NIGHTMARES

The taxi pulls up with a jerk at the curb, its wheels splashing in the gutter, and Frank jumps out quickly and overpays the driver. He shivers in the cold night as the cab speeds away, kicking up rain, and leaves him standing there alone on the wet pavement. Anna's ghost has disappeared from sight but he can still feel her angry black eyes crawling on his skin.

Lorna's house stands dark and quiet in front of him. All the lights are off and he wonders if anybody's even home. Cautiously, he opens the chain-link gate and slips through into the front yard. Lorna's bicycle is waiting in the shadows and the sight of it makes him feel a little better. When he reaches the slippery front steps he sees that the door is ajar.
"Shit," he whispers, reaching out to touch the cold chipped door with his fingers and jumping back when it creaks loudly in the quiet. Maybe he should call the police. This is looking horribly ominous so before he goes inside he texts Lorna’s address to Stacey. She won't understand the message or even look at it tonight while she's off the clock but someone has to know where he is. Just in case…

The door squeaks again and Frank tells himself that it's just the breeze. It's just the breeze. But the air is still and cold and soaking wet. With a deep anxious breath he pushes the door open wide and walks into the pitch dark hallway.
"Lorna?" he calls softly, licking his dry lips, "Hey...Lorna? Uh, Mr. Mackenzie?"
There is only silence.

Feeling his way down the narrow damp hall in the dark, Frank stumbles over toolboxes and gas cans and then something large and heavy blocks his path and he trips over it, landing heavily on the old floorboards in a pool of something wet and thick and slippery…blood?
"Fuck!" he gasps, scrambling away in panic until his back hits a wall and a tower of empty paint cans crashes down around him. It's blood, it has to be, and he's covered in it! A wave of nausea heaves through his stomach and acid rises in his throat as he fights down the urge to be sick. Trembling as his stomach turns, he puts his wet hands to his mouth without thinking and smears the blood all over his face. Except, wait a minute... it doesn't smell like blood. Actually it's a lot more like…nervously licking his lips, he tastes coffee ice cream. Melted ice cream? Why the fuck is it all over the floor?
Crawling blindly towards the thing that tripped him with shadows filling his eyes, he touches it gingerly. It's a stool tipped over on its side. “Lorna!” he hisses again, fear making his voice crack.

Then a long creaking groan echoes through the blackness and Frank feels the tremor of heavy footsteps – definitely not Lorna's - shake the floorboards under his knees. Freezing in fear he listens to the empty air and over his thundering heartbeat he detects the hoarse rasp of someone else's breathing.
Staying as still as he can on the wet floor, he bites his lips shut and tells himself that if he can't see anyone in the pitch black darkness then whoever's lurking around can't see him either.
Seconds crawl past and blood roars in Frank's ears and his chest aches. He's holding his breath. The footsteps trudge closer and closer and floor creaks and shifts just a few feet away now. A burning throbbing pain starts to rage behind Frank's eyes and the black darkness around him suddenly turns red, speckled with the blinding white stars of a migraine headache. The stranger in the dark is so close now that he can smell their musky stink of sweat and leather and oil. Motorcycle leathers...?

The image of the helmet-clad murderer from his nightmare explodes across Frank’s mind again, filling his vision until it's all he can see and his body trembles as Anna's ghost screams and the silver flash of a knife flies at his face! Bright, searing pain erupts in his chest and he's bleeding. He's dying!

The next thing he knows, he's waking up on his back on sticky ice-creamy floorboards with the echo of his own screams hovering in the black air and a large leathery hand clamped over his mouth. Well that was a fucking perfect time for a vision.
Another large hand grabs the front of his jacket and cruelly jerks him to his feet and the choking smell of wet leather grows stronger. He flinches in terror as the cold touch of sharp steel touches his neck.

"Make any more noise and I'll slit your throat!" a gruff stranger's voice snaps in the dark, “Understand?”
Frank nods urgently, swallowing a whimper of panic, and the hand on his mouth moves down to his chest and shoves him roughly back against a wall, holding him there while the steel blade bites into his skin.
"I've got him," the stranger announces to the shadows, "Hit the lights!"
There is a sharp click and the hallway lights flare on, half-blinding Frank in the glare. When his eyes adjust he sees the man crushing him against the wall is the leather-clad biker in a black helmet from his nightmare about Lorna's closet and he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds to keep from screaming.
Squeezing his eyes shut as terror shivers along his limbs like an electric shock and his heart leaps up his throat, Frank tries to convince himself that he's still asleep, that this is just another dream, but it's not and he knows it. It's all very fucking real! His weak stomach spins and his hands are shaking as cold sweat runs down his back and prickles his forehead. He’s going to be sick...

"Shut the door!" his attacker barks, voice muffled by the helmet hiding his face. Frank swallows the rising acid in his mouth and opens his eyes in time to see another man, huge and bulky in a dirty vest and jeans, stumble past and shut the front door with a dull slam. It’s Lorna's father.
"Dave, who is this guy?" the mysterious biker asks, pressing Frank so hard against the wall that his ribs ache. Lorna's dad - Dave - shrugs and looks blankly at Frank with yellow eyes, "I don’t know his name,” he slurs, “He’s my kid's friend I guess."
"Is he like her?" the biker asks, flexing his gloved hand dangerously on the handle of the knife pressing against Frank's jugular, “Does he see the future?”
"Maybe. I heard him yelling in her room today kinda like he was just now. Talkin' about blood and bein' stabbed so, er... maybe he sees all that stuff when he's awake."
"Mhmm," Frank mumbles before he can stop himself, his head spinning. The biker snarls and smacks his face, “Shut up!"

"What are you gonna do with him?" Dave McKenzie asks flatly. He’s holding a half-empty bottle of whisky. "The same as your girl," the biker snickers gleefully, grabbing Frank’s hair and slicing the knife blade lightly across his throat, making a shallow cut in his skin. Frank groans softly with fear as blood trickles down his neck. Why did he come here alone tonight? This was so fucking stupid!
"Fine," Lorna's father mutters, "But do it in the basement with her and you better get rid of the bodies after. I can't have a huge mess of blood right inside my front door where anyone could see it."
The biker bristles with annoyance and snarls behind his helmet. "I don't appreciate you telling me how to do my work, Dave," he hisses dangerously, "You're lucky I’m not gonna kill you too, you fat fucking loser."
"Hey, now w-wait a minute," Dave stammers, his stubbled face paling with fear, "You said that if I let you have my kid you and your boss would leave me alone!"
"It wasn't a promise," the biker snaps, "If your daughter gets the visions maybe you do too..."
"I don't!" Dave cries, his bloodshot eyes wide with terror, "I swear, I n-never have! Please, just leave me alone!"

There is a tense silence during which Frank tries to breathe deeply and not vomit as a trickle of urine runs down his left leg inside his jeans. He's going to die here. This psychopath is going to fucking stab him to death! He can already feel the echoes of future pain in his shaking body. Ohgodohgodohfuckohfuckohfuck!
The biker shrugs lazily and rolls the knife between his fingers. "Fine," he says, "I have a lot of work to do, Dave, so get lost.”
The fear in Lorna's father's eyes turns into pathetic gratitude. "Yes sir," he grovels, running out the front door and slamming it again behind him.
"Fuckin' idiot," the biker mutters behind his visor. "Now," he add, turning his attention back to his prey, "What's your name, kid?"
"F-Frank," Frank gasps tearfully, knowing that it's useless to lie.
"Alright Frankie boy, answer me this: do you already know what's going to happen to you tonight? Have you seen it and felt it and BLED it before in your mind?"
"Y-Yes," Frank whimpers, clenching his fists to try and stop his hands shaking.
"Good boy."

Grabbing a fistful of Frank's hair, the masked biker tugs his head forward and brutally slams it back against the wall, cracking his victim's skull. Agonizing white light explodes behind Frank's eyes followed by a dizzying rush of gray and the impact of a dozen floorboards hits his body as he collapses to the ground. Shadows and stars spin crazily around and around in his eyes and a warm wetness trickles down his face. Sobbing with pain, he tries to move his hands towards his pounding head but they won't move.
"Good boy," the killer says again and his low voice shudders and rattles through Frank's agonized brain like distant music as the world falls away into nothing.

Notes

((Hi everyone, realized I hadn't updated for ages but I hadn't finished
the original long chapter I wanted to put here
so here's a shorter one with a cliffhanger instead *evil laugh*
Next update will be within a few days as it's almost done!
What do you want to happen to Frankie??? xx))