This Isn't A Game Anymore (VenturianTale fan fiction)

Chapter 20- A Counterfeit Conscience

        "Not my name..." Said a voice. "Not my name... NOT MY NAME!"

        Jimmy casket bolted awake, sweat slicking his dark brown hair to his forehead. His hands trembled as they fumbled for his knife, his mind racing faster than a swing of his weapon of choice. His bloodred eyes were wide with an emotion hardly shown in them- a sick sense of twisted fear.

        Woken up, have you?  Said the voice of Johnny Ghost.  Thought maybe you were dead. But then again, dead guys don't scream. He paused. Well, technically...

        Jimmy growled with a shaky breath. "I w-wasn't screaming," He hissed. "It was just a nightmare."

        What do psychopaths dream about?  Johnny wondered.  Kinda mean, though. Leaving me just in a dark void while you're asleep. Gosh, is that what I made you go through while I sleep? Sorry about that.

        Jimmy wasn't in the mood to find a comeback. He drew his knees up to his chest, the tattered jeans pressed up against the bloodstained sweater. "Like you don't have nightmares," He said, avoiding staring directly at the portals. "I know you do."

        'Course,  Ghost replied.  Everyone does. Except for you, I once thought. So what torments your twisted mind? Regret?

        Jimmy shook his head with an attempt at a sneer. "My thoughts are nightmares compared to yours."

        I doubt that.  Ghost said grimly.

        There was silence for quite a bit, all the while Jimmy's eyes drifted slowly back to the portals until he was facing them completely. His face morphed into an unreadable expression once more as a frown tugged at the corners of his mouth.

        Johnny Ghost's voice appeared again, surprised.  You're... Guilty.

        Casket laughed out loud. "So you're resorting to wishful thinking?" He scoffed. "Life isn't a fairy tale. The bad guy doesn't turn good. The heroes don't always win."

        It depends on who's who,  Replied Ghost.  Because as far as I can see, the lines are beginning to blur.

        Casket glanced to Isaac, who shook in a fitful sleep. His face hardened as he nodded. "Yeah. Guess so."

        You and I both know that's not what I meant.

        His eyes narrowed and flared. "Hah." He turned to look away from the portal.

        We're not so different, you and me.  Said Ghost.  We've just swapped positions.

        "You are nothing like me," Jimmy hissed. He reached for his knife and held it up to catch the dim lights of the far off streets, as if to make a point.

        You'd be surprised,  Ghost said.  I can hear some of your thoughts, and I think both of us have things we don't know.

        "I think I'd know more about my own head than you," Jimmy said, rolling his eyes. "You can't read 'em all. I know that."

        Your mind's about as messed up as mine,  Ghost chuckled.

        "How so?"

        I have my theories.

        Casket grinned darkly. "So you don't know."

        Hm.

        He turned back to the portals, watching the sun rise. "I've got control soon," He warned. "I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you."

        Of course,  Said Ghost dryly.  After all, what do I know?

        Casket said nothing.

        There was a sound from not too far off- a door opening. At first he shook it off, credited it to the wind or some other sound. Anything but what, or who, he knew it really was.

        The noise did not go unnoticed by Ghost. Did you hear that?

        "No," Lied Jimmy. Then the footsteps began and he couldn't ignore it again.

        Turn around!

        Jimmy did, and met with the face of a weakened Jonathan Toast.

        Toast!  Cried Ghost joyously.

        "Toast," Hissed Casket menacingly. He checked to make sure that his knife was still in his hand. "You're up now?"

        Johnny Toast narrowed his eyes at Jimmy to try and look intimidating. "G-get out of him," He said with a slight struggle.

        Casket laughed, insanity laced through his tone and cloaking his face. The knife glinted, the only thing obscuring the pure silver being the dried splotches of scarlet red. "How 'bout no?"

        "G-get out," Toast repeated, stepping back.

        Casket rolled his eyes, circling Toast as if deciding how to end him. "Are you bloody thick?" He mimed Toast's accent. "Ghost is mine. I've almost taken him over."

        "In all the cases," Muttered Toast, looking up at him pleadingly. "You never killed him. You always cringed when he got hurt, even though it never caused you any pain. You have a conscience."

        For a moment, hesitation flashed through his eyes. But in an instant that flash was gone and replaced by sick menace. "Funny thing," He said, raising the knife. "You can always ignore your conscience."

        The knife suddenly found itself slicing through Toast's chest.

        NO!

        Ghost's voice pierced through the night as Toast's body sank to the ground, blood painting the concrete below. He gasped, shaking and writhing about in shock, and then finally stilled.

        Johnny Toast, Johnny Ghost's assistant, partner, and best friend, was dead.

        Jimmy grinned maniacally, staring down at his work. Had this occurred not three days ago, he found have felt no remorse, But now, the pain of what he'd done tugged at his heart and his mind, crying out to be heard. He shook it away, lowering the knife.

        NO!  Ghost was sobbing inside Casket's thoughts, his tears of mourning soaking his consciousness. HE CAN'T BE DEAD!! Y-YOU CAN'T HAVE KILLED HIM!

        "Think again," Snickered Jimmy, sitting down again to watch his plan unfold.

         Of course!  Muttered Ghost through tears. What do I know? I'm just the voice in your head.