I hope you enjoy this next chapter. As always, feel free to review/comment :)

~ Jehbel


The first thing Ryou noticed was that he was cold. Following that was the sudden realisation that he was no longer lying in his bed.

Looking around, the teen was surprised to see he was standing in the hallway of his house, midway between his room and his parents'. He was barefoot, the cuffs of his soft pyjama legs finishing just shy of his ankles. He would need a new pair soon; he had had a growth spurt lately. The hall was dark and silent, the faint ticking of the clock in the kitchen the only sound. It was the eerie, inky blackness of true night; it was not early morning - this was the witching hour.

Ryou blinked slowly, his mind still muddled from sleep. Why was he here? Had he been sleepwalking? He had done so occasionally as a small child but it had not happened for some time now. He felt distinctly odd, as though he had just woken from a terrible nightmare that he could not remember.

A shiver trickled down his scalp and spine, and Ryou hugged himself slightly, his mind turning to his bed. Still though, he stood, indecisive, swaying slightly in the hall. He knew he should simply walk back to his bedroom and go back to sleep, however something kept him from doing just that. Glancing over his shoulder toward his bedroom, he was overcome with an intense feeling of unease. The open doorway gaped like a deep toothless mouth and the utter lack of light within his room seemed sinister and full of faceless ghosts. No, he didn't want to go back to his room.

But where should he go? He couldn't stand out here all night.

Finally, with a half-shiver, half-shrug, the teen padded down the hall toward his parents' bedroom. Perhaps if he woke his mother or father, one of them would stay up with him for a while, or at least enter his bedroom first and prove his fears to be for nothing. His cheeks pinked slightly with faint embarrassment at having to go to his parents like a small child, but, if he was being honest with himself, he felt out of sorts and spooked. He wanted to see his father, and hear the reassurance of his voice. He wanted to smell the familiar scents of his mother and feel the heavy still warmth of their bedroom, which had always been somewhat sacred, mysterious and closed to visitors.

Ryou twisted the handle and pushed the door open on silent hinges. It was as dark and impenetrable in here as his own room, yet alive with the presence of his parents. It was dark, yes, but not scary. He could hear their deep steady breathing from beneath the mountain of blankets and pillows on their bed, and he followed the sound, coming to a stop by his father's side. The white-haired teen peered down with wide eyes at the indistinct sleeping form of his father in the darkness. He already felt soothed, cheered, by the sight of the man he adored so much.

"Father." He whispered the word, already knowing that it was too quiet to wake the man before him; his father was a very deep sleeper. He merely wanted to speak the word, to have this moment of peaceful silence to himself. Ryou smiled to himself, thinking about how reliable and dedicated his father was.

But wait.

Was he?

Ryou frowned a little, his eyebrows pulling together slightly, his rich brown eyes clouding.

Can I really rely on him? After all, this man had left, abandoned him, with barely a word of contact since, for five endless weeks. And it was not the first time; Ryou's father frequently travelled for work for upwards of a month at a time.

In fact, he's never here! He probably prefers to travel than be home with us. And indeed, why would he, when all he had to look forward to was a friendless and clingy son and a dull housewife?

Ryou clenched his fists with sudden emotion. I bet he hates me. That's why he wanted to spend time with mother instead of me when he got home. He knew he was being irrational, knew he was wrong to the depths of his core, but the thoughts continued to spew forth like thick bile, self-doubt and sudden loathing making his slender frame tremble. He doesn't love me at all, does he? He can't wait to go away again! He's probably already planning his next trip! Why won't he stay here with us? He knows I need him! He knows we both need him! But he NEVER STAYS!

With a sudden violent strength, Ryou's hands snapped out to wrap firmly and unerringly around his father's neck. He squeezed, and his hands, which he would never have thought large or strong enough to hurt his father, began to slowly and unforgivingly crush the breath from him. It felt amazing.

The sleeping man gave a great lurch, coming awake with a sense of sickening horror as he realised he couldn't breathe. His large hands came up to try and pry Ryou's smaller wrists away, but his son was in the midst of a mindless rage; his father could no more break his grip than move a mountain. His father's eyes were wide and horror-filled with understanding; his son was killing him. His own son. Mouth moving silently, Ryou's father wheezed and tried desperately to speak, to breathe, to communicate with his boy, but it was too late. He had awoken too late to stop it, and had been half-choked by the time he realised what was happening. The room, already dark, flickered and faded further from his vision. Only the final flash of his son's white hair remained like a faintly glowing candle in the darkness.

Ryou's teeth were bared, his rich brown eyes glaring with senseless hatred at the face of the man he had thought he adored so deeply. "Father," he hissed, his cheeks flushing almost purple with effort, "now you'll stay with us. Now you won't leave me. Stay!" He spat the last word like a curse, but quietly, ever so quietly. His mother, deeply asleep, had not stirred once; it had all happened so quietly and quickly.

Finally, so suddenly and easily, there was no more struggle. The large hands fell limp to the bed, and his father stared sightlessly at the ceiling with bloodshot and bulging eyes, his face frozen in a mask of terrified desperation. Only then did Ryou release his superhuman grip, allowing his own hands unclench painfully and stretch from their vicelike positions. "Oh, Father, Aren't you glad you get to stay with us, now?" Ryou whispered, delighted, his torso bent low and intimate over his father's prone form. "I'm sure Mother will be glad! We can all stay here, together." Then, straightening abruptly, Ryou threw his head back and began to laugh, high and maniacal. His hair bristled and he seemed to stand taller than usual. Across the bed, his mother woke suddenly, with a shrieking gasp to the nightmarish scene before her.


"Argh!" Ryou bolted upright in bed, his hand flying to his chest as he heaved deep, horrified breaths. His heart was thundering in his chest, his skin clammy with sweat. Gasping, the teen looked frantically around his room, the urge to simply run almost overwhelming his senses. Finally, he realised the obvious; it was a dream. Oh my god, it was just a dream. With this realisation and the tidal wave of relieved horror that accompanied it, the white-haired teen brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Before he could control himself, he was sobbing into his knees; he felt wrought, distressed, terrified. Oh god, I killed Father! What… Why? Why would I dream about that? Oh god, it was so REAL… He could not banish from his mind the sense of delight and ease with which he had dispatched the man. How did I even know how to do that? Why was it so easy? His body rippled with horrified shivers as his heart beat slowly faded to a slower, yet still frantic, rhythm. He felt terrible. Dirty. Evil. What the hell was that? Oh my gosh, that was so horrible. The room descended into a thick silence, broken only by the ragged breathing of the distraught young man.

Slowly, a new feeling began to penetrate Ryou's senses: pain. It was dull, but persistent. With a low grunt, Ryou sat straight, his hand drifting to his stomach where he could feel a faint stabbing. His fingers met something solid. Bewildered, he slipped a hand under his pyjama top, grasping the offending object gingerly, the other hand pulling his shirt up so that he could see what he was holding.

It was one of the spikes from the golden ring.

Bafflement and surprise were foremost in his mind. Eyebrows pinched in confusion, Ryou murmured, "what…?" He realised that not only was the ring under his shirt, but was in fact hanging around his neck by the familiar leather cord. Ryou looked behind him up onto the wall, where he had hung the ring the evening before, half-believing it may still be there; but of course, it was not, because he was wearing it.

When did I put this on? I must have done it in my sleep! He was utterly confused, and slightly frightened by this revelation, and he hastily pulled the ring off from around his neck, before checking it thoroughly to ensure it was not bent or damaged from being worn. But, it was as perfect as ever, and oddly cool to the touch considering it had been tucked under his shirt all night. What a weird night! First a nightmare, and I obviously got up in my sleep and put this ring on.

As soon as he was free of the necklace, Ryou felt better. He had recovered from his disturbing dream, and the ring was no longer digging painfully into his stomach, and everything was alright. The ring was not damaged, and his father was not dead.

Right?

The teen shivered one last time, scrambling out of bed. He wanted to see his father, alive and well, right now. He knew it had been a bad dream, but all the same, he wouldn't be happy until he saw for himself that everything was fine. He threw the ring onto his bed with a faint thought to hanging it up again later; then, shrugging into his nightgown, for it was a bit cold that morning, Ryou hurried from the room, his thoughts still dwelling faintly on that horrible nightmare.

From its position on the bed, nestled amongst the unmade blankets, the ring seemed to gleam with an angry light.