AN/Warning: There's a memory (Third memory) that involves suicide by Mind Control.

Chapter 14 - Memories

He was on the ground. It was hard, cold and hurt his back.

He blinked to get rid of the tears welling in his eyes and tilted his head, trying to figure out what he was seeing. The indoor training room, his weary mind supplied, identifying the hypnotic, crisscrossed pattern of the wide wooden beams. The roof was above the beams and there were a lot of lights, placed in the little squares made by the beams, shining at him from a far distance.

Another kick connected, this time with his ribs. The unmistakable crunching sound told him that one was broken this time. The pain hit then, agonising and inescapable, mingling with the thousands of other hurts flaring all over his body. His groan faded into a hitching whimper, and he curled around himself into a miserable ball, praying for this to end.

It did not end, not for a long while yet.

"Please, please…Stop!" The mantra kept spilling out of his bloody mouth and the split lips, although the meaning of the words had been lost to him for some time now. His assailants yelled and growled and screamed, words full of white-hot fury, but nothing made sense to him as they floated in and out around him, just out of his grasp. His mind wasn't really paying attention and apart from the rushing noise in his ears, the sounds the others made failed to register.

Suddenly there were hands on his face, gripping his cheeks in a brutal hold, turning his face until the pretty lights and square beams were replaced by the snarling face of Harry Fairweather.

"Look at me, you piece of shit," Harry was so angry there was spit flying out of his mouth to land on his face. He squinted. "Open your eyes and look," he kept snarling. His white jacket was clean and crisp, he noticed through the haze, unlike the dark dirty clothes of his assailants.

"If you ever even look at Aline again, let alone talk to her, this beating would feel like a day at the spa, you understand me?"

He blinked and moaned when Harry shook him.

"If you ever make the same mistake, I'll make you suffer so bad, you'll beg me to kill you myself."

With that final threat, Harry pushed him away and his head bounced off the floor painfully, causing his vision to white out for a moment.

"Come, sister," he heard Harry somewhere above him to his left. "Let's get outta here and let the boys finish it up…" the voice faded along with the footsteps and the sound of clicking heels.

A door banged closed and agony erupted in his right knee, causing his entire body to jackknife off the floor with a howl. Another swift kick that connected with his left ear finally put him out of his misery, drowning him in merciful darkness…

-oOo-

Joe had a moment to be grateful for the respite from Melvin's excruciating agony before he was caught in an invisible vortex again. He felt his consciousness spin wildly out of control with enough force to rip him into pieces. Just as he started to panic that this might be his end along with Melvin Winters, he was thrown back into another memory.

-oOo-

There was something wrong, he could feel it.

He didn't want to be doing this; standing in front of her door with flowers and a pitiful smile on his face. But there was a strong feeling in his mind - one that didn't quite belong - telling him… No. Insisting… demanding that he be here for her. Always for her and her only.

He knocked several times, hoping against hope that she wouldn't open the door. Just as the strange need started to fade, Sienna Phillips' beautiful face peeked at him through the half-open door, flaring that need anew.

She glared at the flowers in his hand before looking up with a sneer. "How many freaking times, Carl? I've told you I like white lilies, not orchids–"

"But sweetheart," he stammered, wincing internally, but unable to stop himself from humiliating himself further. "This was the biggest and prettiest bouquet they had."

"I don't care! It's ugly and I don't feel like going out today…"

A sense of crushing disappointment engulfed him, not really his but painful nonetheless."But Sienna, you promised…"

"Carl, Darren is on his way here," she purred, batting her eyelashes. "You know I can't…"

Of course, she couldn't, he knew it. He didn't want to continue this meaningless pursuit either. Only, he was helpless against the strong alien compulsion that had taken residence in his mind.

"But–"

Then something flashed in her eyes. The sapphire blues he was convinced he loved so much turned blood red for an unbelievable moment, throwing him off guard. Before he could even begin to understand what he just witnessed, Darren Quentin was on him, pinning him to the floor with his knee on the small of his back. The flowers were squashed under his ribs and his arm was twisted backwards in a painful hold.

"Let him go, Darren," Sienna's condescending words were sharper than knives. "He's hopeless, too dumb to even follow the tiniest instruction–"

He wasn't dumb or hopeless. He was here because she had kissed him in the corridor next to the library, the one that was mostly deserted, only a couple of days ago. She had then asked him to take her to the movies. That had been the last time he had control of his own mind or his impulses. He wanted to say these things out loud to remind her, to explain, but his mind was muddled and confused. The deep ache of rejection was clouding whatever was left of his judgement.

Sienna continued to glare at him, her gaze switching between sky blue and crimson, it gave him a headache just to look at her. Or maybe it was the smack Darren had aimed at the back of his head, he wasn't sure.

"Get out of here, you asshole," Darren hauled him off the floor and pushed him towards the yard.

As he walked, he tried to figure out how a thin, wiry, skeleton of a boy managed to drop his own six-foot, hundred-and-eighty-pound frame to the ground without any effort. He hadn't even heard him coming up behind him. Then there was Sienna's creepy eyes and the look of pure disgust she had aimed at him. His headache spiked just at the mental image of it, making him shiver as he slowly walked back to his dorm.

-oOo-

Before Joe could properly process the fact that he had jumped from Melvin's memories to Carl's, his surroundings swirled into an incoherent blur before solidifying again.

-oOo-

He was now standing on the rooftop of the main building. It was just after one in the afternoon and it was a sunny spot, but the greenery around him took care of most of the heat.

He finished his lunch sitting on a patch of grass the gardening crew had managed to grow and lovingly maintain. One half of his mind was relieved, thinking that he was free of Sienna's clutches while the other half was despondent over the fact. As he stared over the tall wall of the complex and the empty road beyond, Sienna appeared from behind a wall of bougainvillaea vines, almost as if summoned by his conflicting thoughts.

She was only a few feet away from him, half concealed behind the greenery, smiling cruelly at him like a wrathful goddess of the wild.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I just finished my lunch. I needed some quiet and space, it's peaceful here,'' he replied.

Her smile widened, flashing a neat row of teeth that reminded him of a predator. His mind clouded and dissolved into chaos before the intensity of her unnatural gaze. He was stuck in a moment so terrible, so unnerving, that nothing remained except for an all-encompassing feeling of despair and agony.

"You know how to end it…" she murmured.

He realised he was near the railing now. He was on top of the main building, looking down at a three-story drop. It would be so easy to end this nightmarish existence of being her puppet. So easy. If he would just…

Except he didn't want to jump. He didn't want to take his own life. He didn't want to bring so much sorrow and grief to his parents, his family, his friends, loved ones… his brother. Those were the reasons he had always found the resolve to keep going, no matter how hard it became at times. No. He didn't want to take the easy way out. Not this way. Not today.

Maybe she saw the defiance in his eyes. Her eyes narrowed in retaliation and turned into two pools of burning crimson. Caught in that deadly gaze, he was effectively helpless.

"You've got to, darling," she purred.

"Please, please… stop!" He begged.

"Why should I?" She laughed.

"I don't wanna die!" He cried.

That was the end of that negotiation, he understood when her snarl broke into a triumphant grin. He closed his eyes and sighed, sending a heartfelt apology to the ones he was about to leave behind.

"You have to!"

Her words echoed all around him, assaulting his heart, mind and soul. He opened his eyes, plastered a grim smile on his lips, gave one last wave to the only electronic witness that hung above the exit door frame and flew off the railing.

The wind buffeted his face and the three flags of Lincoln waved a final goodbye. In that infinite moment between life and death that didn't even last a few seconds, his mind cleared enough to make one final vow to himself.

"I will come back, Sienna, and I will pay you back for what you have done to me."

-oOo-

Joe hoped and prayed that was the end of it, that Melvin, and by extension, Carl - were done sharing horrors. But unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

-oOo-

Singing. Some guy was singing.

His world was dark and cold. He was in pain, but it was a numb sort of pain as if he had been injured badly and there were a number of drugs running through his veins to keep him from feeling the brunt of it.

There was a faint humming sound, punctuated by a rhythmic whooshing sound.

He knew those sounds.

A little bit more time spent on self-assessment revealed a bit more about his situation. He was in a hospital, lying still on a small hard bed. The smell of antiseptics was unmistakable. The sounds were from a monitor that was hooked to him along with a number of medical paraphernalia surrounding him. The whooshing belonged to the ventilator, which he was sure was the reason for the most uncomfortable feeling in his throat and chest.

All in all, he wasn't too worried. He was in a place where he was being taken care of, surely.

Satisfied that his physical condition was suspended somewhere above being dead and on a slow, painful upward slope to recovery, he decided to poke his memory to see what got him here.

Kicks and punches and screamed vitriol of a pack of angry Hyenas.

He was sure he would have gasped had he been capable. The memory hit him with the speed and unforgiving intensity of a freight train. He had been beaten to a pulp by two Anarchists and their cohorts, all because he had told Aline Fairweather to go fuck herself.

He had been justified in that too, he knew without a doubt. How dare that bitch suggest his brother killed himself over that queen bitch!

Ah well, it didn't really matter why Carl killed himself. He was dead and there was nothing that could reverse that tragedy. He missed his brother. True, Carl was an asshole at best of times, and a raging bully at worst, but he was still his brother and he missed him. He hadn't really known how much he loved the asshole until he was gone.

The pain he felt in his chest now had nothing to do with the injuries.

There's that infernal singing again! What is that song anyway? Can't really hear the words but sounds like a Spice Girls number. Who listens to that shit anyway?

"No," a piercing wail bounced off the walls in his room, startling him out of his maulding thoughts. His pulse started to race, as he tried to open his eyes, make a sound, wriggle a toe…or something. But he was frozen like a slab of meat on a counter, trapped inside his own mind within a wholly unresponsive body.

"You can't do this, please…That's wrong!"

The unknown girl begged. There was a very strange quality to her voice as if she was a part of the wind that seemed to have picked up inside his room. She was the wind.

What the hell is going on? He screamed in absolute silence.

"Go to hell," another voice rose in the wind. His heart leapt in joy when that tone registered. He would know that growl anywhere. It was Carl. His brother was here. He was safe… Wasn't he?

"It was all your fault!" Carl roared.

"What!?"

"You or your sisters, I don't even know," Carl's voice had the same quality as the girl's. It was as if they were just voices without substance… Oh, God. Carl was dead. This was his ghost, wasn't it? He wanted nothing but to wake up from this fresh nightmare. He did not want to get stuck in the middle of a fight between two ghosts.

God help me! He added his own muted screams to the fury swirling around his darkness.

"They brought that witch to Lincoln, to my life…" Carl accused. "Someone has to pay."

"No, you don't understand, you're dead," the girl declared. She sounded scared and possibly crying, but she was still willing to stand up to an enraged Carl. Despite his own mindless fear, he took a moment to commend her courage. You go, girl!

"You can't take a body of a living. It's against the rules."

A body of a living? Jesus, was Carl going to kill someone? Please, girly, whoever you are, please stop him, please!

"He's not gonna be alive much longer anyway," Carl was saying and he felt a cold breeze caress the skin of his cheeks, so soft and almost loving, or perhaps, apologising. "He's dying. I'll avenge him and myself, then I can pass peacefully."

The meaning of Carl's words clicked then. His brother was talking about him. Carl was planning to kill him. The machines around him all woke up as one, breaking into a chaotic and loud cacophony of screeching alarms.

"Killing is the ultimate unforgivable act for an already dead soul, Carl Winters," the girl sobbed. Through the raging panic in his mind, something told him that he was very familiar with the voice. He had definitely heard it before, or a voice very similar. "There will be nothing left to pass on if you take another life. Your immortal soul will be no more…"

The wind around him picked up, and he could hear the whooshing sound of a wild gale all around him. He was actually glad that his eyes were sealed shut, he didn't want to witness the storm that was brewing around him.

"Piss off, bitch," Carl cursed. "I know the rules. I also know the loopholes. Let me do this–"

"No!"

"Fine," his brother snarled. He instinctively understood that the girl's spirit was going to get hurt. There was nothing he could do but whimper pitifully inside his own mind.

"You made me do this, just like that bitch. You're all the same."

"Please, damn it, I'm trying to help you…" the girl's voice barely managed to get the words out. She was drowning in the brunt of Carl's fury.

"I don't need your damned help," Carl screamed. "Now, leave!"

The storm around him reached its zenith. The girl's screaming wails blended into the howls of the winds.

"I'm sorry, brother," the words reached him as if they had been whispered into his mind directly. "But I need your body," Carl explained as if he was asking to borrow a spare shirt. "It's damn hard to do anything when you're nothing but a ghost–"

No, Carl, I'm not dead, he pleaded. Please, please…

An agony like no other engulfed him then, and he understood that he was experiencing the pain of having his consciousness, his soul - the already weakened, tenuous connection he had to the world of the living - being ripped away from his body by his own brother. There was absolutely nothing he could do but endure the agony in silence.

Stop… It hurts! Carl… please! Carl…No!

-oOo-

Joe didn't know who was screaming; it could've been him or Melvin. Or both.

"Hey, little brother," Frank was right there, holding him tight. His touch was grounding and helped his mind to snap back into his body, away from Malvin's and Carl's agonising memories. "It's okay. It's over, I've got you."

He blinked his eyes open only to wince and close them back again. After the wild ride he had taken inside Melvin's ghostly memories, everything was too bright, too colourful and too full of life.

"Argh…" His groan sounded weak to his own ears. His brother's hold on his shoulder tightened. "F-Frank."

"I'm here. I've got you."

Those confident words and the warmth of Frank's presence were a balm to his frayed nerves and his reeling mind. He kept his eyes closed and concentrated on his breathing, instinctively matching the rhythm of Frank's, to find some semblance of control.

"The spirit is gone," Frank murmured softly after a moment. "Joe, are you okay?"

He took a few seconds to find out. His head didn't exactly hurt, but it was a mess. His knees, on the other hand, did hurt. He must have fallen on the ground at some point, he figured. Frank was also kneeling before him, and he was pretty sure that his brother's hold on his shoulders was the only thing that kept him from toppling face-first to the ground.

"I, uh… don't know–" was the honest answer.

His mind really was a chaotic mess of too many transferred images, horrors and pent-up emotions. The more he tried to make sense of it, it all seemed to scatter in all directions. The more he dived into those terrible memories, the more lost he became, to a point he wasn't sure which way was up or down. He didn't know if he was dead or alive, he didn't know if he was Melvin, Carl or Joe. The jumble in his mind felt as if it had grown sentience of its own, and all it wanted to do was swallow him whole.

"Oh, kiddo..."

Frank's soft words pierced through his fractured mind like a bright, strong lifeline. He hung onto it with all his might, instinctively knowing that he had all he needed to find his way back to himself. Frank's solid presence offered the sanctuary he needed to hide from the scattered, horrifying mess in his mind, and take his time sorting through it all.

He let himself fall forward, knowing that Frank would catch him. His forehead ended plastered to Frank's chest and his brother wrapped his arms around his shoulders, wordlessly offering the safety, security and reassurance he sought. He let himself take all the time to find his equilibrium. Frank stayed still, giving him the solace and protection from the rest of the world he needed to do that. After a long moment of quiet, calm breathing, he finally felt he could talk to his brother.

"I–" he had to cough a bit to clear his hoarse voice. "I think I know what happened."

"To Carl or Melvin?"

"Both."

Frank sighed. He wasn't happy, Joe could tell. He was obviously of the opinion that what Joe went through, the risk he took, was entirely too much just to help a lost ghost. He had been worried too and definitely shaken. Joe could feel the small tremors that ran down Frank's back as held onto him. He must have grabbed him the moment Melvin - or him - had started screaming, mercifully rescuing him from suffering that nightmare with Melvin together. He tightened his own arms around Frank, silently conveying his gratitude for his precious, overprotective, big-brother instincts.

"What do you want to do now?"

Joe slowly straightened and locked his gaze with Frank's worry-filled one. "We need to talk to Constance and Temperance."