Desolation Row

They wandered through the dark streets of Bishops Stortford; streetlights flickering in the darkness as the moon hide behind the clouds. The air was still and an eerie silence hung in the air. Patrick wrapped his coat around him, his eyes focused on the back of Pete's head as he strode on ahead; not daring to look back. "Pete where are you going?" He called out, struggling to keep up. Pete said nothing, his eyes fixed upon the road ahead. Nothing mattered anymore, not him, not his relationship with Patrick or his friendship with the others. He needed to find this person. He needed to save them, all of them.

He sharply turned the corner and headed into Honeysuckle Close. A gust of wind blew past them, rattling the leaves along the pavement; sending a chill down Pete's spine. Suddenly he stopped. Patrick stumbling into him as Pete watched the house on the far end of the street; something didn't feel right. "What's wrong?" Patrick asked, trying to catch his boyfriend's eye. Pete said nothing, unable to look away from the house. Its sinister presence made his blood run cold as it seemed to stand in the shadows, watching them; waiting. Patrick followed Pete's gaze to the empty house, cautiously rubbing the back of his head. "You've been here before haven't you?" He said, his voiced sounded broken. He didn't know what to do anymore. Their worlds were falling apart, being ripped into pieces before their eyes and there was nothing they could do to stop it. He needed him, more than he had ever needed anyone before. But he was shutting him out. He was leaving him out in the cold the same way he did back when they were 15 and it scared him; it was breaking his heart.

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you" Pete replied flatly. He sniffed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as his eyes broke away from the glare of the house and onto the road. Patrick glanced back at Pete, unsure of what to make of that sentence. What could have been so bad that he would shut himself off like this? "Try me" He said, refusing to take his eyes off him until he finally heard everything. Pete snorted, pulled up the black hood of his hoodie and quickly walked towards the house.

He wouldn't believe him; he never would. He had to show him. He needed to see what was in there, lurking within the dark corners of the house. He had no choice. He couldn't live with this anymore. It was killing him. Suddenly he felt a pair of hands clamp down hard on his shoulders, pulling him back. He staggered back, pulling him and Patrick to the curb. "What fuck is wrong with you?" he growled, snatching himself away from him. Patrick climbed to his feet, a wild look in his eye as he confronted him. "What's my problem? What the fuck is yours? Dragging me out here in the middle of the fucking night and you won't tell me why!” He cried. Pete laughed, shoving him back as he got up in his face, grabbing him by the collar. “Think you’re a hard man do you? Fucking talk like that to me again, I fucking dare you” He sneered, spraying spit in his face. He let go, a red mark forming around Patrick’s neck as he slumped to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, suppressing an urge to lash out and hit him. “Tell me right now Pete or I swear to god I'll leave you" Patrick roared, his hands curling into fists as he stared menacingly into his lovers eyes. Pete stood there in bewilderment; he had never seen him this way before. A stab of guilt hit him in the chest as he suddenly realised that this, the arguing, the lies, the tears, Frank leaving, everything was his own doing. He was ripping their world, their relationship apart. This was all his fault.

He looked back at the house, almost checking to see if anyone was watching them through its gloomy windows before looking back at Patrick. He sighed. "On the night we were together, I came back to the Way's place. I needed a place to stay for the night and for some reason I thought staying there would be a good idea. Mikey was in there and I don't mean his body or anything I mean he was walking around, talking to me and everything and just like that he vanished" Pete explained quietly, his eyes focused on the floor as he shuffled uncomfortably. He knew how it sounded, he knew it was crazy but he wanted the truth and he got it. Patrick squeezed his eyes closed, almost wishing he hadn't asked. First Frank and now this, two people wouldn't lie about something like that right? Pete wouldn't lie to him like that surely? "Mikey's dead Pete" He muttered, still unable to look at him.

Pete stepped forward, grabbing his arms; shaking him slightly. "Pat you have to believe me! I wasn't alone in there! Something was coming after me, something's been stalking me for weeks" He protested. His voice grew quiet, his eyes widening as he realised what the girl meant. Her words echoed through his mind. Taunting him. He tightened his grip on Patrick as he remembered the morning on the train "I'll be seeing you Pete, I'll be seeing you all real soon" her voiced dragging through his head. He looked into Patrick's eyes, a concerned look spread across his face. "What's wrong?" He asked, almost sounding worried. Someone has been after us this whole time" He murmured, quickly looking back at the house. He could have sworn he saw the curtain move, perhaps something (or someone) moving behind the upstairs window. Watching them. Waiting. "Who's after us? Pete what are you talking about" Patrick said sternly, cupping Pete's face with his hands and turning his head back to meet his eyes. Terror filled Pete's eyes as he struggled to form the words, to explain to him, the man he loved, what was happening. "She... the...the blonde girl on the train... she said... she said she was coming for us" He stammered, his hands shaking as he tightened his grip. Patrick wriggled free of his grip and held him tightly in his arms. He stroked his hair, reassuring him everything would be ok, that he would protect him no matter what as he cried into his chest.

******
Patrick lied in his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he listened to Pete snoring beside him. The clock beside his bed ticked away seconds, minuets and hours; almost comforting the terrifying thoughts which swam through his mind. Part of him didn't want to believe what Pete had told him, that maybe he had made a mistake; he couldn't have possibly seen what he saw. But he knew, perhaps more than anyone that Pete would never lie to him. He ran his fingers through his hair, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't think straight. The things he had heard from his friends, the things he had seen these past two months, were almost suffocating as though they, along with the thoughts in his head were dragging him deeper into madness, destroying his mentality, drowning him with his own sense of helplessness.

He glanced over at Pete, making sure that he was still asleep before creeping out of bed. He tip toed to the far corner of his bedroom and knelt down on the carpet. He looked behind him, checking one last time that it was safe before he pulled back the carpet, revealing a shallow hole in the floor. He reached inside, pulling out a small red box and blew off a thick layer of dust. He sat there for a while, the moonlight spotlighting him in an almost heavenly glow, hesitating about opening. He didn't want to relive those memories again, the pain he caused back then was sickening. But he had to know, he had to confirm that what Pete was wrong; it couldn't possibly be what he thought it was. He rested the box on his lap, opening it to find a range of folded papers and letters. He tossed them aside, ignoring them and the bracelet; he couldn't bear to look at that right now. Suddenly he found it. He opened the green paper and found himself staring into the eyes of a beautiful young girl, her eyes sunken and lifeless and her blonde hair lying limp across her shoulders. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force back the tears as he read the letter from Bedlam Mental Institute.

Name: Jane Court
Date of Birth: 31st August 1995
Date of Admittance: 1st September 2010
Date of Death: 12th March 2011
Cause of Death: Suicide

He screwed up the paper in his hand, guilt coursing through his veins as he read the coroner's report. Pete couldn't have seen her, it was impossible:

She had been dead for three years.

Notes

It seems that Patrick knows a lot more than he's letting on...

Sorry its a bit rushed but I hope you all enjoy it.
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