NOTE: Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting! I really appreciate it and apologize for the wait. Real life's been catching up to me. Kicking my bum. It's almost time for turkey break though, which will be nice! And I watched the Muppet's Christmas Carol twice to get some inspiration. It'll start picking up more in the next chapter, I promise. I know it's a little slow going right now. This isn't my favorite chapter, but it's alright. Please keep reading and giving feedback, even if it's constructive criticism! Thanks!!! I do not own RENT or A Christmas Carol.
His heart was pounding, sweat dripping down his slick skin, knuckles white as he gripped onto the armrests of his velvet chair. Sure, he'd hallucinated before, but after half a bottle of Absinthe split with Roger and a bunch of dancing fairies had swept about the room. A bottle of beer definitely couldn't scrounge up the vision of his ex-father-in-law, whom he'd known to be dead for three years now. Definitely not. This had to be a nightmare. That was all. A really bad dream, indigestion from those leftovers. He knew the Chinese food had been in there for far too long. All he had to do was close his eyes, click his heels together and wish for home and he'd wake up. Or he could always jump from the window. No one died in dreams right? He'd have to wake up.
"Nervous, boy?" A crackling laugh echoed from behind him. "That's certainly no way to greet your father-in-law and certainly not your boss!" He barked before another explosion of laughter left his lips. "Get your ass over here."
A large part of him wanted to obey and get up, something he'd been trained to do for so long but another part of him was sure he was still dreaming. However, curiosity seemed to win out in the end and he found himself padding bare foot over to the kitchen. The man looked exactly like Mr. Grey, hunched over at the counter, a glass of brandy between his wrinkled fingers, though there were a few differences. The smell for one - formaldehyde and rotten vegetables - a strange grayish color to his leathery skin and atop the shoulders of his expensive designer suit lay a thick rusting chain. But it wasn't really laying there, it was as if it were attached, a growth from the man's shoulders.
"Stop staring, it's rude," he grumbled, picking up the glass in front of him to toss the amber liquid back. It drizzled down over his ribcage, through his hips and came out his pant leg, spilling all over the hardwood floor.
"Sorry, sir," Benny murmured, awestruck as he moved to the other side of the bar, just the light of the moon washing in through his wall to wall windows to illuminate the place. "Sir?"
"It's a chain," he replied, cold grey eyes lifting to meet Benny's. "It's my cross to bear. For all of the horrible things I have done."
"Sir, what are you talking about? What horrible things?"
"What horrible things?" he asked, a dark chuckle mixed among his words. "I led an awful life, Benjamin. Absolutely terrible. I took advantage of everyone, cared only for myself, and loved nothing more than money."
"That's not true, sir. You were a kind and patient man."
"You remember that time I evicted the entire tent city?" he asked with a grim smile, shaking his head. "Or shut down the children's hospital and the women's shelter."
"They couldn't pay. It wasn't as if you didn't give a proper warning. They couldn't pay, sir."
"I was consumed with greed, Benjamin, just as you are. I pushed away everything else I ever loved, even my own… my daughter," he muttered bitterly, staring into the glass which was suddenly filled again. "Just as you have."
"Right, about that," he started, scratching at the back of his head.
"It doesn't matter. She's better off without you anyway," he growled, throwing back the drink again. "I've come to warn you."
Benny stuttered softly, trying to think of something to say. But everything that came to mind just sounded pointless or ridiculous. So he just stood there, staring and gaping like a prize idiot.
"You're headed right down my path, son, if you don't change your ways. You'll be old, miserable and alone, with nothing but money and let me tell you, money is cold and incapable of loving you back," he continued, pointing a finger at the young man in front of him. "There are chains that await you. Let me tell you, it's not pretty."
"What are you talking about?" Benny asked, face twisting in confusion as he shook his head. "You're… you're not even real. You're just… a bad dream."
"This isn't a dream, kid. I'm living your worst nightmare," he whispered, leaning up right into Benny's face, wild eyes holding his. "Tonight you'll be visited by three spirits. Without these visits you cannot even hope to change the fate that awaits your fucking miserable excuse for a soul."
As much as he wanted to believe this was a dream, he couldn't control the tremor of fear that tumbled down his spine and shook him right down to his Calvin Kline boxer briefs. Gulping, he tried to take a step back but the rotting gray arm shot forward and gripped his throat, closing off the air supply and pulling him forward.
"This is no joke. This is not a dream. If you have any hope for salvation, you will heed my warning and do as I say, you greedy selfish bastard. The first ghost will come when the bell strikes one, you hear me?"
It was all Benny could do to nod as he tried to pull the fingers off of his throat, feeling his head swirl from a lack of oxygen. When the hand finally let go, the young man collapsed back onto the floor, panting, wincing and rubbing at his neck.
"Three spirits. One o'clock, save your soul," Mr. Grey summed up, slamming his glass onto the counter before exploding into a thousand tiny droplets, like confetti, and disappearing before they could hit the floor.
"What… what the fuck…" Benny panted softly, leaning back against his refrigerator, the surface cool against his sticky back. The last few moments replayed in fast forward through his head as he sat there and when he'd finished, he scrambled up and bolted for the door, making sure it was locked before checking each window and eventually locking himself into his bedroom for the night. Once he was sure he was safe under the covers, a flashlight on the nightstand, he slowly let himself relax and fall into a dream filled sleep, tossing and turning and mumbling to himself.