Gretchen's eyes snapped open and chills ran up and down her body. Something woke her up. Michael's heavy breathing caused her to turn slightly. He had stayed again. He made it seem like he was going to leave, but he'd stayed.

Bastard.

Still, he was a welcomed, and quite frankly wanted, companion. Returning her attention back to her doorway, she took in a deep breath, trying to calm her sudden nerves. For the second night in a row, she'd had a good night's sleep. There had been no dreams switching from pleasant to complete nightmares. Just pure deep sleep. She frowned and turned a little to look at Michael.

No way. There was no way that there was a connection. Her sleep suddenly undisturbed because Michael was in bed with her? It had to be a coincidence.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end interrupting her thoughts. Cold chills ran through her spine, putting her body on alert. Danger seeped into her skin something was coming. She stared into the darkness towards the open door.

Oh fuck. Did she have time to get out of bed, run over and close the door? Her body refused to move. The sound of rattling, wheezing breathing invaded her ears, as the stairs creaked. Something was walking up them.

Oh no. She wasn't awake. She was in a dream. Shit! Shit! There went that idea that having Michael in bed with her kept her dream mind sane. Then again, she was most likely alone in bed in the real world.

She struggled to keep her breathing under control while her heart picked up its beat in fear. It's just a bad dream. A nightmare. Wake up.

It had to be. Her body refused to cooperate, refused to move. Great, a dream with Michael in it. And of course, he has to be sleeping. Then again-

Please don't morph into Brandon and try to choke me again.

There was a loud thunk as if something heavy collapsed at the top of the stairs. Something scratched at the walls, making her hold her breath. More wheezing, followed by feet being dragged in the hallway. It was getting closer.

No, no, no.

Clutching her hands together and pressing them onto her chest, she focused on the door. Wake up, wake up. She begged her mind. The dream world felt real, too real. She swallowed hard while her whole body stiffened. But then again, her dreams always had a weird realness to them.

A fat hand grabbed onto the door frame, decomposing fingers curled and tensed. A long high pitched wheeze followed by another sound of dragging feet came from the person. They used the doorframe to drag themselves forward and stopped. It was still too dark to make it out completely. It stood hunched over, wheezing as if the effort to get to that point was almost too much. It was a man, although his posture, body size, sound, everything about him was unrecognizable. Whoever her nightmare was, she didn't know him.

No. She had a fairly good idea who it was. She just didn't want to believe it.

Come on, brain. Let's wake up already, she begged. Chills continued to run up and down her body as her heart refused to stop beating rapidly. Behind her, Michael didn't move. Which only confirmed to her that she was dreaming. It's my dream. I have control here, she firmly told herself. But she felt utterly helpless.

It tilted its head back, bones cracking with its movement. It took a step towards her and then another. Her body pulsed with alarm at each step it took to get closer. The urge to turn around and cuddle up to Michael threatened to overwhelm her, but she was paralyzed. Unable to move. Unable to look away.

A little beam of light escaped through a piece of the boarded-up window, and It stopped right under it. She covered her mouth to keep from screaming. A very dead, decaying, and bloated Brandon stood mere feet from the bed that she and Michael lay in. She could see the knife wound in his chest, his clothing covered in dark dry blood. The little bit of light that hit him showed his discolored skin.

For a harsh moment, her head throbbed with pain before quickly disappearing into a light dull feeling. She wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that she didn't have to deal with a headache as well.

"Oh, my love," his voice came out with a slight gurgle as if there was blood in his throat. "I'm sorry to see that my sacrifice was in vain. Just look at what he's done to do you."

He motioned at her situation. His hand reached out, his fingers uncurled with a loud snapping sound. He was inviting her to take his hand. "The things he must have put you through, the pain. I'm here love. I'm here to help you escape your prison."

She stared at his fingers. His words and tone of voice didn't match the ghoulish nightmare of a creature that stood before her.

"Unless," he said, not giving her time to respond. He slowly pulled his hand back. "You meant to get me killed. You meant to have him stab my heart. Not only with a knife, but also with his cock. Having him fuck the woman I love, the woman I gave my heart to. The woman I patiently waited months for."

I didn't mean to get you killed.

"Did you even mourn me?"

I am sorry you died.

He cocked his head. "My father, my mother, my friends, and the rest of my family are. They search for the very body he dumped into the woods. Search for you. And yet, here you are. Laying in bed with my killer. Seeking him out for some dick. Letting the memory of me rot just like my corpse. It's barely been over a week, Gretch."

Just over a week?

"Did you at least try to fight him? Try to get away? Try to kill him? To avenge me? After all I did for you? No." He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Each movement made horrible sounds. "But then again, why would you? You were the one who fed me to him. You kicked me into the very person who would plunge a knife into my chest." His hand went to his clothes as he pulled he pressed against the wound in his chest. Blood seeped out.

I didn't- Her eyes widened as the memory of that night came to her. She had kicked him back. But it wasn't on purpose. She had panicked. But she did try to correct her mistake. She did try to pull him back and away from Michael. Her efforts had been in vain.

"I knew you were interested in the occult, my love, but did you really have to sacrifice me?"

His words stung, hitting her just right with guilt. She looked away, fighting back her tears of frustration at the whole situation. He was right to be upset. He'd died and it wasn't that she'd meant to move on. It just happened. There was a connection between her and Michael. One that had been there from the start. One she thought she had with Brandon, but she was starting to suspect she was wrong about.

"You should have died with me that night. Clearly, his lust for you stopped him and got you caught up with the thought that maybe he loves you. He can't. He's a killer. Make this right, my love," he said, extending his hand out again. "Save your soul before it's too late."

She stared at his outstretched hand. My soul. All she had to do was reach out. The gruesome, grotesque, rotting creature before her was trying to help her.

He's not. The thought firmly hit her. She wanted to move her body back, wanted to scoot closer to Michael, but she was still frozen.

Brandon slowly curled his fingers back. "You're confused about who the real enemy is here," he said.

Those words.

Brandon took a tentative step forward. He was still a couple of feet away from her, but far too close for her liking. Especially with the way he looked. The thing of nightmares, haunting her. The smell of rot and decayed tortured her nose and mind.

"I'm not your enemy, love of my life," he said. "I forgive you for what you've done. Don't worry. There is still time. Not much though. But I'll be here for you. Waiting to rescue you when he inevitably fucks up."

I don't want you to be here. Please, just move on. What happens to me is none of your concern.

His face shifted ever so slightly. The concerned look changed to one of rage.

"Don't want me here?" he asked as if he'd read her mind. "So you can slut it up with your murderer without feeling guilty?" Anger filled the room.

Her eyes widened as her heart beat wildly in her chest. She wanted to move and look away, but she couldn't. It was as if he had a firm hold on her body. Her heart pounded in her chest with fear and panic. Things were going to escalate. How? She wasn't quite sure. But she felt as if she were in danger. And she still couldn't fucking move, nor could she think straight.

Brandon let out a sigh, shaking his head. He didn't look angry anymore, but she could feel that he still was. "Oh, baby," he said. His voice with faux concern. "I'm not going anywhere. You may not cherish the love we have, but I do. And I don't want to see you suffer."

Wake up!

Michael stirred behind her. His hand slipped under her arm and his fingers trailed up. He stopped just between her breasts. Brandon noticed the movement. His eyes narrowed and the feeling in the room grew more hostile.

It wasn't a dream. Michael's hand was far too real and familiar on her skin to be a dream. His fingernails gently scratched at her chest, before he moved so his palm pressed against her left breast.

Great. Getting felt up by Michael while Brandon's ghost glares at me. She felt like crying. She wanted to get away and hide. Oh, gods. What if Michael woke up and wanted sex? Chills pulsed through her. Having sex in front of her nightmare. In front of the man who would have been her lover had he not been killed would traumatize her like no other. And she wouldn't be able to stop him.

Michael's hand moved off her breast and slide down. He dug his fingers under her and started to lift her up.

"No," she said softly, fighting him, nearly on the verge of tears. She couldn't handle much more. No sex, please. Brandon, go away!

She shrieked in surprise as he picked her up and rolled her over his body. She plopped back onto the mattress behind him. Her legs rested on his thighs. She couldn't help but look down briefly. At least he was wearing boxer briefs.

Michael turned his head and part of his body to look at the doorway. She saw his eyes scan the room. He wasn't tense nor did he seem worried in the slightest.

He turned his head to look at her. His eyes roamed her face and his brow furrowed slightly. He didn't see him. He didn't see Brandon. He didn't see the ghost. He didn't see his own decaying victim.

"Sorry," she said hoarsely. "Just a nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you." She couldn't help but look away from Michael and back to Brandon. The decayed ghostly version of him had moved back and was glaring at Michael from the doorway.

Michael's hand touched her cheek, causing her to jump. His eyes explored her face as if he were trying to figure out what to do. To her confusion, he turned to lay on his side. His larger body obscured more of her view behind him, practically hiding the ghost of her recent past.

He rested his left hand on her chest, while his right hand brushed her cheek, he kept his eyes focused on his hand. She gulped, partially wishing he'd look at her. His hand felt nice, stroking her skin. She found her eyes closing and she instinctually nuzzled her face against his palm. Calm slowly settled through her body. And then Brandon's rattled breathing filled her ears.

Her eyes snapped open. Michael's back was to his enemy and he didn't even know it. What if Brandon somehow attacked?

"Michael," she started, feeling the panic rise in her. She gripped his arm in earnest. He placed his thumb on her lips, stopping her from saying anything else.

"Relax," his command came out deep and low.

Relax. Relax?! He spoke? He spoke. The panic and fear was replaced with stunned surprise. She stared at him wide-eyed. She couldn't help it. He'd only said one other word before.

"Mine."

A different feeling coursed through her at that memory. She started to move closer to him, to curl up her body against him. She wanted, no she needed him to hold her. But his arm tensed and he shook his head. A feeling of disappointment washed through her.

It's just sex, remember? You can't cuddle up to him. He's not going to hold you in his arms to comfort you when you're upset. This is as good as it gets.

His eyes stayed focused on her chest, watching his hand rise and fall with each of her breaths. His thumb rubbed the spot where he'd nicked her between her breasts, while his middle finger rubbed the one on her collar bone.

Finally, her heart settled into a far more normal rate. Peeking over Michael's' body, she let out a sigh of relief. Brandon was gone. She dropped her head back down onto the pillow, gazing back at Michael. He'd calmed her down. Why?

Michael let out a sigh, pulling both of his hands off her. He sat up and turned his body, placing his feet on the ground. He was going to leave.

Her hand shot out and she grabbed his left wrist, making him turn to look down at her.

"Please stay today," her voice begged. It was crazy. She didn't even think about her actions or words. Both just happened. His eyes widened slightly and he looked away.

All she needed was a day. She didn't have any more strength left in her to handle any more stress, any more episodes, any more ghostly visits, or drama. But most of all, if he stayed then she'd at least have a day where someone was with her. Even if he didn't talk and was just there as a presence.

"No," he stated as he got up.

Her heart dropped with her hand. Did you really expect him to say yes?

"He won't be there for you when you need him." The Presence, or was that Brandon's, words echoed in her mind.

She watched him leave before curling up into a little ball. Her heart hurt, and she felt weaker and more drained than before.

"You can't handle it."

She was starting to think It-Brandon was right. She probably couldn't handle it after all.

Don't you fucking dare, Michael's killer side warned as he made his way to his room. His body pulsed with emotions he didn't want. He walked into his room and stilled. His right hand rubbed his left wrist where she'd grabbed him. Twice now.

"Stay."

His heart pounded dramatically in his chest.

It was her fear that woke him up from a sound sleep. He hadn't moved, opting to watch her reaction. She had her back turned to him so he couldn't see her face. But her heightened emotions seeped into him.

Her fear-filled breathing just grew heavier and heavier over time. It wasn't until he heard her silently beg to wake up did he decide to touch her. Her skin was cold and clammy with sweat. And when he placed his hand over her heart he immediately regretted not moving in sooner. It was pounding harder and faster and probably had been for some time.

He tried to get her to calm down without moving her. Although scratching at her chest helped a little bit, it wasn't nearly enough. She fought him when he pulled her over his body. Her eyes were wide and open. She barely looked at him before her gaze went behind him.

But there was no one there. Having him between her and whatever she was looking at helped some more in calming her, but still, it wasn't enough. It wasn't until he completely blocked her view did she start to calm down. That and his hands on her skin. She was practically calm before something spooked her again.

The word came out of his mouth without a thought. The thing was, he was there. She didn't need to be afraid of anything or anyone but him. And he wasn't her enemy. That single word had worked, but at what cost to him? Her emotion of fear shifted pretty quickly to one of need. She tried to move in closer, but he had to keep her back.

Michael brought both of his hands up to rub his face. He had started to panic, but he couldn't show her that.

Michael, what are you doing? he asked himself. He began to pace in his room, his fingers ran through his hair. He needed to go out. He needed to get some fresh air. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to kill someone, but maybe he would be by the time he got to town.

He lowered his hands, tapping his fingers on his thighs. Opening his bedroom door, he headed back to her room. He'd left his clothes on the other side of her bed. He'd have to deal with her hopeful look that he'd changed his mind, but that wasn't his fault. He already told her no.

Taking a step into her room, he paused. She lay on the bed, slightly curled up. She'd bunched up the comforter into her arms and had buried her face in it. A trap to make him feel sympathetic towards her? Didn't she realize he went after the weak? The scared? They were easy and delicious prey. But she wasn't prey.

You're going to lose her. The thought, the sincerity behind it, came out of nowhere. A fixed knowledge that pressed deep within him. Lose her? She wasn't going anywhere. Staring down at her, he frowned. She looked so tiny, so frail, so weak.

He'd told himself the night before that he'd kill to keep her. Kill to protect her. Was it a memory that threatened her? Perhaps her own guilt at the death of her boyfriend and her clear desire for the man who murdered him.

She jumped and yelped in surprise as his right hand brushed over her left arm. She clutched the comforter to her chest as if trying to keep her mostly naked body covered. Her hazel eyes looked back at him: dull, weary, and lonely. She turned her head away, her face changing into that of annoyance. He placed his right hand under her chin to make her look at him.

"Okay," he said softly. Before she could question, he kissed her. His right hand went behind her neck so that she wouldn't pull away. For a moment, she started to fight but then relaxed.

It was time to see what haunted her. It was time to see what went on in his home while he was away. A memory? Guilt? A real haunt? Whatever it was, he needed to kill it. Besides, he'd gone out every day. What was one day staying at home? Hell, might as well make it a day of fucking her while he was at it.