I love you guys! To everytone who commented, thank you so much for showing aprreciation to this story. I have great plans for it, so here you go.:)

And no, it won't be all dark and agnsty, but so far it is, so be careful. haha.

Hope you like this chapter, and read and review so I can see what you guys like, hate and what I can do better. I just want to write good fics so I can please you guys!

I was stumbling down hallways that were cramped and seemed to be bleeding from cracks in the ceiling, the droplets of blood hot and stingy as they sizzled on the floor and seared my skin as I fell into an open doorway, the shrieking of a derailed freight train dying to absolute silence as the door slammed shut and I was doused in darkness.

Words were being spoken, but I felt like I had cotton in my ears as the muffled words rose and fell in understanding, the speaker far away from me it seemed. I was on my hands and knees, head hanging in defeat as I tried to stay still, the shadowy fingers and steely screams of pain swelled up around me, then disappeared. There was a rumble, as if there was oncoming train actually blustering through the outside hallway, and my ears picked up the lone sound of a wine glass tipped off the edge of a table, silence pooling in as it seemed like forever before it shattered on the ground. Each piece resonated a different high pitched frequency as it hit the ground, thousands of shards splitting apart and scattering.

Where was I? What were these hot movement sliding against me, as if millions of fingers were handling me, turning me around, carnival ride dizzy now as one caught me by the throat and squeezed mercilessly. I felt my weight lift from my aching knees and I was being raise up by this tight grip.

The blockage in my ears was slowly clearing as the words being whispered around me grew louder and stronger.

It was Alfred who was speaking, over and over, as if reciting something, as if mindlessly repeating.

"We live in paper towns as we are held together by strings. Strings in the people and under the streets, strings to pull and strings to blind, strings that break and strings that bind...We live in paper towns as he are held together by stings-"

My ears burned and I tried to cover my ears from hearing the words but I couldn't get my arms to move. They were numb weights at my side as the hand's nails twisted deep into my skin.

"Alfred," I barely choked out as the hand's grip dangerously tightened, my ears becoming even more clear to the surrounding sounds. More glass was breaking, as if a whole set of glass wear was ripped from a table, another train shook the walls as it roared by, and Alfred's sweet voice kept spitting out those dreadful words in a twisted sort of poetic rhyme, and as I closed my eyes, I could almost see the curve of his lips as they slowly pronounced each word, methodically, exotically, cautiously.

I wanted to yell STOP but my lungs seemed to burning and choking on smoke, though there was nothing but the darkness and the sounds around me.

My brain was spinning, and there were more hands all over my body, groping and grabbing, hot and sticky, and I was disgusted how sensitive I was as I felt the blood in my stomach pool even lower, a hot trickling feeling enveloping me as I felt myself give into the hands.

'No, no, stop this. Please, God, please stop.'

I didn't know where I was, or if I was dying, my body felt alien to me as I reacted to the touches and to Alfred's swooning voice, and the images behind my eyes were of a child Alfred coming in through my window, falling in a heap of jacket and glasses askew, another of preteen Alfred blaring some rap song with terribly lustfully lyrics and the way his hips moved just right to the beat, and teenage Alfred who brought me the same Mc Donald's with a new story behind a fresh scar, and at last, crying sobbing Alfred with his salty, feathery kisses and his idea of stingy people. The more I tried to stop the memories, the more vivid they became, his skin even softer, his lips moist and plump, his hair like rays of wheat and honey, eyes like rushing babbling brook.

My body was writing as the hands all gather at one part of my body, stroking me through my jeans, and even though their touches were soft and barely there, my body was driven crazy and I instinctually tried to arch toward those greedy fingers.

" Strings to pull and strings to blind, strings that break and strings that bind."

I was close to tears as the fingers brought me to the cusp of climax, and suddenly stopped, and the hand around my neck let me loose, and I broke through the floor and suddenly sat straight up, opening my eyes.

I was in my room.

The noise was gone.

Not a whisper or word.

No train on rattling tracks.

No hand grasped around my neck.

My fingers came up and felt the collar of my shirt and brushed the soft skin, wincing as I felt...

Nothing.

I was fine.

Except for the straining hard on that was draining me of blood it seemed.

I groaned, doubling over, and noticed that my bed was empty, and I couldn't help but think about how Alfred had somehow untangled himself from me last night and left.

I twitched in my hand as I gripped my member, just as close to coming as I had been in the dream, and with a few light tugs and a gasp and soft, whimpering moan I felt my release like a blinding, starry light.

Never had I been that aroused.

All by simple hands in the darkness and Alfred's voice.

I kept replaying the tape in my head, as to never forget it, because this meant something. And what was that that Alfred had said?

-WW-

"We live in paper towns as we are held together by strings. Strings in the people and under the streets, strings to pull and strings to blind, strings that break and strings that bind."

"What was that Ivan?" I glanced up from pushing my breakfast around on my plate to my sister, Katka, who was leaning over the chair in worry, her eyes so round and caring that I hated to lie.

"Nothing, just a thought." I picked up a piece of toast and took a hearty bite to convince her that I was fine and smiled as she was overcome with joy.

"OH! I'm so happy about your acceptance letter. I wrote to Mama back home and when Papa gets back, I'll let you tell him..." her voice became distant as I remembered the whole reason why Alfred had come over last night.

Would I go?

Would I stay?

My whole family had paid my sisters and I to come over to the United States, so we could get a better education. Katka was already finished with her schooling, working as a nurse at hospitals during the nights, and Natalia, my younger sister was starting high school this coming year, her path to become detective. Katka always said that "it's a waste for such a pretty face to go into such a gruesome profession." But Natalia had shrugged and went about her way.

I had to take this opportunity, it was for the best.

But why did I feel like I was cutting a string as I convinced myself?

-WW-

I was engrossed with a good novel about biochemical warfare, Ebola being spread quickly through a quarantined hospital when I heard the stark, crying sirens of an ambulance followed by the nagging of police vehicles on its heels.

Had I not dreamed of noises and death, maybe I wouldn't have gone to my window to ponder what was the matter, but with curiosity sitting on a razor's edge, I threw open my window and ripped back the shutters, the same line echoing in my head as I prayed.

Please, don't let it be Alfred's house, please please please, not Alfred's house.

But just as it looked like the cars would whizz right by, they all came o a screeching halt, and I could see my sister step out onto the porch, drying her hands on her apron as she watched the police jump from their seats and rush toward Alfred's front door.

'No. No, it can't be.'

I wasted no time in racing down the stairs, and throwing myself out the front door. The yells of orders overcame me, as some man in uniform started to rope off the area with yellow caution tape. I felt like I was in a movie, everything almost fake almost too real t be true.

Katka called for me to come back, but I ignored her and shoulder my way through the mess of strangers who were just letting themselves into Alfred's house, and as I made it past the front door, my eyes made quick work of finding Alfred, who was standing by the Sheriff, an older gentleman I knew as Office Vash, some man who had strict standards around the city and a Swiss accent to his clipped words.

But Alfred didn't seem to be listening to the words Vash was saying, instead, eyes fallen to the floor and comatose like, as if he was a blank slate.

"Fredka?" I called, and he seemed to stir somewhere deep in his void, a light kindling behind his golden lashes as he opened his arms and pressed me to him.

His cheeks felt a little wet against the crook of my neck, and I guessed he was crying. My big hands were combing through his hair, and smoothing over his shoulders in an atempt to placate him. My eyes opened to see Vash avoiding our scene, looking instead toward the kitchen whose door seemed to be tilted off its hinges.

"Alfred," I asked, pulling back to kiss at his forehead and his trembling lips. "What happened, what's wrong?"

But he didn't answer me, instead, just swept his eyes over me as if to judge what I would do if he told me the truth, or as if to tell me without saying a word, as if I could read his mind and I would just know.

But I didn't. His thoughts were just as unreadable as last night and the dream had made me wary of everything, his voice echoing again in my hallowed memories.

His hand lifted beside him, pointing toward the kitchen and I turned to face it, stepping cautiously through the sea of officials who were wading about taking down notes, and brushing things for evidence of some kind.

When I got to the door, I noticed Alfred hadn't followed me, leaving me to see it on my own.

There was blood.

Everywhere.

On the ceiling.

On the tiles.

On the man.

He was faceless, because from the way his lifeless body held the shotgun, it looked as if he had aimed through his mouth, as if to swallow the bullet and gun powder like some invincible hero.

I gagged at the sweltering smell of death and the dark matter that was dripping from the ceiling where everything just splattered, and with a choking convulsion I had to hold back from throwing up all over the crime scene. "Oh God, what happened?"

I felt a hand rest on my shoulder and I instantly knew the fingers were Alfred's, and from the look in his eyes, those dead, empty eyes, as he regarded the body, I instantly knew it was his father.

I wasn't sure if I embraced him because I felt sorry for him or if it was to keep me from falling to pieces, but I took him up in my arms and shielded his eyes from the red room and held back my cries of anguish as I felt him whisper into my ear.

"All his strings broke."

:) Don't ya'll just love endings like that? And the dream...I wonder what it means...

Have any ideas you want to share on interpritations? I'll be glad to hear. :)

With love and cookies to those who review,

Suga Bee.

P.S. another chapter is coming shortly!