Letters from the Dead

Gerard is dreaming again.

He knows he is.

In addition to the familiar, dream-like quality of his surroundings, and the fact that he is watching himself move about in the living room, he knows that he has had this same exact dream before. In fact, he had been having the same dream for a long time.

The dreams had started since the Rachel Phillips’ case, and he had been having it for months now.

And though it never changed, each time he had the dream, it weakened him. Reduced him to a blubbering mess of tears when he woke up.

He was falling apart, slowly and gradually.

Gerard is watching his dream-self sit on the black leather sofa in the living room. He doesn’t bother to wake himself from the nightmare anymore, it never works, and the fear and dread is much, much worse as he fights against time to wake himself up. The last time he tried he had woken up screaming, terrifying his lover.

Dream-Gerard is staring at the television, which hasn’t been switched on, seemingly dazed. In his left hand are three envelopes; in his right a single red rose.

Dream-Gerard suddenly stands up, and places the envelopes on the coffee-table, taking care to arrange them in such a way so that the names of the people each envelope was addressed to could be seen.

“Ray, Bob, Frank.” Gerard is looking over Dream-Gerard’s shoulders as he reads the neat print on the envelopes. Dream-Gerard places the red rose over Frank’s envelope.

And then, Dream-Gerard goes back to the sofa, sitting down. His right hand travels to his side, drawing his weapon - a sleek, black, cold number. Dream-Gerard fingers the safety catch on the gun. Gerard hears the familiar click of the gun as the catch is released, and his heart begins to race. Gerard shudders.

He knows what is coming next.

Dream-Gerard lifts the gun up, hesitating. Dream-Gerard’s hands are trembling; the gun is shaking in his hands. He is mumbling under his breath, a crazed look in his eyes.

Gerard begins to back away from Dream-Gerard, and away from a particular corner in the room. He sees a dark swirl that oozes out of the ground, starting to take shape in that corner. A figure.

But of course, Dream-Gerard does not see the figure.

Dream-Gerard presses the barrel of the gun against his temple. Gerard moans softly under his breath.

“No, no, no, no…”

And then Dream-Gerard suddenly smiles. Gerard’s moan becomes a shout, but the shout doesn’t drown out Dream-Gerard’s voice…

“You win, Lizzie.”

Gerard shrieks as Dream-Gerard pulls the trigger. The dream feels so real at this point, he feels the warmness of the blood that splatters onto him. He lifts his fingers, rubbing over the blood… wincing at the coppery, sticky texture… his blood on his cheeks.

Gerard stares, horrified, at Dream-Gerard. His eyes are wide open, his mouth agape, and the side of his temple blown out by the gun-shot. His arms fall in slow-motion, dangling on each side of the sofa, like a broken china doll. The gun clatters to the ground, the metal scrape against the floor screaming loudly in Gerard’s ears. Its deadly job is done.

The nightmare has only just begun, Gerard thinks.

His stomach knots over. He knows what will happen next, and the very thought terrifies him. But better face his fear straight on, than let it come up behind your back, he thinks. Gerard turns reluctantly, and his mouth goes dry. His heart stops.

The figure in the corner has fully taken shape.

Lizzie.

He sees her every day in his dreams, but she never fails to send a fresh violent wave of terror in him when he sees her. Lizzie is speaking, moving, but she’s dead, forever stuck in her sixteen year old body. He knows that. Her face is pale, her brown, long hair framing her translucent skin. Her hazel eyes are no longer the warm brown it used to be, the emerald green in them no longer sparkle. Her eyes are a cloudy white, her pupils are dilated. She’s dressed in red, a long, formless dress draped over her body, covering her from neck down. She smiles at him, a smile that used to make his heart stop, splutter and beat passionately. Now it was beating much faster for a different reason…

“Gerard,” she calls.

She drifts closer towards him, and Gerard notices the red and angry slashes on her wrists. Blood is still dripping from those wounds. Gerard tries to run, but his legs are rooted to the spot. He feels as though his feet have been shackled, and nothing he can do will save him. He trembles, shaking as she nears him.

“Gerard,” she says again. She’s so close that he can smell her putrid breath, stinking of rotting flesh.

“I’m waiting for you.”

Gerard’s mouth opened in a silent scream, and he stuffed his clenched fists in between his lips, his teeth biting down on his knuckles as he shot upright in bed. He had to be quiet, he didn’t want to wake Frank… The fear zigzagged upwards like acid through his spine, and he shuddered, folding over as he gagged, and tried to breathe. He could still smell her… He clutched his hand and placed it over his heart, feeling his heartbeat thumping wildly, like a terrified bird trying to break free from its cage.

As his heart slowed, Gerard looked at Frank’s sleeping form beside him. Frank’s frame was tangled in the blue cotton blanket they had been sharing, his black hair falling over his eyes. Gerard shivered violently as a cold breeze blew through the window, but he made no attempt to try to take half of the blanket from Frank. The pallid moonlight danced on Frank’s face, accentuating the dark shadows under his eyes. Frank was a very light sleeper, and he had been kept awake by Gerard’s dreams for the past few nights.

“Gee…” Gerard froze. Frank’s lips moved, and he mumbled, turning away from Gerard with a small frown on his face. Gerard felt surprised and relieved when he saw that Frank was still sleeping, oblivious to his terror.

“Frankie,” Gerard sighed, whispering. Some part of him wished that Frank was awake, so that he would comfort Gerard, cuddle him, kiss him… but it was better this way. Frank needed his rest. Gerard leaned over, kissing Frank on his cheek as he tenderly brushed Frank’s hair away from his brow. Then, he lifted himself carefully off the bed, tip-toeing to the bedside table, his hand reaching out for his packet of Marlboros.

His hand stopped in mid-air as a shrill ring shattered the silence of the night.

“FUCK.” Gerard cursed under his breath. His eyes travelled back to the bed where Frankie lay… expecting to see Frankie roused and rubbing his eyes in annoyance… but his lover slept on.

Gerard stared, slightly perturbed that Frankie was still sleeping. The phone continued to ring, urgently and piercingly, and Gerard shook his head, and made his way out of the bedroom as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Fucking morons… of all fucking times…” Gerard gazed at the grandfather’s clock in the corner of the room. The green luminous dial read 4.00 a.m. He sighed as he swiftly picked up the call. Well, crime never takes a break…

“Way,” Agent Way barked into the phone. The sound of static met his voice. It jumped, and the droning increased. Gerard heard nothing else but the annoying buzz.

“Hello.” Agent Way tried again, frustrated.

The buzzing suddenly ceased.

“Hi, Gerard.” The familiar, saccharine quality of the voice, the way it sounded so smooth and calm, and yet so high pitched at the same time was like a punch in Agent Way’s face.

Gerard’s throat went dry. His mouth opened and closed as his lips tried to form the words that would not come. He felt as though he had been struck by lightning over and over again as his mind stumbled over the stone in his pathway of reason. Finally…

“… Lizzie?”

Notes

Avenged Sevenfold - Nightmare

Nothing stops the madness,
Turning, haunting, yearning
Pull the trigger

You should have known
The price of evil