THIS CHAPTER PROBABLY SUCKS SORRRRRRRY I HAD AN INSANE AMMOUNY OF HOMEWORK THIS WEEK. AND I KNOW IVE PROMISED THIS BEFORE BUT I HAVE NO SCHOOL TUESDAY AND HALF DAYS WEDNESDAY/THURSDAY SO I WILL TRY AND DO 2 UPDATES NEXT WEEK :D PLEASE VOTE AND COMMENT THANKS ILYSM
CHAPTER 34
There are many different types of fear. Most fears are selfish. Like the paralyzingly horror of your own death, the strange ominousness of being alone at night. We're often afraid of the pain inflicted on our own emotions and our own bodies. Sometimes it's impossible not to be afraid.
But even worse than this was the fear for others. It's when you love somebody more than you love yourself that their danger frightens you. And I have endured this fear more than once. I have been afraid and still am afraid for Harry whenever he finds himself in any kind of trouble, which he seems to do a lot. The day I heard his muffled scream in the electroshock therapy room, I experienced a fear greater than what I thought possible.
So when Norman approached me, where I would previously have been scared out of my mind, I was not afraid.
His uniform was larger than that of the average patient to fill the need of his overpowering body. He wore a sickening smile and his teeth were caked with dark decay. His bald head and obvious age made his approach even more terrifying. The snake tattoo only added to the displeasure of his features, rendering him the most disturbing man I had ever encountered.
The pace of my already fast beating heart quickened when he got within a few yards. Okay, maybe I was afraid, just not nearly as much as I should be. But I would stand my ground. He couldn't do anything drastic to me here, with dozens of bodies around to witness.
Norman slid into the chair beside me, and I tried not to puke on the spot. My nerves and the smell of his awful breath didn't help, either.
His voice was dark. Even deeper than Harry's. "Remember me, Rosie?"
I couldn't help the shiver that involuntarily dragged itself up my spine. There was no answer to give, so I gave none.
"I had dreams about you, you know," he said, waisting no time. "There's not much to do while you're in a coma but dream. And you were in all of mine. That last memory I had. Me touching you in the dark right before your little boyfriend had to ruin the fun."
"You lay a finger on me and he'll do it again," I said, hoping that I sounded less worried than I felt. Norman's speech was odd and choppy. It didn't flow well, and it was evident in his countenance that something was not right in his mind. But he seemed to understand my answer.
And he didn't seem to like it. Maybe it was the memories of his head smashing into the wall or maybe something else, but he began to furiously shake his head. "No, no, no, no, no." His teeth were gritted and his hands clenched into fists. "He's not." The expression he wore seemed angry, like some pestering, unwanted thought was nagging at his mind. And as if I were that thought he stood from his seat in frustration, and I sighed with relief. That had gone much more quickly and much easier than I expected. He walked somewhere off behind me and took my worries along with him.
But I had a habit of thinking too soon. Apparently his destination behind me had been directly behind me. That twisted mouth of his was so close to my ear that I jumped when he harshly whispered. "No. I'm going to make sure that he isn't there, and I'm going to finish what I started."
HARRY'S POV
The night was dark. Quiet. It was not silent, but there was no distinct sound. In the absence of light my eyes could only make out abstract shapes, but although unseen the shapes were familiar, so I wasn't worried. My body was lying atop a cushioned mattress. I was alone but comfortable in the loneliness, the dark of the room engulfing me into a hazy sleep. I wasn't sure where I was but it didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter, and every muscle in my body was relaxed with that knowledge. I was safe.
But there was something underlying the carelessness of my mind. There was something here. It was more nothing than something, more of an unfinished thought than a worry. But it was still there. Like your heart, softly beating while going unnoticed. Often you don't even think about it, but it is just as vital.
So this small nothing was just like my heart. It was there, and it was beating, and it was important. But it didn't cross my mind.
It wasn't until I tried to turn to lay on my side that I noticed. The straps. That was the unfinished though, that is what was unusually there when it shouldn't be. Numerous straps attached to each side of the bed, crossing my body every which way. Each movable part and limb was held down. I might as well have been paralyzed.
Suddenly the previous haziness jumped into alert and panic. So much fucking panic, and with it came what had been missing only moments ago. The lights flicked on. Bright, harsh ones. There was the sound of footsteps along the cement floor. Shapes were no longer abstract but instead they were all too clear and the edges were all too sharp. My eyes snapped open wide and I looked across the room. The upper portion of the mattress was propped up, so that was the only place to look. And what I saw was beautifully disturbing. Emily was there. Her blonde curls that were more like waves cascaded just past her shoulders. Her lips were pink, and her skin was lightly tanned. She looked even more beautiful than I remembered. She was wearing that odd dress that didn't seem to look quite so odd on her. The one she wore on our first real date to try and impress me, although she didn't realized I had been far from impressed.
"Emily?!" I called out excitedly, forgetting for a moment that I was strapped there. But no sound escaped my throat. I tried again and again, but she didn't even look my way. I was voiceless as I started to scream. I screamed her name over and over. She didn't notice.
But she did notice something else. Something to my right, something the restraints wouldn't allow me to see. Whatever/whoever it was, she seemed afraid. Her eyes were wide and her body began to shake. "Emily, what's wrong?" I asked, almost begging the question. Again I went unnoticed.
The anonymous frightening thing finally came into view then. Definitely a person, definitely a male. His back was to me as he walked toward my Emily. He was dressed in a sort of cop's uniform, average height with light brown hair. And a knife in his hand.
It was James.
He approached Emily and she didn't move. This time I screamed at him, screamed for her, or maybe both. I just screamed and screamed, but not a sound would escape. Then bam. A wave of electricity surged through my body. It was familiar. The piercing, jolting pain sliced through my entirety. A searing hot stabbed its way through each nerve and cell. The pain was unbearable, and it didn't end. But even through that pain, I could see Emily. James' body was standing over hers. He brought his knife up the her throat and I yelled and thrashed, but nothing came out and nothing came free. The more I moved, the worse the pain got. It felt like the devil was slicing each part of me with a burning scythe from hell.
But what was happening to Emily was worse. The knife James held rose to Emily's neck. He dragged it across her skin and fresh blood oozed to fill the gap. And now she was screaming. Her voice rung with the sound of my name as she screamed for help. She still didn't she me, though. She still didn't know that, baby, I'm trying my best and I wish I could save you and I'm so fucking sorry. But the restraints and the pain wouldn't allow me to move. My muscles ached with the pain of fighting against the straps and my throat felt like it was ripping apart with the failed attempts to scream. I tried to close my eyes but I couldn't.
And then, just as her screams faded into the silence of death, she was no longer Emily. She was Rose. And James was no longer James but he was freakishly large, bald-headed Norman. And I was still Harry, and I could not scream but only feel pain.
But the thing with Rose was that she didn't stop screaming. The knife that was now Norman drew blood from numerous shallow but long cuts, and she cried and screamed. But she didn't die. And I tried so fucking hard to save her but the straps didn't even budge. I tried to be heard and to be noticed, I tried to do something. But Rose did not notice my effort, only noticing that I wasn't there to help.
She cried and screamed for me. And hell, by this point I was crying, too. I was under impossible strain and frustration and emotional destruction that I couldn't help it.
Just when I felt as if I might get a sound out, when I felt the smallest of vibrations in my throat, something distracted me. Because Rose had stopped screaming. Her eyes were closed and her once beautiful, bloodied body lie in a heap on the floor.
And Norman was no longer Norman. His body was leaner, and he had dark hair. This man began to turn around, this man who had murdered Emily and Rose singlehandedly. He was looking at me now, and I could see his face. His eyes were dark green. The man's hair was in a mess of dark brown curls. The man's outfit was no longer whatever it had been, but it was in a sort of prisoner uniform.
Then, with a horror that drained the color from my cheeks, I realized that the man was me.
And suddenly I could move. My body tore away what turned into a blanket instead of straps. I screamed and screamed because finally my voice seemed to work and sound came out. I opened my eyes, although I hadn't noticed that they had been closed. The room was back to being dark.
Fuck. It was just another dream.
But my cheeks were still wet with tears, and I realized that I had cried even in my sleep. And even now I didn't stop crying. In fact I searched for nothing with my eyes in the dark while I released a few more shaky sobs. My chest heaved and my body wracked as I tried to get a grip on reality. I clenched the sheets around me tightly, trying to release some of the frustration I had felt moments earlier. That was the most awful thing I had ever experienced, unconscious or not.
But it was just a dream. A dream, that's all it was. Emily is gone, just like she has been, and Rose is alive and safe. This thought steadied my breathing a little. Rose. Alive. Safe. I pictured her how she had been a few days ago, when she said that she loved me, and I could breathe. She loved me and she felt safe with me. I didn't hurt her and I never will. I didn't hurt Emily, either. She's gone and I have to believe that there is a better place and that she's in it somewhere. Because if after all of this there really is a better place, a paradise, if anyone belongs there it's her.
I wiped my pathetic tears away and picked my head up from my hands. I released the sheets, sighing in relief. "Fuck," I said, a little too loud just to make sure that, yes, my voice did work. Good. I laughed a little with relief and shook my head. A dream. Just another nightmare.
I sank back into the mattress and felt so much more relaxed. My muscles lost their tense ache and my breathing had returned to normal. What a relief.
But there was still a strange sourness, a strange pang of guilt deep within me. I felt bad, almost, like I had done something horrible. Something still wasn't right. I felt deep down as if what I had seen myself as and the monster that I had been, the killer that I was in that nightmare, wasn't really part of a dream at all.
ROSE'S POV
I decided not to tell Harry about the whole Norman incident. Nothing even happened, really. He had just spoken a few threatening words, but that had been the extent of his wickedness. And with guards around 24/7, I doubted that he would follow through with them. So instead of sprouting more enemies upon Harry and risking his chances of getting into trouble, I would just keep my mouth shut for once. Plus, he seemed to have a lot on his plate already when I saw the heavy dark circles beneath his eyes the next day.
He was staring off somewhere unidentifiable as he bit his lips thoughtfully. He didn't look thoughtful, though. He looked exhausted and a bit sad.
I sat down next to him and his demeanor shifted, his eyes looking to me and his back straightening from its slumped position. "Hi," he greeted with a tired smile.
"Hi," I replied with a smile of my own. I had barely sat down when Harry's hand was at my cheek and he pressed his lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss. It only lasted a second or two, but just like all of Harry's kisses it was wonderful. His fingers dragged lightly from my cheek to my neck. Then to my collarbone, then shoulder, then up and down my arm as if to make sure it was actually there.
"Are you okay?" I asked him, slightly amused. He, though, was not amused.
"Rose, you know I would never hurt you, right? You know that I love you and I'll keep you safe no matter what?"
I thought about that for a second. Not because I didn't know the answer, but became the randomness of the question took my by surprise. "Yeah, Harry, of course I do. Why would you even ask?" I replied. His hand now rested on my thigh, and I placed mine over his for comfort.
"I don't know," he sighed, looking back out at that unidentifiable nothing.
"Is something wrong?" I asked him. When he didn't answer I rubbed circles on the back of his hand with my thumb.
"No, no," he reassured, green eyes coming back to my face. "I've just, uh . . . I've been having some nightmares."
I could feel my face soften as he spoke the words. I could only imagine the horrid things lurking in his dreams. Although we've both been through a lot Harry's experienced far worse.
I was just about to ask him what they were about and what I could do to comfort him, but something stopped me.
I had to take a second look just to be sure. But it was real. Jane had just approached our table. Petite, small-voiced, anti-social Jane had approached us when we were normally the ones prying answers from her. Her voice was just as small and whispery as before, but a little more confident when she spoke. "I'm ready to talk."