4Sunlight strands whipped out as two piercing, black voids landed on the speaker. There was no need for words, the force of that gaze striking Thady back, and Lyall was quick to turn away again. The profile of a delicately framed smile was almost silhouetted as they made their way past a sun-lit window, striding casually down the hall.
"Maybe you're right," Lyall sighed softly, but his eyes contradicted his words. "Maybe it was all just a really bad dream."
Thady nodded nervously, not really believing it either for some reason. "Yeah."
"But." That same set of smiling lips seemed to shatter as they fell into a frown. "But even night terrors aren't so real. I swear, Thady," he whispered. "I swear I could still smell it in my clothes."
"Lyall. You know I love you." the green haired boy trailed off momentarily, looking his friend up and down, "but I don't think it's the corpses that made your clothes smell. I think it's the fact that you've been wearing the same clothes all week."
The two looked at one another for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Neither was particularly confident in their amusement, their laughter a bit more high-pitched and nervous than usual, but they said nothing else as they entered the next room. There were two eyes on them the instant the door opened, two tiny, blue eyes, and they would never let those eyes see such forced gayety. At the sound of childish giggles, both boys felt calmer, softer.
"Ly!" the girl bounced up, blonde ringlets swaying, and held up a green magic maker. "Erin count!"
Lyall smiled warmly and took the marker, sitting sown at the table with her. Sitting on her knees beside him, the child began to count from one to ten, watching her brother write each number she recited. She stopped, waited for him to finish, then did it again. After so many times through, Lyall stopped paying attention, just writing whatever she said. He was so out of it, that he never noticed when she started saying the numbers out of order. All he did was write.
"3, 8, 4, 1, 5, 9, 2, 7."
Thady frowned. "Come on now, Erin. Count them right."
"3, 8, 4, 1, 5, 9, 2, 7."
"Erin?" But the girl paid no mind, repeating her numbers over and over, her voice gradually growing deeper and deeper each time. "Lyall?" Thady choked, paling as Erin's eyes suddenly rolled back into her head, and stammered anxiously, "Uh.L-lyall.? Lyall! Your sister!"
"3, 8, 4, 1, 5, 9, 2, 7!"
Then she gasped, sharp and sudden, going absolutely rigid. Thady watched in horror as her eyes rolled down and seemed to bounce back up so fast they might spin all the way around. Lyall never seemed to see it at all, just sitting there, staring blankly at the numbers like he were hypnotized, as his little sister toppled to the floor.
* * *
Lyall sat in the back of the car, clutching the list of numbers Erin had called out to him. Thady watched his friend from in the rear view mirror. All day he had been in that daze, not noticing family, friends, even his sister's body sinking into the ground. It had everyone worried. Perhaps this had been the last straw; perhaps he had finally really cracked.
Still, the blonde just sat there, crumpling the edges of the paper, mumbling the numbers over and over like some desperately confused chant, and Thady just drove him home.
* * *
Green locks flying back, Thady ran, his eyes brightening with fear. This was wrong! He should be able to wake up! But, as his sneakers, kicked up dust and cobwebs, he began to doubt that he was even sleeping. Maybe this was real. It sure as hell felt real. Yet, how could it be? And then a voice in his head screamed back, "How could it not?"
Panic slamming in his chest, he swung around a corner and came to a shaken halt. No, no, no! No more! This was too much, as his eyes landed in horror on the sight of the little blonde, ringlets bouncing, mouth smiling, eyes rolled back to show only the whites.
"You should've listened to Ly," she giggled in that voice he had known so well, waggling her tiny finger at him as if she were still only imitating her mother. "You're a bad boy, Thady. You should've listened, but you didn't, and now I'm all buried." She was still smiling, her dimples digging in at the corners of her mouth. "You buried me. You buried me, and now we'll bury you."
"We?" he shrieked, eyes wide, face pale. "Who's we?"
Before she could answer, though, he was running again, crashing down the slender hallway beyond the phantom. Spider webs stuck to his face and clothes, joining his hair to flutter back like the shredded wins of a tortured butterfly, as the walls seemed to close in. He could feel hot tears streaking his cheeks as he tried to force his thoughts to collect coherently. His lungs felt heavy with grime, shaken by the pounding of his heart, which rattled his rib as it threatened to burst. It felt as if he were being stabbed from the inside, pain shooting like lightening through his limbs. In a desperate attempt to calm down, he whipped the back of his hand across his eyes. Panic would not help him now.
He just had to keep hat in mind, especially as he came to a dead end.
"Shit!" The tears soaked his face as he stared helplessly at a large steel door, a set of numbers listed on it like pictures on a slot machine. Stomping like a child in a temper tantrum, he sobbed out his fury and slammed his fists against the wall in frustration. Shit! Shit! Shit! Now what? He could not afford to back track. Though he had not seen it, there was definitely something after him, and he would just as soon not run into it face to face. So what was he going to do? What could he do? And he fell to his knees, shaking as despair took over.
"Why does this have to be so real?" he shouted to the corridors, not caring what might hear. "Why?"
"Because it is real."
Jumping, Thady spun to the voice, nearly falling over, but there was no one there, just a piece of crumpled paper covered in sweat-smeared numbers.
"3, 8, 4, 1, 5, 9, 2, 7." he whispered slowly, then jumped to his feet, a new hope flooding him with excitement. "It's gotta work!"
As he crashed into the door, he saw the buttons, one under each number, and began to press them frantically until they rolled into order. 3.8.4. He could suddenly feel it coming. 1.5.9. It was way too close! 2. Oh god! This better work! 7! The door had barely begun to open before he was through it, but still that thing was there, breathing down his neck.
"Shit!" It was the only thing that came to mind as he rounded a corner and found himself facing another numbered door. This time, however, it wouldn't be so easy; the numbers were already in order. So he read them, dreading the knowledge that he had seen it right the first time. What now? Whatever was after him had stopped somewhere behind him and was slowly making its way towards his back, creeping up, seeming to know he had no where to go. He was dead if he did not figure out this combination. There was no doubt about it. If he could not get through this door, he was dead.
"Turn around, Thady."
He thought he might be sick. Was that thing talking to him, toying with him? Hell if he would turn around now. Then it spoke again, repeating itself, but it sounded different. It sounded .
"Turn them around, Thady," his friend whispered in his head. "Turn them around."
Thady stared at the numbers. Why not? What else was there to do? It could never hurt to try. So he hit the buttons until they read backwards: .. How Lyall had known that would work, he did not know, and he did not care. Now there was another hallway stretched out ahead, and he took it at a run. The passage ended at an intersection where his choices were simply left or right. If only the decision could be as simple.
"Follow me," Lyall's voice whispered again.
Thady heard a panicked whine rise I his own throat, and he practically squealed. "How? You're not here!"
"Follow me."
"Shit!"
You use that word way too much, Thad. He whipped his head back and forth, trying to figure this one out. It was things like this that had always made him hate riddles. Riddle me this, Batman. How do you follow a voice in your head? Then he looked down and his heart jumped. There, deep set in the dust that caked the floor, were foot prints. Each one was a streak of clearer floor, not clean but clearer, giving a dim path to follow.
"Lyall!" he laughed out loud. "Remind me to hug you if I ever get outta here!"
Then he was running again, chasing a ghost that had taken the passage in an attempt to give him a warning he had not heard. Well, if Lyall wanted to warn anyone else, Thady would support his every word. This was too real to be his imagination, and anyone who tried to say otherwise was not worth warning. If they would not listen, though, what would happen? Would this place just swallow them up, or would they have his luck?
He sprinted along side the prints, rounding corners, descending stairs, slamming doors. How big was this place? No matter which way he turned, there seemed to be more turns ahead. The panic resurfaced as an earthquake suddenly shook the entire building's foundations, dragging along the fear that he might be trapped forever here. Just to make it worse, he discovered what had made everything shudder, almost running head long into a dead end where a solid wall sliced a skid mark clean in half. It was trying to trap him here, he was sure of it now, and the first word from his mouth was "Shit!"
* * *
Reilly entered the apartment as quietly as possible. He knew Thady had had a bad day, having to drive Lyall to and from the funeral and all, and did not want to wake him up. So he was careful into to run into anything as he wove through the darkness, trying to find the bedroom.
When he got to bed, Thady did not make a sound. At least the poor guy could get some sleep. Reilly smiled softly, brushing a few strands of hair out of his lover's face. He would have to do something special for Thad. Maybe he could get off early tomorrow and cook dinner or something. So he lay down to think about what to do, an arm over his companion's waist, and fell asleep.
* * *
"What the hell?" Thady whined in terror as the lights went out. "Shit! Shit! Shit! Oh.! Fuck me!"
Then he heard a groan and someone shuffling around nearby. Was there really someone else here now, or was this place just playing tricks on him? With his luck, there would be someone there alright. The lights would come on and he would be face to face with a zombie or something.
"Thady?"
He jumped at his name, screaming and flattening himself hard against the wall.
" ? Is that you?"
Eyes wide, trying to find some source of light, he choked, "R-reilly?"
"Yeah. That's me."
"Reilly!" Thady felt himself breaking down, and flailed his arms wildly to find some hold on something solid, something safe, and his hand landed on something soft and warm. "Reilly? Is that you? By all things holy and some things not.! Reilly!" Then the poor green haired punk gave up and collapse into the other boy's arms, sobbing hysterically.
Confused, Reilly just held him. He could feel his lover's fear, making the slender boy shake so hard that Reilly thought he might fall to pieces. What was going on? Why was Thad so scared?
"W-we've gotta get outta here," Thady stammered once he could speak. "Lyall was right, it is real, and I didn't listen. Now it's got little Erin and it's trying to kill me. Ye gods, Reilly! It's trying to kill me!" He stood up like a bolt, still trembling, and tugged at Reilly's arm until the other boy stood as well. "We've gotta get outta here! If it's after me, it'll go after you, too! We've gotta.!"
Then they were running, a blind race down a seemingly endless corridor. Reilly wanted to ask what Thad was talking bout. What was this "it" after them and what had he meant about "it" getting Erin? But he knew the answers as soon as his mind had formed the questions. It was something dark and dangerous, something that caused an insane terror to rise inside of him, and suddenly wanted more desperately than anything for the lights to turn back on. So, as if the thing was giving them a chance, the lights flickered into life, and Reilly instantly wished they had stayed off.