear him.

No reaction.

And then Gordon moved "He looks pretty bad." A whisper, barely audible over the constant noises of the machinery that kept his body going. John deflated, feeling very old and tired.

"He's going to be fine." Virgil insisted in a stubborn voice, even though the doubt was clearly visible in his eyes.

"If only we could take him to Thunderbird Two," Scott sounded as weary as John felt. "We could get him better treatment...they can't do much for him here...the hospital is crowded as it is..."

Gordon stepped closer to the bed and sat down on a chair, facing the still figure. "Can't do much about that." He took the limp hand and held it tightly. John watched and waited for a sensation, anything – shouldn't he feel it if someone touched his hand? - but nothing happened. He was like an outsider, observing a scene where he didn't belong.

"Why did you have to be in that house when the afterquake hit?" Gordon continued.

John snorted. "Believe me, I kind of regretted it the moment the ceiling fell on me!"

His joke fell flat. Not really a surprise there.

What's the use of being out of your body if nobody can hear you?

John rubbed his temples, as the headache spread. And why could he still feel pain for that matter? He felt a bit cheated; the least that could have happened was for the pain to remain in his body while his mind was elsewhere, doing mental flip-flops.

"So, what do I call myself now? Ghost? Spirit? Soul?" John quipped with himself. But the humour was lost again. He didn't really understand what was happening, and he didn't want to think of the possible implications.

Yeah, like what happens if you're dying and this is your chance to say good-bye?

No. Absolutely not. John refused to even consider that option. There had to be a way back – now he really wished that he read more of those novels. Hadn't there been a tether mentioned? Or a link? Something that connected him to the real world...

John looked around, but found no glowing bond that trailed from him to the still body on the bed. Damn. Well, nothing was ever easy.

The door opened with a soft click, and Doctor Fowler peeped in. "I'm sorry, but you have to leave now."

Scott nodded. "Alright. Thank you for your co-operation and...please tell us if something happens. One of us will stay in the hospital." Then he turned to the other two. "Come on. There are a lot of people who need our help. Gordon, you'll come with me, Virgil, you'll stay at the hospital and keep us updated."

"F.A.B."

John watched mutely as his brothers brushed past him, unaware of his presence. They looked years older, and the blonde, having been in their position more than once, could relate to their feelings. Sometimes he thought that it was easier for the one who was injured; while he had the pain and the suffering, he didn't have to go through the worry, the fear, the anxiety.

Scott was the last to leave the room. He glanced one last time over his shoulders, his eyes flashing with unspoken motion. "Don't give up, John," he whispered. "Hang in there."

John smiled grimly. "Not gonna happen, Scott. I've got the firm intention of staying on this planet a bit longer."

Then the door closed and he and the doctor were the only ones left. John watched in mute disinterest as she flashed a penlight into his unresponsive eyes and shook her head. Somehow, that wasn't very encouraging. He swallowed. Suddenly, he didn't want to be there any more, didn't want to be subjected to an examination of his own body.

So he slid outside and found out that he didn't even need to use the door – he could walk through walls.

"Now that's odd," he mused. "I can touch things, yet I can walk through walls? Doesn't make much sense to me."

But then again, not much did. But the final traces of doubt were wiped out when he stepped through a solid door; he was a spirit. His body was back there and John had no idea how to return to it.

"Think, John Tracy." he rubbed his chin and stared at the grey wall. "Let's see...I'm not dead. I don't want to die either. Nobody can hear or see me. I can...touch some things, and I can go through walls." he frowned. "Might need some kind of clarification on that one. What kind of things can I touch? Can I go through every wall? And how do I affect it?"

John stopped and groaned. "Hell, I sound as if I'm writing a paper about some topic for one of my classes – and I'm not even in college anymore!"

This was really ridiculous. Some part of him realized that all this speculation served only one purpose: to keep him from losing it. Hell, what was he supposed to do? There seemed to be nobody...

All of sudden he felt very lonely. John stood in the middle of a busy corridor, amidst dozens of people, and yet he had never felt so alone. There was a wall between him and the rest of the world; a wall he couldn't break down. He could watch and listen to them, but it didn't work the other way round. One-sided communication, something he had sometimes experienced during rescues – but back then, the equipment had been at fault and not himself.

"Maybe there's a wire missing in my brain," he reflected aloud. Urgh. It felt wrong thinking of himself as some damaged piece of equipment. Even though his body had looked quite battered.

A couple of nurses rushed past him, their overalls spotted with blood. This part of the hospital was a bit calmer, but there were still a lot of people, the rooms crowded. Apparently, he was the only one who had a single room to himself; everywhere else, they had put in several people. John suspected that every bed, every cot was occupied by an injured person. The faint sound of helicopters reached his ears, probably transporting the ones that needed immediate help.

What had the doc said? 'Not up for air transport'.

Damn. None of the simulations had ever told him how to deal with that kind of situation. He might keep it in the back of his head, as a suggestion to Brains the next time they programmed the simulators. They could title it 'Nearly-dying-and-getting-separated-from-your-body'.

John snorted. Well, but that didn't really help him now, did it? He had no idea how to deal with it...what was he supposed to do? Walk around? Watch the people? Why couldn't he just be unconscious like everybody else? Nooo, he had to have the worst part, as always...

Settling down for a long wait, he tried to get some order in his jumbled thoughts. Maybe everything would be clearer if his memory wouldn't be such a blur...

"How're you going, John?" the voice crackled through the dust-ridden air. John coughed and looked up from where he was standing.

"Fine, so far – haven't seen anyone yet, but I haven't been everywhere." He took the flashlight and shone it into some half-open room of the building that had formerly been a take-away restaurant.

"Is anybody there?" the blonde called, but received no reply. The thermal scanner came up empty, as well. Glancing one last time around, he nodded in satisfaction and turned back. He was just about to report in to Scott as the watch came to life again. "Move it, John!" Scott barked. "Afterquake!"

John didn't even think, just reacted. His training kicked in and he dove forward without the slightest hesitation. He made a good head start before the quake hit – first a low, rumbling sound and suddenly everything was shaking. John teetered on the rubble, but managed to regain his balance. He had thought he was clear of everything, but then he heard the groaning noise, looked up and saw...a ceiling.

Coming down on him.

"Shit!" The blonde managed to gasp. "Scott, I'm-"

That was as far as he came before stones rained down on him. One hit him on the shoulder, throwing him to the ground. The light was cut. For a moment, he heard his brother screaming at him – inquiring his whereabouts, his status – but he was too winded to reply and he wouldn't have been heard over the ruckus anyway.

"Ah!" The yell escaped his lips just as a big slab of concrete fell in his direction. His heartbeat drummed loudly in his ears – and then there was the pain, as something hit his side, and gravel started burying him alive. There was enough time to be scared out of his wits, and so it came as no surprise that he felt a tiny bit of relief when the pain became too much and he slipped into unconsciousness.

The next memory he had was of himself standing in the corridor and drinking coffee.

"Is it only me, or does that sound weird?" John mused, and then shook his head. "Look at that – I'm talking to myself already. But still, why the hell was I drinking coffee?"

Maybe it was his subconscious trying to be normal, he pondered, or maybe he had been trying to convince himself that nothing was amiss. Well, that had been working until he saw his own body. If he thought back now, he should have noticed the clues – the fact that everybody had overlooked him, the strange gut feeling, the headache, and his overall behaviour, which had been very atypical.

Shock. Even though I'm just a ghost, I went into shock. Amazing.

John hugged himself, as the loneliness crept back towards him. Anything was better than this reflecting; and so he strolled onwards, a shadow amidst the crowd, unseen and unheard.

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There was really nothing to do, and so he followed his brothers, even though he felt a lot like an intruder. Eavesdropping on conversations that weren't meant for him.

But John, being human, couldn't help the tiniest spark of curiosity in his mind. And even though he knew what would have been proper – namely not listening – he only managed to restrain himself from it for maybe five minutes, then he went after his siblings.

Scott, Virgil, and Gordon stood in a semi-circle near the exit, talking softly. Their worried frowns spoke volumes. John edged closer – maybe he'd find out more about his condition? Or about what was happening in general...he'd be grateful for anything.

"Take care of him, Virgil," Scott said, just as John came close enough to understand them. "I have to go back to Mobile Control."

"I will," Virgil nodded, his face a firm mask.

Scott looked around, sighed, bid them a curt good-bye and left, his back rigid and tense.

John grimaced. "Thank you for caring, but that doesn't really help me, you know."

It was eerie, standing beside his two brothers without them noticing him. If he had been Gordon, he would have used this opportunity to play all sorts of pranks – but then again, John pondered, even Gordon would have had his problems in this situations – how was one supposed to do anything when you couldn't interact? Besides, they would never know who'd done it...boring.

Speaking of his copper-haired brother – Gordon was looking unnaturally solemn. John watched him with a worried frown; it was rare to see his brother down, and when he did, it always scared him.

"I hate hospitals," Gordon announced, probably more to himself that do Virgil. Nonetheless he received a reply – two, better said; a forceful nod by John, and a whispered answer by Virgil. "Me, too. They're creepy. But necessary."

Gordon furrowed his brow. "Yeah. And I hate the meaning behind them; because every time I'm in a hospital, someone's hurt."

The words 'usually me' hung unspoken in the air. Of the whole Tracy family, Gordon had had the worst share of injuries, the devastating hydrofoil accident leaving him nearly crippled. John remembered those painful times all too clearly – he had come to despise hospitals as well and could fully relate to Gordon's sentiment.

"I can't believe it's John." Virgil shook his head. "I mean, I'm somehow used to you getting injured – don't understand me wrong - and Alan...but John, he's..."

John felt a flicker of pain, and then anger. "What are you saying with that?" he began hotly. "Are you insinuating that I don't pull my share? Because if you are, Virgil Tracy, then God help me, I'll haunt you until...until..."

"I know what you mean," Gordon nodded, unaware of the invisible ranting by his side. "John's always so cautious."

Virgil smiled slightly. "You mean he isn't as impulsive as you and Alan."

Or not as brave, John thought sourly and crossed his arms. This had always been a sore point for him; while his brothers were known to rush into danger, he usually thought things through, which had saved their hides more than once. Still, he had the distinct impression it made him appear cowardly; and with Alan and Scott as brothers, who rushed into dangers as if it was their hobby, he had often felt that maybe it wasn't...enough.

"Yeah." Gordon sighed wistfully. "That's why I like going on rescues with him. I know that I can rely on him, trust him. He's always so calm, even in the direst situations – I wonder how he does it - I almost envy him for that."

Trust me, dear brother, I'm far from calm.

"And then he had to go ahead and let a house fall on top of him." The pain in Gordon's voice spoke volumes.

Well, I wasn't exactly planning on making it happen. I do value my own life, you know.

"I'm pretty sure that he didn't do it voluntarily," was Virgil's dry reply. John's lips quirked upwards at this. Thank you for that, Virg.

"Do you think he'll be okay?"

Silence. Virgil's eyes clouded over, the sadness overshadowing his usually so gentle features. "I...don't really know. The doctor...she was pretty vague, and his injuries are severe."

Gordon swallowed, his face pale. " God, Virgil...he can't die! When I pulled him out of the rubble, I thought he was dead! He looked so pale, and there was blood everywhere...and then I shook him and he started coughing, but he was coughing up blood and I knew I needed to get help really quick..."

I'm so sorry you had to see that...I would have...well...there's nothing I could have done, but I wish...I wish this hadn't happened...I hate seeing you in pain.

John ached to put a comforting hand on his brother's shoulders, moved almost out of instinct, but he was unable to touch. It left him feeling sad and alone. Even though John wasn't a tactile person, he came from a family where back slaps were the proper greeting, and being unable to perform this gesture made him realize his isolation even more.

"He's not going to die." Virgil shook his head, his expression firm. "John's tough; he's going to fight. He may not be as loud as the rest of us, but he's just a strong – maybe even stronger. He'll pull back, you'll see...he has to."

Aw, thank you, Virg.

But there had been a tiny bit of doubt in his brother's voice, and it made him feel uneasy. John wasn't ready to die – didn't want to die, and especially not while he was separated from his body, forced to watch his family suffering.

"He'd better," Gordon grumbled, running a nervous hand through his hair. "He just came back from his shift...promised me he'd go snorkelling with me...and I was looking forward to talking to him."

At that, John had to smile. The moment he had entered his home after his shift on Thunderbird Five, Gordon had jumped on him, eyes sparkling excited, and invited him on a snorkelling trip. Apparently there was something extraordinary to see, but John had taken one good look at his brother and had known that this wasn't the main reason. Gordon wanted to talk; and with the disaster the last month had been, it didn't really surprise the astronaut.

It was comforting to know that his brothers would turn to him when they had problems. Very often John had been woken up by a late-night call when one of his brothers wanted to have a chat...be it the aftermath of a strenuous rescue , a fight among siblings, or simply girl trouble – John was the person they turned to. It made him feel appreciated, needed – and he wouldn't want to miss it in the world.

Oh Gordon...I was looking forward to the snorkelling, too.

Seeing the crushed look in the eyes of his younger brother, John made a vow to himself. He would find a way back – would fight his way, if it was needed – no matter how bad the pain, because he couldn't stand seeing his brothers suffer. They needed him.

And he needed them.

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Half an hour later, his determination had faded a bit and despair threatened to take its place. John had wandered through the hospital, had listened to doctors, patients and nurses, but none of them had said anything valuable. After Gordon had left, Virgil had situated himself in some far corner, humming an unidentifiable tune. John had stayed for a while, but since Virgil wasn't talking, he had seen no sense in it and left to investigate.

Without much success.

Though John had the distinct impression that he wasn't alone in his predicament. He didn't have any proof for this, just a gut feeling – but just as his brothers, John had come to rely on his gut feeling, because it told him things his mind couldn't.

Sometimes, he got glances of other people who looked as lost as him – wandering through the corridors, ignored by everyone else around them, most of them injured, frightened – alone. There had been a young woman - bearing an eerie resemblance to the limb body the huge man had been carrying in the lobby - a middle-aged man, and then a child, crying softly.

They had disappeared before John had had the chance to investigate further. But it left him with a tingling feeling in his stomach. Maybe he was in a kind of twilight zone – a place where people went to when they were unconscious – or dead. And maybe there were others just like him...trapped in some kind of limbo...

The earthquake had been huge. Many people had died. And who knew how many more were buried under some kind of rubble.

He watched the stream of people, deep in thought. Maybe he could find a way back if he found a way to talk to those people? If they just-

"Jesus Christ, not another one!" a voice snarled somewhere from below him. John was so surprised that he jumped, pushing himself away from the wall and whirling around to see who had been speaking. It was stupid, he knew; nobody could see him, for God's sake, but it was reflex.

Beside him stood small, old man, his hand on a wooden stick, the watery green eyes blinking at him. His hair was almost pure white, but the beard was grey, streaked with lines of silver. He wore an old looking cap and clothes that had been out of fashion dozens of years ago – and he was looking right at John.

"So tell me, what happened to you?" The oldtimer grumbled, emphasizing the 'you' in a strange fashion.

John's mouth fell open. He quickly scanned the area, but there was nobody in close proximity the old guy could be talking to.

"What? Have ya become deaf as well?" The old man hit the ground with his stick, the loud clacking sound racing through John's ears like a lightning bolt.

"You...can see me?" he whispered, unable to believe what was happening.

The guy snorted and raised his eyes heavenwards. "Of course I can see ya, kiddo! Do you think me stupid, what?"

"But I'm...I'm..." Now John was utterly confused. Had he somehow become visible again? Had everything changed without him noticing?

"You mean you're dead?"

That shook him out of his confusion. "I'm not dead!" The blonde protested immediately. "I'm just...disconnected." The explanation sounded lame, even to his own ears.

"Yes, we get a lot of those," the old man said as if he was conversing about the weather, folding his hands over his walking stick. "I figured you were one of them. You still have the colour, you know."

"Colour?" John felt as if he had been thrown into a very bad movie. So the only guy who could see him was a crazy madman? Thank you very much, that would help his current situation.

A sigh was his reply. "Why me? Alright, kiddo, I'll explain it, but I'll only tell it once, so you'd better listen, because there's going to be no repetition." A short pause, and then a wide-sweeping gesture of a hand, that nearly knocked into John. "Well...my name's Gustav Schnabelewopski , and if you laugh at this, you're one dead man."

John blinked and kept his mouth from twitching upward. It was a hard battle, but he won – having four brothers was good training. That earned him a nod of approval.

"I've been here for...oh, almost thirty years, I think." Schnabelewopski tipped his nose carefully. "Died in an accident – was a long time ago. Anyway, I didn't really want to leave, and so I stuck around-"

"Wait a moment – so you're dead?" John had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Talking with dead people couldn't be good. Actually, it put him more than likely in the 'dead' or 'near-dead' situation.

Schnabelewopski glared at him and gave him a whack with his walking stick. "Ain't'cha listening? Of course I'm dead. How else do you think I could see you? What do you think you are?"

"I'm not dead," John replied in indignation and rubbed the sore spot on his leg (why did it hurt? Was he even corporeal?). "My body's still alive..." He grimaced as he realized how awkward it was to say 'my body' and actually mean it.

"Same difference," Schnabelewopski waved it off. "Anyway...where was I...really, the young people of today, no manners at all...ah. So, I died in this accident, but I didn't want to leave and started hanging around. Anyway, I wasn't the only one. You see, when people die suddenly, their spirits can get confused. And so they hang around, until they realize what has happened...and then they disperse. Some of them become permanent spirits, like me." He cackled. "Not many do that, though."

Gee, I wonder why.

"Look, you can see one over there," the old guy pointed at a crowd of people not far away. "See the guy with the glasses and the funny-looking tie?"

John followed the direction and nodded. "Yes, I can see him."

"He's dead."

The blonde blanched. "How do you know that?"

"Easy. Can't you see how pale he's looking? All washed out. Like the colour has leaked from him. I reckon his body is hanging on a thin thread – not much longer and he'll die for real."

"So you mean...his body is still alive?"

Schnabelewopski nodded. "Barely. The moment the body dies, the spirits disappears – unless they're as stubborn as me and hang around." There was the evil cackle again. John inched away from the old guy, wondering whether ghosts could catch insanity or not. He didn't get very far. The walking stick hit him with more force than necessary. "Pay attention and look! It's happening!"

John's head snapped up. True enough, tie-guy had an almost startled, then relieved look on his face. For a second, his whole body seemed to flicker – and then he was gone, just like that.

"Holy Cow." The blonde gaped. "He's gone!"

"Told ya it was going to happen."

John gesticulated wildly. "I don't want to die like that! I want to go back to my body!"

"Yeah? Get in the queue. Absolutely crowded today." Schnabelewopski shook his had. "This earthquake really took a number on the people. Haven't seen so many since the big road accident."

The feeling that all this had to be some drug induced nightmare grew stronger and stronger. "And so what's your role in all this?"

A grim smile. "I help. I watch. I talk. But most of all, I'm around."

John rubbed his temples wearily, as the headache ebbed up again. He wasn't quite sure if this was a good sign or not – did the pain somehow link him to reality? Or was it a sign that he was deteriorating, losing the last little bit of connection he had? "And do you have any suggestion as to how I can return to my body, and my life?"

Schnabelewopski turned his intense gaze in him. "Do you want to?"

"Of course I want to! Why wouldn't I?"

A shrug was his reply. "You'd be surprised how many people chose not to return. After all, it's painful – you only get disconnected when things are really bad – which means that your body has suffered a lot of painful injuries - maybe broken bones, bruises, concussion, cuts, burns. You might even have damaged your brain, or your eyes, or your spine. Going back to your body means going through all that pain – accepting that you're going to spend the next months in some crappy hospital bed – realizing that your life might never be the same."

John clenched his hands into fists. He had never thought of it that way. Of course, he had seen his body – the injuries were severe, and painful. Nobody had talked about longer lasting effects yet, but that was because they were all busy worrying whether he'd survive. What if he had suffered from brain damage? What if he'd be unable to walk?

"It doesn't matter." As soon as he spoke the words, he knew they were true. "If there's even the slightest chance that I can go back to my life, I'm going to take it."

"Really?" Schnabelewopski raised an eyebrow. "Then you're braver than you look."

John shook his head. "No. I'm not brave. I just have a life to return to."

"You do, eh?" This time, he could have sworn to see sympathy in the old man's gaze. "Come with me for a bit, kiddo. I'll show you something."

He walked away, not even waiting for a reply. John frowned in confusion and then followed – there wasn't really anything else he could do, was there?

Besides, this old guy might just give him the help he needed.

To be continued...

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Thank you for the reviews! I'm glad you like it – I found writing John to be quite a challenge.

I said that things would only get weirder, and they did, didn't they? Sometimes I wonder what's going on in my mind...