It'd been the same thing for the past few nights. It always started and ended the same but everything that happened in between varied. Tonight was no exception.
Like always, he was standing there behind the Boar's Nest, the same way he had been nearly a year ago. He was on top of Clayton, wrestling the gun loose from his hand. Then, just as he had done before, threw dirt into his eyes. The dust quickly turned to sparks as Luke reeled backward, rubbing his eyes fitfully. Not a moment later, an abrupt click echoed and he looked up to see Clayton standing there, arm outstretched, gun in hand, aiming for him. The little man wore a pitiful look on his face, as if he were disappointed somehow.
He was very animated, shoulders moving as he talked. "Mais, and to think I trusted you," he growled, looking away.
It was always then that Clayton pulled the trigger, immediately numbing the pang of guilt that swept through Luke at those words. He never felt the impact of the bullet because the ground fell from beneath him and sent him tumbling into an abyss.
When he finally fell to solid ground, he was greeted by General's headlights rushing forward to meet him, blinding him into the next vision.
Clayton he'd been able to make sense of. General, he supposed, was there to remind him that in dooming Bo, he'd damned him too. The blinding, white light of General's headlights soon materialized into a round body, the sight of Boss Hogg. What was he doing here?
As the chubby man walked, puffing on his cigar, sifting through papers, he bumped into a now-forming Rosco. However, this Rosco wasn't like the Rosco Luke knew. He was older-looking and his eyes were opened wide. His face wore a look so filled with shock and horror it nearly sent a chill up the spine of Luke's subconscious self.
Within an instant, he'd made eye contact with the nightmarish Rosco, and Boss Hogg had now turned to look directly at him as well, only to reveal that he wore the same expression. The two of them suddenly raised their arms, pointing at him.
In unison, they both cried a single word: "Murderer!"
Luke ran without a second thought, acting on instinct alone. He ran until he tripped and fell, landing in a boggy marsh, mud everywhere. He rested on his hands and knees, panting. It wasn't until he heard the sound of gunfire did he perk back up, adrenaline flooding his veins, his brain. He quickly pushed himself to his feet, swiveling, searching the ground for his rifle, a pistol, his knife, anything, but there was nothing.
There were voices in the distance, yelling, screaming, more gunfire, the sound of rushing water. A feeling of dread washing over him, he turned slowly, eyes immediately landing on the river at his back. He watched in horror as a tall figure ran toward him, wading into the water from the opposite bank. For a moment, Luke could've sworn that the young man had grinned up at him as he drew closer. Then, without fail, the man's knee suddenly exploded in a cloud of red and he fell into the water. It was shallow enough to keep his head from going under but nevertheless, he struggled against the current.
In an instant, the young man was yelling for him, reaching out his hand to him. Luke was about to run to him. This was his chance to make everything right. But he stopped himself. Looming behind the younger man was one both feared and hated by both.
In one swift motion, the officer grabbed the young man by the collar and pulled him back into the waiting arms of two others. He lifted his head for his face to be seen beneath his wide-brimmed straw hat as he lifted his rifle.
Luke had never forgotten that face. How could he? After all the abuse he'd suffered from the hands attached to it. It was then that he turned and fled again, however, didn't get far before running into another familiar face.
Before he knew it, Russell Williams had him by the throat and he was once again staring into the man's ice-spiked gaze. Russell's voice came baritone and loud.
"Pathetic. A sorry excuse for a man, that's what you are! I shoulda killed you when I had the chance." He gestured to where Luke had run from. "They all shoulda killed ya! There's nothin' you can do to save your cousin now, Luke, it's too late!"
With that, Russell let go of him and he fell through the ground once more, landing on his back. Luke coughed, trying to regain his bearings but didn't get far as he was suddenly met with a weight on top of him and yet another voice but no new face. It was right in his ear. He swore he could've felt the heat from the man's breath.
Allen's voice was somehow more powerful than Russell's. It was a growl that came like thunder. There were no cracks, no flaws when he said, "Bo's mine."
This was where the experience normally ended, with those words of Allen's echoing in his mind for the rest of the morning. Needless to say, he was surprised when he found himself still enraptured in it long enough to see Allen get forcibly wrenched off of him by some unseen force.
This was new. He was scared, to say the least. It was dark all around, no sound, not even a distant scream from Allen. Like he was stuck in a vacuum perhaps?
He saw a mirror as he sat up, slowly rising to his feet and staring it down. With every move he was cautious. His hands clenched and his chest suddenly felt heavy. He set his jaw, ready for a fight. As he approached the mirror, he could make out a dark silhouette that at first looked like him but soon grew to be something much bigger.
It was all black as far as he could tell, its silhouette was an odd shape, full of spikes and deformities of the limbs and horns decorating the head. The only thing truly viable from it were the eyes. They were a flaming blaze of red and orange hellfire.
They blinked when he blinked. The body moved where he moved. It copied him, his every motion. It was a mirror, after all. Upon drawing closer, the image grew clearer and he found what he had thought were deformities of the shadow's limbs were actually bulging muscles. Whatever it was would surely snap him in half with ease.
He also found that half of what he thought were horns were actually tusks protruding from the beast's mouth. Spying something on its back, he turned so it would follow, spying a stump that lay just above its shoulder. It seemed to be that it had at once been a limb, however, had long since been seemingly brutally amputated.
Curious, he turned back to face the monster, reaching a hand out, noticing the clawed hand that followed. He stopped himself. A mirror image of himself. A monster. Was that really what his subconscious was trying to tell him? That he was a monster? That he hurt people? Anger flashed through him as he realized this. Was that what he was? Really? Did others see him this way? Did his family? Did Bo?
His fist clenched.
No. This couldn't be him. He was better. He was meant to be better. He was stronger than this. He had to be.
His teeth were grinding together now.
He wished it made sense. What was this? Was it him? Was it something else?
At the sound of a sudden voice, he snapped, not wanting to hear any more degrading words. He swung and hit the mirror, shattering it with his fist.
The monster broke away into a million shards, its fiery eyes being lost to the darkness. Glass shards rained onto the ground, twinkling and chiming. The monster was gone, for now at least.
After a few breaths, Luke bent to pick up a shard, to examine it but was suddenly met with an impossibly real sensation of pain. He quickly dropped the shard, gazing down at the gash in the palm of his hand.
He supposed that's when he woke up, nothing like a sharp inhale and a small jolt in the morning. His hand still stung and he quickly produced it from under the blanket to inspect it, only finding the faded scar from a long-forgotten blood-brothers' ritual.
With a sigh, he let his hand fall, closing his eyes once more, though, only for a minute. A beckoning call from the other room was enough to reanimate him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, cursing under his breath.
Sunlight was filtering in through the drawn curtains of the window and the house seemed to have an airy energy to it. The sounds of animals outside reminded him that they needed to be fed and pens needed to be cleaned.
With a sigh he dragged himself out of bed, padding to the foot of it and bending to pick up his clothes. As he dressed and sat down on the edge of his bed to put on socks, he looked around, realizing the absence of Bo, who usually delighted in pouncing on his older cousin if he were to wake before he did.
Moving more quickly now, he left the room whilst still buttoning his shirt and rolling his sleeves. When he made it out to the kitchen he found Daisy was already fixing breakfast, finding Clayton doubled over at the table, face-down into a plate of oatmeal. This was no unusual sight as the painkillers the poor little man had been prescribed were some of the strongest Luke had ever seen, succeeding in leaving him little to no coordination or energy.
Luke glanced from Clayton to Daisy meeting her gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck. "He put up much of a fight?" he asked.
Daisy shrugged, moving to set a plate of eggs down on the table. "No more than usual." She straightened, resting her hands on her hips. "Bo said not to wake you, you feelin' alright, sugar?"
Luke put a hand up before she could move to feel his forehead. "I'm fine, just got a late start this mornin'."
Daisy crossed her arms. "I reckon you better get caught up then."
Luke nodded and made his way to the door, pulling his boots on on the porch, having to heel the floorboards a few times to adjust his right foot. He made his way to the barn quickly, pulling the doors open to find that the Defects were still asleep. They were awake in moments, though, thanks to a few raps to the hoods from the handle of a pitchfork. The two of them were out of there in a heartbeat, allowing Luke to make quick work of his chores.
Things were mostly silent as he worked, that is, until Bo walked in right before he was finished. The boy was grinning and had strands of straw sticking out of his blonde locks.
"Hey, look who's finally awake!" he called mockingly, leaning against the doorway and folding his arms.
Luke met his gaze and stopped what he was doing, hanging a thumb in his pocket. "Very funny. You done with your share or you just slackin' off?"
Bo made a face and picked a piece of straw from his hair. "I dunno, you tell me."
Luke shrugged and leaned his pitchfork up against a stall. "Got any plans for today?"
"I was thinkin' about goin' over to Cooter's with General, get some work done on him. You?"
"Same as usual."
Bo nodded in understanding.
For the past three weeks, he'd been spending most of his time keeping an eye on Clayton, out of both guilt and pity, though to no one he would ever admit.
At breakfast, the morning proceeds continued as normal. They all sat, listened as Jesse said grace, and ate. Bo ate quickly, as per usual. Luke was less ambitious, slow to eat, and with much less appetite and vigor. He also observed Clayton, watching as the man struggled with his lack of coordination and seemingly poor depth perception. Daisy was cheery, telling about plans with Enos as she ate. Jesse listened to her intently.
At the end of the meal, Bo was the first to leave, eager for the day. Next was Daisy after clearing the table, then finally Jesse, off to visit a friend of the family's.
The house now quiet with Clayton collapsed on the couch, Luke stole a glance at the clock, gauging the amount of time it'd been since Daisy had given him the painkillers. He had twenty minutes before Clayton returned to his stubborn, mischievous stage of consciousness. Enough time for a quick shower before chaos ensued.
Promptly, he made his way to the bathroom, showering as quickly as possible. Exiting the bathroom with a cloud of steam in fresh clothes, he made his way back to the living room, heart dropping as he did.
Clayton stood idly in the middle of the room, facing the hallway. Behind him on the wall was a scattering mosaic of dirty footprints. The man's pupils were still impressively dilated and he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
Luke's jaw slacked as he stared at the scene, more or less appalled at the fact that the footprints were on the wall rather than the floor. It would've been understandable if they were at a lower height, as if the man had just put his feet up or had kicked the wall, however, the prints trailed all the way up to the ceiling.
Luke slowly shook his head, eyeing the wall up and down. "I… I ain't even gonna ask."
Clayton offered a long, slow blink, eyes drifting apart.
"Just… clean it, or somethin'... please."
No response.
Luke sighed and walked to the kitchen, pulling an ice cream pail from the top of a cupboard and filling it with soap and hot water, and added a rag. He took it out to Clayton and set it down on the coffee table, observing that the little man was still out of it, he walked away to let him come around.
The moment Clayton heard the front door, he quickly blinked his eyes back into focus, pupils shrinking. He glanced down at the pail of soapy water in front of him, then back at the wall. With a shrug, he snapped his fingers, letting the dirty footprints disappear. He grinned wickedly, beginning his hunt for the TV remote.