AN: So, OUTLAST TWO COMES OUT IN A WEEK HOLY SHIT IM SO EXCITED. *Ahem*, now that that's out of my system., please enjoy the chapter.
***23***
It turned out we were going to Schaefer's apartment. It also turned out that he lived on the third floor.
My still broken leg was complaining slightly louder than the rest of me by the time we finished the hike up there. It seemed like everyone was home, the woman who lived next door was all alone, it wouldn't take much to get through a window. She was asleep, with just a couple minutes inside I could-
"Miles!" the detective jerked my attention away from thoughts of homicide, "get inside."
I shook away dark thoughts and followed him into the apartment.
What hit me first was the smell. Whisky and brandy floated on the air, a few sad sprays of febreze were all there was to mask the spirits. While I was distracted by the aerial assault I ran into a table and toppled over a few empty bottles.
"How many liquor stores do you keep in business? It smells like a brewery in here."
"What are you, my mother?" The door shut behind me, there was the clicking of two deadbolts and the rattle of a chain.
I guess his paranoia was finally paying off.
"Make sure the windows are locked too, those things can climb." I said as I stumbled deeper into the room.
"We're on the third floor." he protested slightly.
"They climb" I repeated. He was going to have to listen to me if this was going to work.
"Fine." A few laches clicked shut as Schaefer moved around.
I ended up finding and slumping onto lumpy couch. The dreamers were on the south side of town. Was there an abandoned building? They weren't on the hunt for anything, that much was clear.
Schaefer sat down in a chair to the left, there was a clink of glass and the flow of liquid.
"You can't be serious right now."
"I had a long day, I don't tell you how to live your life." he took a quick sip of whatever he had just poured.
"Fine, if you're too drunk to stand up straight when the monsters come knocking, don't expect me to save your sorry ass."
"I wouldn't expect you to be any help anyways." The glass landed on a table, some clicking and the noise of metal sliding past more metal replaced it. At least he was keeping his gun loaded.
I didn't need him, I could just go to the dreamers myself. Steal the detective's gun, figure it out as I go.
No, that was stupid and probably good way to get myself killed.
I thought I told you not to do that while I was out.
Oh goody, how long do I have on the Walrider now? Do I get a whole ten minutes this time?
...and you think I'm dramatic.
Answer the question.
I will be here as long as I can. Wait, this is bothering me.
What was it on about?
There was a stinging in my eyes, I couldn't help but stifle a grunt and duck my head for a second. Suddenly everything seemed impossibly bright, the light might as well have been a dagger digging into my retinas.
"Miles, what are you- holy shit!" faster than I thought possible with his whisky dulled hands and doctored arm Schaefer had the gun he was cleaning back in one piece, loaded, and level at me.
The flurry of movement wasn't enough to distract me from the rest of the apartment. Bottles lined most of the surfaces, only a few spare pictures hung on the walls, a muted TV flickered. Things shifted and bubbled slightly, coming more into focus as they did. The colors were off, like I was looking through a layer of dirty water.
There, I've been getting tired of looking at nothing. It's so boring.
"Hey!" Schaefer was still panickedly trying not to yell "don't you move!"
Why are we still putting up with him?
Not now!
"Calm down, what's going on?" what was with the sudden panic attack? I didn't have enough of the swarm for it to just be floating around like it used to do so it couldn't have been that.
"Your face, it's" there was some gesturing with his injured arm around his eyes. He still hadn't moved the gun.
What did you do?
Your eyes aren't working, I'm trying to fix it.
"You can put the gun down" I was just pulling at scraps of the Walrider right now. Assuming I had as much of a hold on the swarm as the burnt dreamer had getting shot now would be bad news.
"You're not going to do anything crazy?" Schaefer hesitated at the thought of disarming himself
"I pinky promise, happy now?"
He was not. But the gun lowered slowly and before long he went back to cleaning the thing.
Ok, I'll bite. What did you do?
He's overreacting, it's not that bad.
I want the details.
It's an old trick, we used to use it for seeing in the dark. The colors in your eyes just look reversed.
I could imagine the surprise of looking up to find someone with black sclera and glowing white irises to be a little more than unsettling.
...that terrifies people.
I know, isn't that convenient?
Know what never mind-
Damn it, I have to go.
You just got here.
There's two of them and one of you.
My vision was starting to fade.
It won't be like that for long.
You're just making it worse for us.
I'll figure it out. I've already made my mind up, the other dreamers have to die.
Just before the static faded completely there was a last reply That's the thinking that got us here in the first place!
Then it was gone, the room was back to being nothing but a blank slate. The urge to race into the neighboring homes and ruin lives hit me like a truck.
"Are you back to normal over there?" Schaefer asked.
"What passes for it these days."
The gun went to the table, the glass of whisky replaced it in Schaefers hand.
"I need to know more about these dreamers. You said they put their victims into comas?"
I'd been hunted down in tattered memories of Mount Massive, chased through visions of sewers and impossible black voids.
"Basically. There's more going on than that but from the outside it looks like a coma."
There was a beat of silence, Schaefer swallowed another mouthful of whisky.
"So Katherine- the woman who survived the first home invasion - she's not waking up, is she?" he asked almost to himself.
"Not if she's lucky. You don't want to walk around with something like that in your head." if you did it was only a matter of time until it striped away everything that made you you.
I considered pouring myself a drink.
The detective brought himself back to the conversation, "Where do the Park boys fit into this? One of them was," there was a sip "was saying things."
I walked them past their fathers cold body. The dreamers came out of the Zeichner facility, I didn't want to think of what Connor and Garret had gone through.
"Murkoff. I don't know what they did but the kids watched their parents die. What kind of things were they saying?"
Connor had been muttering that "they" were here. He had to be talking about the dreamers.
"They fucked with kids too?" He chugged the rest of the glass "be honest with me, was it you offing the higher ups?"
The edges of his words were starting to slur, it wouldn't be hard to get the jump on him. He wouldn't react fast enough to get the gun, I could have him on the ground before he even knew what was going on.
I pushed further back into the couch, Schaefer mistook the gesture as me admitting guilt for the killings.
"At this point, the bastards probably deserved it." something new was poured into the glass, "were you the group that destroyed the Chicago court house?"
"That was an accident. I didn't mean to-"
"Save it!" he got very loud very quickly, then went to a quiet muttering, "I think you're a monster."
"You're drunk."
There wasn't much of a reply other than the sound of drinking. I steadied myself against the couch and decided to let the conversation go furrow.
What was going on with Connor and Garret? Garret had been drawing pictures and at least acting like a kid his age. It landed me in some hot water, sure, but at least he was doing something.
It was Connor that gave me the creeps.
"They're here" I muttered to myself.
Schaefer drunkenly snored from the armchair.
Connor had said it over and over. Screamed it when the brunt dreamer had broken into the house. What did they do to him?
Whatever it was it was my fault. I brought Waylon and Lisa to Donalds house, that's where Murkoff caught up to us. That's where Lisa got killed, the boys got kidnapped. I should have done better. I should have seen that coming. I should have found a way to fix it. I should shut the detective up, his snoring is going to drive me crazy.
I was standing before I thought better of it.
He thought he'd seen so much.
One person in a coma? Two home invasions? That had been enough to send you crawling into the bottle?
I leered over the detective in his chair. A hiccup bumbled its way out between more deep snores. When had I last slept without a nightmare? I haven't had anything to eat since that cup of coffee yesterday.
My hand came to rest on the back of the chair.
How did they do it? How did they drag people into those dark mental corners?
I picked up my hand.
Would he wake up when it happened? Or would he just stay asleep and fall into some nightmare?
He stirred under me, twisting this way and that, grumbling something about not being there in time. Was he in some hell of his own making? Did he have the mind to torture himself for me?
I drifted closer.
The fear came off of him in waves. I drank deeply from that pool of agony, each drop came as a savory morsel. Delicious.
What was I doing?
I stepped away from the chair. I had to go. Had to but doors between me and him. I did what I could to wipe away the urge to feed from my mind. I hit the wall and felt for a door. I found one and tumbled through it.
The counter and tile floor said it was a bathroom. I struggled to lock the door behind me before slumping to the ground.
There were other people in the building, most of them asleep. What time was it? Why were there so many people having nightmares?
I tried to focus on the cold ground. Everything seemed cold now.
Stop that.
I inhaled and tried to find something productive to think about.
My mind just kept going back to my mistakes.
What happened to the Pierces? To Ruth and Matt and their daughter and niece. There were so many people there when the dreamer came through. How many had died? How much more spilled blood had I caused? That woman had been screaming for her mother, was she dead now?
I should have brought a bottle with me.
And the hospital? I felt them tearing people limb from limb. That was on me.
I closed my eyes and hoped for sleep that I knew wouldn't come.