Psychic City: I'll get straight to it this time! :)

Thank you to: Gimme back that fillet o'fish, LE Candeh, Va Vonne, Christine, Shetan Bandit, XxproperxsadxladyxsilentxX, whats-up-people, MCLanna, 2D Fan, This is How You Do It, and Lively McBrighten.


Chapter Eight:
Of Zombies and Horrifying Things

"Did anyone ever tell you," drawled a voice in Murdoc's ear in the early hours of the morning, "that you look like a dead Beatle?"

The bassist scanned the wreckage of his bedroom, tasting left over liquor in his spit and feeling rather chilly beneath the sheets of his mattress. The curtains were drawn, but the mildly seeping light trickled through the cracks in the curtains and shown back into Murdoc Niccal's weary eyes. He looked back to the girl at his side, seated at the edge of the mattress and drawing up the foot of her black pantyhose. She glanced back over her shoulder, her red hair a mess, and checked to see if Murdoc had reacted to her statement. However, he only stretched himself out, leaned upwards, and pulled the covers off of himself as well, slowly making his way over to a pair of his discarded boxers.

A dropping sense of disappointment seemed to wash over her that hadn't been present the night before. Still, she made way towards her coat, wrapped it over her shoulders, and tied the band around her waist. In a more sober light, Murdoc could tell that she was slightly more thicker than she had been the night before; the waist belt of her coat only just made it around her hips. "I checked outside," she said, smoothing her hair back, "Tara and Maggie left already. Your friends are still on the couch."

Murdoc considered Cherry's discovery. He pulled the shorts over his legs and thought, Maggie! So that was her name. Huh, looked more like a Bridget to me...

Her hair tied back, Cherry repositioned herself and lit up a cigarette between her thin lips. She grabbed her hand purse and pulled on her stilettos staggeringly. Her makeup smeared across her face, Murdoc saw with a grimace that the rest of it had been smudged against the fabric of his white bed pillow. However, Cherry didn't dart quickly out the door, as most of the girls in her situation normally did after waking up next to Murdoc Niccals. Instead, she hung around, dwelling in her spot before taking a step closer to Murdoc, watching him yank up the wrinkly boxers before glancing towards the door. "I think I should say goodbye to Stuart before I get going," she announced. "Will the two of you be coming around the pub more often?"

The bass player's throat dried. Curious, he scanned the front of the woman with a tilted head, his eyes blinking back inquisitively at her. "Err, yeah, love, from... uh, time to time."

Whatever disappointment had tainted her face before vanished. A smile spread across her lips and she drew her cigarette from her mouth, giddily. The girlish grin that she had worn so proudly in the night before had returned to her. She put what could have been considered perhaps a more seductive smile and said with a hope tint, "well then, looks like I'll be seeing you two around, Murdoc Niccals." Murdoc's face twitched and he watched her as she scooted out the door, flouncing down the hallway in search of Stu, whom Murdoc had admittedly misplaced.

He searched his brain hastily before darting out in front of her, smoothing past her swiftly, and stumbling to the broom closet before she could notice. However, when he pulled the door open, he found himself staring down into the image of Stu, perhaps even more ill-looking than the night before. His previously clean hair was greasy and the bags under his eyes made him look exhausted and uneasy. Though his eyelids were half-open and wet, he looked even more out of it than before. Still, Murdoc noticed the trail of dried spit at the edge of his mouth, as well as the busted catheter that pooled down the leg of his black sweats.

Running a hand through his own seat of hair, a swift rush of panic swept oddly over him. "Fuck."

"Have you got him, then?" Cherry called, still fiddling with the silly strap at her waist. However, Murdoc didn't garner a chance to suitably respond. Once he'd spun around on his heel, he came face to face with the anxious woman, the smile still spread across her pretty face. She scanned Murdoc's drained face, but instinctively peered around it. "Ah!" she exclaimed, leaning forwards and gently shoving Murdoc aside into the wooden pantry, "there he is!" Cherry bent down, positioning her body next to Stu's crooked knees, and brushed her palm softly against his face. "How do you think he's doing in there?" she asked, dreamily. Her eyes locked within his blank gaze, and she seemed completely unaware to the kid's blatantly horrible state.

Murdoc shrugged, though he didn't say a word in response to her at all. He wasn't even sure if she'd been paying much attention, anyways. Nonetheless, he allowed her to linger uselessly around the unresponsive Stu before he heard her clear her throat and listened for her heels to scuff the floorboards beneath her. In turn, she didn't say a word, either. With her humiliating goodbye finished up, she fixed her expression and nodded gently towards Murdoc. Hastily, she scrambled towards the door, lunged for the knob, and disappeared out into the early morning before another word could be muttered.


Rachel Pot stared blankly at the sight of her younger sister at the edge of her son's room. Beatrice, with her dark hair pulled back into a pony-tail, had managed to look even attractive despite the lines of concern that had tainted her pretty face. The woman of barely thirty-six clung on to the hand of her small, eight year old daughter and Rachel could spot their presence from the slightly opened door of her son's hospital room. She hadn't planned on the two visiting, but it had been more than three months, and Stu hadn't had very many visitors over the course of the long ninety days. Still, Rachel found herself a bit uneasy as she watched the two approaching shadows, and she smoothed her son's blue hair to one side apologetically.

It had really been David who had coaxed Rachel into allowing Stu some visitors. She recalled the incident vividly, as her husband had approached her timidly, his shadow lingering in the very corner of her son's room. The place had become quite the second home for Rachel Pot and, as a nurse, she had even helped with Stu's constant care. Nonetheless, the man had still insisted. "He's lonely, Rach," he had said solemnly, with his own hands in the pockets of his trousers. He looked a mess, though running the summer carnival hadn't done much to improve his dirty image. "You don't want Stu to get lonely, do you, Rachel?"

"He's not lonely!" Rachel had insisted, her hands around Stu's spoon. It had been only a couple weeks since Stu had been moved from the hospital to the nursing home and Rachel Pot had found a way to visit her son quite frequently over the course of those seven days. Still, she paused in what she had been doing, set aside the canned food and let her son's head rest back down on the pillow underneath him. "He's not lonely, David," she repeated sternly, "he has me."

"Rachel, Stu's nineteen years old. He should be having friends come around to see him." Rachel's husband took a step forward towards his son. He spoke carefully, though managed to not restrain himself. Nonetheless, when he finally made his way to his son, he stroked his hair and pinched his chin, rubbing it gently before turning back to his wife. In the back of his mind, he'd known that he had struck a nerve with the woman. He'd known as well as the rest of the family that Stu hadn't had much friends to begin with. Their son's school years, of course, had not been the most enjoyable years of his life. Thus, David Pot readjusted himself, roughing up the blue hair that Rachel had only just smoothed. "Or at least some family."

Thus, the arrival of Beatrice and her daughter had only been inevitable. The woman stifled a sigh, clinging to her son with a timid grip. Despite herself, she managed to smooth out his hair and attempt to make him presentable. In a hurried gesture, she lifted Stu up and positioned him in a seated position at the back of his pillow. Her fretting hands brought his long blue hair behind his ears and down over the purple bruise that made his face look sickly. Then, as a last anxious action, she pulled the sheets up towards the top of his lap and rest her hand on the fold out table that sat mechanically in front of him.

"Rachel..." droned the sweet voice, and Rachel spun around. Her sister wore a sad smile and a raincoat, still dripping wet from the pouring rain outside. At her side, Stuart's younger cousin clung to the arm of her mother. Yet Rachel Pot couldn't help but stare solemnly at Sara, Stu's cousin. The girl's eyes searched the room minutely, as if looking for her relative, though when she found him there in the bed, a state of shock seemed to buzz over her. Guilt flooded through Rachel's body instantly; surely she shouldn't have allowed Beatrice to bring Sarah along, not when the girl couldn't even barely hold the concept of Stu's state correctly, anyways. And besides, the look on her face just broke Rachel's heart. Clinging on to her son's cold palms, Rachel managed to sheepishly produce a grin of her own, though it was not returned.

Beatrice's gaze dropped. She squeezed her daughter's hand and managed to lower her voice. However, neither of the two took a step forward. Despite the three months time that they had not seem Stu, it had been a strange feeling to see him then, the way that he was. Yet, over the pounding rain that hit the ceiling ahead of them, Beatrice lowered her voice and stared back at her nephew, a hint of overwhelming sorrow in her old voice. "How's he doing?"

Something in the question made Rachel wince. She didn't really have an answer for her sister, though the look on her face certainly gave away all the answer that she had needed. The truth of the matter was that it had been three months. Three months since Stuart had fallen into a coma and, in medical terms, that meant nothing but bad news. Three months had signaled that Stu's chances of waking up had lowered. Fear had overtaken Rachel. She wondered if she'd ever hear him play his keyboard again, or sing a song. She wondered, with a stabbing fear, that there would be a sense of awareness behind his otherwise unfocused gaze. "He's doing great," lied Rachel, nodding down at the young girl mournfully.

The girl in the corner ran a hand through her wet dark hair. She had not taken her eyes away from her cousin. Instead, she smoothed her own locks behind her ears and let her hand slip out from her mother's. Without permission, she crept up towards the side of Stu's bed and had managed to do so unnoticed. Though, when she made it to the very edge of the boy's mattress, she asked out loud, "when's Stu gonna wake up?"

A strange silence took over the room. Rachel Pot hadn't even noticed the girl leave her mother's side, and yet, she remained uncertain. Her unease showed blatantly on her face, which reddened with every passing moment. Though the girl did not seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Instead, she looked up at her mother and her aunt, waiting for an answer at all. Still, the young girl reached forward, despite Rachel's protest, and tickled under Stu Pot's ribs, a smile creeping on her face in hopes that he too would break into laughter. Yet Stu's face only minutely twitched, his eyebrows slightly coming together before the front of his mouth came slightly undone.

The girl's face knotted with confusion and she pulled her hand back before waving it in front of Stuart's bruised face. "Aunt Rachel," she asked, still wiggling her hands before glancing back over her shoulder. Her face dropped at the sight of her mother's and aunt's expressions. Both mortified, the two older women stirred uneasily in their seats, minds racing. "Aunt Rachel, why's Stu so sleepy?"

Rachel Pot racked her brain. Perhaps she could just lie to her niece. At eight years old, there was not much she could say to make the young girl understand. However, by the looks of things, her son wasn't about to wake up any time soon. It hadn't even registered in her mind that it had been three months- three long and overwhelming months. Stu Pot, he hadn't shown any sign of improvement. And, other than the fact that he could open his eyes, move his mouth, and grumble something occasionally, he wasn't too responsive either. But the look on her niece's curious face made her chest drop and, devilishly, she cast a petrified glance at her sister, who stood stoney and embarrassed. What had she been thinking anyway? Bringing an eight year old child over to visit her cousin before actually explaining the situation over to her? Bitter, a cold plummeting feeling dropped heavily in the depths of Rachel Pots very core.

"Stu isn't feeling so good, hon," came the reply of her aunt, stiffening. The girl noticed how her eyes switched back and forth from her son to her sister. When she looked at the girl, her expression was soft and sorry, but when she looked at her sister, her expression melted into an angry one. "He's very sick."

"Well, that's okay," the girl smiled, "I've been sick loads of times." Once again, Stu's young cousin turned back to him. She reached out a wet hand and held his nose shut playfully, waiting for him to react with a silly smile. However, when he didn't move, she slowly removed her fingers and snapped hastily in his ear, still giddy with the chance that he had just been faking her out. However, she wondered why he'd been playing the sleeping game for so long. Usually he was easy to crack when trying to fool her. She just made him smile so easily. Nonetheless, when Stu did not react, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at her aunt. "Why don't you just give him some medicine?"

Beatrice Pot shifted her weight, glancing down and away from her sister's furious look. Rachel's eyes burned intensely and she mouth, "could you help me out here?" but the younger woman remained uneasily silent. However, she felt a dropping feeling when her sister snapped, "can I talk to you outside?" and titled her head to one side with determination. And, while Beatrice did not have the heart to refuse, she passed her daughter a solemn smile before telling her to wait with Stu for a moment; she'd be right back. Thus, Rachel Pot slipped from the edge of her son's bedside, looking back over him and dabbing at his open mouth softly before gliding away. When she spun around, her furious attitude became blatantly obvious as her knuckles whitened at the grip of the door handle. She said, "after you," and the two had vanished within the instant.

The door of the boy's nursing home room slammed shut and, inwardly, Stu Pot's awareness suddenly switched on.

The young girl noticed the cans of mashed baby food that rest on the fold out table in front of him and her face crunched up with disgust. "Ew, Stu!" she gagged, picking the thing up with her fingers and sticking out her tongue. She made a ugly face and her left eye twitched. "What are you eating this for? This is disgusting!"

Yet, the depths of Stu's wandering mind frightened him and he felt as if he were floating. Nonetheless, the notion of loneliness gave him the chills and he lost comfort in the fact that he could not hear a single being from the dark spaces around him. Though he could not hear himself out loud, the sound of his own whimpering flooded through his head and echoed throughout his mind. His head was killing him, throbbing and twisting with every passing moment. He prayed for his painkillers, but the likes of them never came near. And, with a thrilling rush of terror, he realized once again that he was utterly and completely abandoned.

However, something small and delicate brushed the side of his face and his mental senses shifted. The chilly pressure that had flooded through him had managed to subside. The fear that had overtaken him seemed to drain and he felt a fast rise in his chest of nearness. Yet the warm sensation of joy lifted as he felt the tiny hand slip upward to his face, brushing aside his stray blue hair and then gently touching the space near his eye. The spot was sensitive and instantly Stu tried to reel backwards, but his body refused to move.

Something sighed and Stu felt someone violently pinch at his arm. "Come on, Stu," the voice said with a whine, "I have to go back to school soon and mum said that it'll be a whole week until I can come back." Something drained from Stu's face. He recognized the voice and a sense of overwhelming happiness rushed through him. Sara had been one of his closest cousins, and he tried to smile at the memory of the summer afternoons he'd spent spraying her with the backyard garden hose. However, despite his gentle bliss, the girl leaned forward and punched his arm. "Wake up! It's not funny now!"

The young girl's brain worked feverishly, glancing back towards her sleepy cousin. Maybe he wasn't faking it after all. She wondered if some ugly and cloaked witch had fed him a poisoned apple and, as a result, he'd fallen fast asleep. Hastily, she tried to think of all the prettiest girls she could think of. If she could just kiss Stu Pot on the lips, then he would wake up and play dolls with her again. And her Aunt Rachel wouldn't be so sad. Then, with a stroke of quick brilliance, the girl remembered the dark haired woman that used to come into Stu's work every so often. Her name was Paula, if she could remember, and Stu was always talking about asking her to a restaurant. She wondered if she could find Paula in time to help Stu wake up. Simple, then everything would carry on as usual.

Once again, she pinched Stu's sore forearm and Stu's bliss shrank indefinitely.

Ouch. Fuck. Perhaps bliss wasn't exactly a feeling that could last long for Stu Pot. At the harsh punch to the arm, the bile in Stu Pot's stomach washed up and then sunk back down. Though, despite himself, his eyes flicked hazily open. He couldn't see her there in front of him, but he heard her giggle excitedly.

"I knew you were faking it!" she squealed and then arched forward, her chubby body flopping across his slender one. Then her thick, white arms wrapped around his neck and his head only lolled lifelessly to one side. Stu did not react. Instead, his eyes rest only half open and a trail of disgusting spit wandered out from the side of his mouth. Sara reeled backwards. She hadn't noticed before how horrible her cousin looked. She took in the sight of the boy's bruised neck and bandaged forehead. Then she saw the stitches at the side of his face and directly across the end of his blue hairline. He was wearing a dingy little mint green hospital gown with the back that was nothing but a tie. He looked sad and forlorn, unlike the boy she had grown used to. But, on top of all that, one of his normally friendly brown eyes had been clouded over. Now, instead of appearing warm and cheerful, it gazed back at her with the vision of a horrifying pitch black.

The girl stumbled backwards, falling off from the bed and on to her backside. Yet she didn't waste time worrying about the hard tile. Instead, she darted towards the door on fast feet, whipping the thing open with a red face and tear stained cheeks. The two women at the other side of the door glanced up. Both of them had looked so angry before, yet now their faces only glanced down at her, confused. "S-S-Stu's eye!" shrieked the girl, jolting her hand backwards, "h-h-his eye!" Then, without wasting much time, she broke down in a fit of tears and lunged for her mother, wrapping her arms around the woman's thick waist and burying her face deep within her stomach.

Rachel Pot's face whirled back into the room that belonged to her son and she lost the colored tint to her face. "Fuck," she muttered, and Sara was certain she'd never heard an adult swear in front of her before. Even Stu had managed to contain himself around her and she knew that Stu had a habit of swearing- swearing and smoking, in fact. With her head buried in her mother's gut, she remembered the time she had caught Stu outside the house around one in the morning. He had been crotched outside her home with his knees to his chest. He'd looked sad and he'd been by himself. She remembered coming downstairs and recalled that, at the sight of her, Stu had flicked the thing from his fingers and tried to demolish the cigarette with the tip-toes of his shoe. But Stu's black eye was worse than his habit of smoking. Despite the fact that she'd hated the idea of Stu smoking, she now wished that it had only been that simple.

"Why's Stu look so scary?" the little girl shouted, perhaps much more loud than she had anticipated; from inside the room, her comment bounced off the walls of the nursing home and found its way into Stu's ears.

Though before Stu had felt his chest drop, this time he had been certain that it had plummeted. A terrified feeling of anxiety washed through him. Scary? He could feel his body shaking unwillingly and the beating of his heart pounded like a drum. He wished for vision, wished for awareness, and wished for a mirror. The ship of his beating heart had sunk; never before had he been so petrified in his entire life.

The murmurs of the outside world frustrated him. He could hear the muffled voices of his aunt and his mother as the argued back and forth. And, all the while, his cousin cried through his fuzzy head. Stuart Pot had never been truly angry about his state, but at that moment, he couldn't have been more furious. He wanted to sit up and run for his own mother. He wanted to reach his arms forward and pull his own hair out. He hated everyone walking around him and whispering. He hated living in the dark. He hated the needles and whatever it was that the figures around him had been feeding him every day.

He hated hearing his mother cry and he hated the miserable mood he put people in. Stu's heart pounded in his chest and he felt the sense of overwhelming sadness rush into him. His throat clenched and his head whirled, hurricane-like. Why was this happening to him? He didn't want to make anyone miserable- all he wanted was to go to work and play the keyboard and write music. But now he couldn't even move his fingers. Now he couldn't even drive a car or carry out a conversation or... or spray his cousin with the fucking backyard hose.

"Is Stu dead?" he heard his cousin sob over the rushing air that whisked around in his ill-fated brain.

His mother recoiled. "No, honey, of course not!"

In his own mind, Stu wished that he was. Being dead was better than living only by existence. He felt himself as a mere presence, a figure on display. He hated the way they poked and prodded at him, hated the voices they used to encourage him and the way they shoved food into his mouth, encouraging him along the way. If he didn't swallow it, they massaged his throat and it hurt. And he felt stupid when they brushed his hair and whispered, "good job, Stu! You're doing so well!" when all he'd done was open his eyes. What Stu wanted was his life back and, feverishly, he begged for it above all things.

"Is he going to die?"

"No, honey," Stu heard his mother repeat again, this time with a slight sob of her own. "Of course not!"

However, Stu felt otherwise. In the deepest part of his miserable head, he felt a sinking feeling that he was nearing the end of his days.

He heard himself unwillingly groan and the voices around him immediately fell silent. At the other end of the hallway, Rachel Pot stiffened and then, despite herself, leaned forward to the lights at the side of the wall. Stu could hear the click, could sense the instant recall of light as it flashed away from him. The door shut and all had gone away. He could no longer hear the sonud of his cousin or the voice of his mother reassuring her. Only, he heard the fierce pound of rain above him, cackling with thunder and booming with lightning.

Stu had never liked thunderstorms; they frightened him and made him cold. He thought of all the horrifying things that come out at night during the rain and could almost physically envision the sight of a decaying zombie hand reach out from the muddy ground of his occupied grave sight. And once again, Stu found himself alone in the bitterness of the night.


Psychic City: More chapters very very soon! Please note, Stu's cousin is not going to be a main character. I think I already said how OCs are not my thing. :) I just like adding random people into stories to create drama and flow. So, she will not be coming back as a teenager to fall in love with Murdoc. And she won't have a friend that will pay 2D a visit, only to- surprise- fall in love with him later. I will spare you the unnecessary cliches and stick with the original story, promise! :)

Anyway, please let me know what you think! I'm happy to hear from you all, always!