He'd been there for centuries. He relived every awful thing that had haunted him in life, every aspect in the most excrutiating detail, for years and years and he could not get out. His mind would not shut down, he would scream himself hoarse, begging for it to stop, but there was no one to listen to him. He hadn't slept in centuries. It was so cold he had forgotten what warmth felt like; each breath was agony as he took in the acrid stench. In the beginning, he had called out to everyone he saw, but they were just memories, none of them could hear him. He had called out to God, begged for forgiveness, and had no reply. He finally understood that he wasn't sorry at all. His death had been violent, but he felt no remorse for killing the people he killed; it was the only thing that could remotely resemble satisfaction in this place.

It was a ludicrous idea, but he finally cried out to the devil.

Everything stopped. Time, the deafening sounds, the memories, light. He was blind, freezing, when the whispers began, as if someone had their mouth to his ears. Hot, disgusting, he wanted to vomit. It was saying obscene things, unholy, wicked, but he couldn't make out words, just the feeling of being absolutely corrupted and filthy.

"You're one of mine," it hissed, and it seemed like a million voices had spoken, reverberating inside his head and all around him at once. "I know what you want." Gerard could not bring himself to answer, paralyzed in the nothingness around him. He wanted to live, he wanted to love, he wanted her, but she was somewhere he would never get in; they were the most honest sentiments he could find within himself in those moments of clarity. "I'll give you more than that, my son. She lives, awaiting you."

"I thought... I thought she died," he croaked, feeling tears stream down his face. He was afraid of the new hope that had started budding so immediately. "What do you want from me?"

"Servitude. Bring me those like you," it continued. He could feel it stirring inside him, like some horrible snake crawling under his skin, in his soul, violating, perverting. Fucking. "I want you to kill... Debase. Seduce." Gerard was moaning on all fours, wailing for it to stop touching him, feeling dirt under his hands. He ground his forehead into it, hands gripping the sides of his head. It became unbearable, so many different voices saying the same thing; he could feel them inside, outside, claws running over his skin.

"Yes! YES! Just stop!" he screamed. "I'll fucking do it! I'll do whatever. I just want her. Stop! Please."

And it did.

*~*~*


Preston and June Calvert stood by their daughter's bed, as they had for the past few days, rejoicing in every breath she took. The first night had been hopeless agony. It had been a morbid guessing game every time the doctors spoke to them, they would brace themselves for the 'I'm sorry' and the 'We did all we could', but they never came. Two days later, Stephanie was still in and out of consciousness in the ICU, but officially in the clear. A shot to the chest and a collapsed lung had not beat her, and they stood by, waiting for the moment she could speak to them again.

"Mr. and Mrs.Calvert, there are some visitors who would like to speak to you in the waiting area," the nurse told them.

"I'll go," June told her husband and left the room to meet them. It was the Way family, all but one. She had met with them all the night of, seeing that their son had been with her daughter when she'd been shot. She greeted them all and thanked them for coming.

"How's she holding up?" Donald Way asked,straightening his glasses. June noticed he had the same eyes and facial bone structure as his eldest son. Handsome.

"We're finally in the clear," she told them, mustering a weak smile. "She had problems with a lung, but it's treatable. Where's Gerard?" Immediately they exchanged looks, signalling that something was off.

"Well, we wanted to ask you if you had seen him at all," Donna said. "He hasn't been home since that night, and we're starting to really worry."

"I'm so sorry, Donna, he hasn't been here since then. I found it odd, actually, I thought he'd be here more. We haven't really been home in case he could have gone there for whatever reason. Do you think you'll have to notify police?" The Ways looked at their younger son, who seemed to want to speak but could not muster up the courage. "Is something wrong?"

"It's just that that night we all thought Steph wasn't going to make it," Mikey blurted out. "Gerard was really upset, and I just feel like he might have done something to himself."

"Done something to himself?" June repeated, getting a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. She understood, but she didn't want to. It was evident he was a troubled young man, and she had wanted to keep her daughter from him before something like this happened. The thought of the boy killing himself over it made her very queasy.

"Gerard has depression," Mikey continued. "I mean, I know it isn't the first time he's disappeared for days, but-"

"Oh thank God!" Donna exclaimed. Gerard, looking pale and sick strode from the hall to where they stood. June observed the family as they each looked instantly relieved at the sight of him; he seemed very sullen, eyes bloodshot, with purpleish coloring under them as if he hadn't slept a minute. Very off.

"Where have you been? We've been worried sick," Donald said in a serious tone. "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry," Gerard said. "It's been rough, but I'm fine. I'm here now."

Notes