House of Cards
I See Dead People
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Hmm?” I say, turning my head to look at her.
“The rain. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
I look out in front of us. We’re sitting under a bridge, on the bank of a river, I don’t know which one. The rain beats down on the ground a few steps ahead, but the cement of the bridge keeps our heads dry. The rain really is beautiful. It’s hard to make out anything in it, the water is coming down so hard, and everything is misted over. Objects in the distance appear to only be looming shadows. And the rain keeps coming.
“Yes.” I say, intrigued by the odd calmed sensation rushing over me. Helena is perched next to me, staring out at the rain alongside me. She smiles softly and I return the gesture, pleased with the silence that has overcome us.
We sit for a moment, just watching the rain.
“Do you hear that?” She breaks the silence.
“Hear what?”
“Your heart.”
And her pretty, high-pitched voice melts away revealing a deeper, more masculine one. I turn to see a doe eyed boy with a black and blond fauxhawk, staring at me with a curious expression. “It’s beating faster, your blood pumping through your veins. Hot, sticky, sweet, sweet, blood. Can you show me?” His dark brown eyes are wide like saucers, open and waiting.
“Show you... what do you mean?”
“Slit your wrists, sweetheart. Show me your life line!” he cackles. Suddenly the rain and the bridge aren’t there anymore and we’re sitting in the middle of a clearing in the woods. It’s dark, the moon a large ominous orb in the cloudless night sky. A ring of trees surrounds us, a particularly large oak tree towering to our right. A crow caws in the distance somewhere, it’s voice echoing in my ears.
“Please, Gerard!” The boy’s dark chocolate eyes grow darker, fire welling up inside them. He isn’t asking, he’s demanding. He pounces on me then, knocking me backwards, straddling my hips and pinning my wrists to the earthy ground beneath us. “Show me! Show me!”
It begins to rain again, but the drops of water aren’t cold, they’re warm and sticky. And I realize they aren’t water at all, but dark scarlet, staining my skin and filling my nostrils with the scent of salt and iron.
He digs his nails into the soft pale flesh of my wrists, the skin threatening to split under his hold. I shake my head, trying to wriggle out of his grip, squeezing my eyes shut so the endless blood pouring from the cloudless sky doesn’t get behind my eyelids. The crow continues to caw in the distance.
I’m taller than the boy above me, but not by much, and we probably weigh about the same, considering he has a bit of muscle and I’m thin and twiggy. But I manage to knock him off none the less. As soon as he hits the ground beside me, I spring up from my position on the wet bloody leaves and begin running. I make it a few steps, and then he’s running after me, yelling for me to stop.
I don’t stop.
And the boy disappears.
And so do the trees and the moon and the stars. The sky caves in and the ground falls beneath my feet.
Suddenly I’m running in complete darkness, the echo of the boy’s voice in my ears.
0-0-0-0-0-0
I wake up in a cold sweat. The sheets tangle around my legs and my bottom lip trembles. The room is dim, silent. I swivel my head in exasperation, checking to make sure the angry boy with the fiery doe eyes isn’t in my room. But I give up my search quickly, convincing myself that he was just a figment of my imagination. It was a dream. The sky doesn’t rain blood and worlds don’t collapse around you. That only happens in your head.
I lay there, out of breath, my chest heaving, as I stare up at the ceiling, wondering where everyone went.
I don’t have to wonder for too long.
A little while after I wake up, my mother walks into the room trailed by two people. One of them is average height with striking brownish-green eyes and thick jet-black hair. He seems to be in his mid-forties, his face creased with smile lines at the corner of his eyes. Behind him is a slightly taller, and much younger kid whose glasses perch at the very edge of his nose crookedly. His hair is a light toffee, short and messy, and his eyes are the same hazel-ish green as the other man's. The two look related, baring the same nose and chin.
The younger one breaks out with a grin as he sees me, eyes lit up. He calls my name and rushes forward, encasing me in a hug. I take a deep breath, feeling a great need to hug him back, and wrap my arms around his thin, almost frail body. I chuckle into his shirt, smelling coffee and some sort of hair gel on him. He pulls away, smiling still.
“You’re a dick wad.” He tells me in an almost friendly way, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Michael!” I can faintly hear my mother gasp behind us, frazzled by this guy’s language, but I ignore her, my soul focus on the kid with the glasses.
“Why?” I ask a little hurt.
“Cause you left me for three whole months! I had to fend for myself! You’re an ass!”
“Oh, well that’s totally a good reason to call me an ass.”
“Yes. Yes it is,” Michael giggles, sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.
I’m assuming he’s my brother. He has the same toffee colored hair as my mother and is touching me like he’s family. My mom did say my father was coming, so the man in the doorway is probably the contributor of the paternal side of my DNA. What a sweet little family I seem to have. My mother is pretty and loves her children, my father works at a police station (he wears a badge around his neck that says ‘Belleville PD’) and seems overworked but nice enough, and my brother is happy and it seems like we got along well. But all families, even the picture perfect ones, have problems. I just haven’t figured ours out yet.
“So, how’s your head, big brother?” Okay, unless Michael has a thing for calling people his ‘Big Brother’, we’re definitely siblings.
“Could be better.”
“Aw, I’m sorry,” he says, concerned enough to show it in his eyes and place his hand on top of my own.
“Mikey, Gerard; your mother and I are going to step outside for a moment.”
Mikey nods, acknowledging my apparent father’s statement, but not looking at him. The two older people leave the room.
“Oh god, finally,” Mikey mutters, lifting himself up onto the cramped hospital bed, lying down next to me. I scoot over, wondering why he’s laying down with me. “Mom hates it when I do this. I was waiting for them to leave.” He grins looking over at me. I kinda just stare at him. “What?”
“Why... well not that I mind, but why in the world are you lying down next to me?” I don’t want to sound mean, but it’s kinda weird for your fully grown teenage brother to be lying down in a hospital bed next to you.
“Don’t you want me to?” He frowns, sadness in his eyes.
“Well, like I said, I don’t mind per se but it’s kind of... odd.”
“But Gee, when you were in the hospital before, you let me lie down with you.”
“I was in the hospital before this?”
“Yeah, don’t you remember?”
I mentally face palm myself. No one had told my kid brother that I had forgotten all about him and everyone else in this world. “No, Mikey. I don’t remember anything.”
Mikey’s face drops. “What?”
“I lost my memory. Completely. At least my memory of faces and people. I can still remember how to like walk and stuff I just can’t remember learning how to do it.”
“No one remembers learning to walk, Gerard.”
“Do you remember the teacher who taught you how to read? When you learned how to ride a bike? Your first crush?”
He blushes. “Yes.”
“Yeah well I don’t.”
“You just woke up from a coma, Gee. I bet it’ll wear off!” Mikey chuckles, a little bit hysterically, in some sort of denial over my memory loss. My depression over everything was bad, but at least I’m not denying it.
“Doctor said it’s most likely permanent,” I mumble, looking away.
“Doctors are bullshit.”
“I dunno, Mr. Way. I’m pretty confident about not being ‘bull shit’.” Mikey spins around to see a shorter, gray haired man wearing a white coat and that thing you measure your heartbeat with, a stethoscope or whatever around his neck. Mikey turns red and the doctor merely smiles. ‘Mom and Dad’ are standing in the doorway looking like the good parents they are. They don’t touch each other though, which I find a bit odd. I assume they were fighting earlier or something.
“Sorry...” Mikey mumbles. The doctor brushes it off, pulling a clipboard out of a plastic holster hanging off the wall, going through what I assume is my file.
“Nurse checked you over... I think we’re all good. You can go home now, bud.”
I frown. Go home? To where? Home is supposed to be comforting, safe even. It’s supposed to make you feel good. But all I feel is scared and confused. Those seem to be the only emotions in my possession at the moment.
“Okay...?” I say quietly, the question more directed at myself than anyone else.
The doctor tells me about some pills he’s sending home with me and then he leaves. Mikey hands me a bag of clothes to change into and he and my parents leave as well, shutting the door behind them.
Standing is a bit tricky with my knees locking up on me left and right and my legs shaking so bad I can barely support myself. I have to grab the edge of the bed to keep myself standing. Once I get the hang of it I strip quickly wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible. Opening Mikey’s bag I pull out a pair of boxers, slipping them on, and then yanking out a pair of dark denim jeans. The fabric looks a little small for me, and my suspicions are confirmed as I try to slide them on. They’re extremely tight, hugging my thighs and calves like a second skin, and I can barely get them over my underwear.
“I actually liked this shit?” I mutter to myself, forcing the button to slip into its little hole. I hear a giggle from behind me and I freeze.
“Loved it actually. That’s your favorite pair. You bitched all day long whenever your mom forgot to wash them.”
I spin around quickly. A girl wearing a long black dress is curled up in the tiny uncomfortable looking blue plastic chair pushed up against the wall. I squeal, almost embarrassingly high, turning back around and crossing my arms over my chest. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Ayup.”
“Even when-”
“When you were butt naked, struggling to keep yourself standing? Saw that too.”
“Fuck.” I close my eyes, my face flushing a cherry red.
“Eh I’ve seen worse. You brought someone home one time-”
“Stop. Just stop.”
She giggles, complying.
“Just like close your eyes and let me get my shirt on.”
She huffs and I can just imagine her rolling her eyes in irritation. “Why are you so self-conscious? You’re a dude. People are supposed to see you shirtless.”
“Just close your eyes!”
“Alright! Alright! I’m closin’ em, hold your damn horses.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, moving as fast as I possibly can to pull a black shirt from the bag. I guess I really liked black. I pull on the shirt and the logo on the front kind of scares me. It looks like some sort of skeleton face with missing teeth and weird eyes. Under the face is the word ‘Misfits’ in jagged white letters. In the back of my mind I wonder who the Misfits are and why the hell their logo was so creepy looking.
The next article of clothing is also black. It’s leather and plain and hugs my body comfortably, the long sleeves keeping me warm. The last of it is a pair of white ankle socks tucked inside of (yet again, black) converse. I turn around, sitting at the edge of the bed and pulling on the socks.
“Can I look now?”
I tell Helena she can look and my apparent dead grandmother blinks appropriately.
“So, how come I can see you? I thought ghosts were supposed to be invisible.”
“You’re special.” She smiles. I roll my eyes, shoving on the first of the shoes.
“No kidding. What kind of special?”
“You’re a Necromancer.”
I look up at her quickly, disgusted. “Are you saying I like to fuck dead people? Cause I don’t and that’s offensive.”
“Nononono. That’s a Necrophiliac. You are most certainly not one of those.”
“That’s good.” I mumble, the knot in my laces caught between my teeth as I try to undo it.
“Yes it is. But you’re a Necromancer, which is a person who works with the dead. Talks to it, sees it, brings it back-”
“Brings it back?” I pull the lace out of my mouth, yanking the shoe onto my foot. I’m not quite wrapping my head around the idea of raising an army of dead people. That only happens in movies and comic books.
“Yeah. Y’know, like zombies. Blaaaarghphhh!” She gets up and starts walking around with her arms out in front of her and her feet shuffling and tripping as she goes. Honestly it was a fairly good impression.
“Right.” I finish tying my shoes and stand, smoothing out my jacket and hitching my pants up. “So I can control zombies whenever I want to. Makes sense.”
“Don’t be sarcastic with me! I’m serious! Why do you think you can see me and no one else can?”
She has a point. “Why can’t I see other ghosts too then?”
“You can see other ghosts. There’s just none around. Plus ghosts can choose whether people see them or not, even Necromancers.”
“But how do I know you’re not just a figment of my overactive imagination?”
“Can a figment of your ‘overactive imagination’ do this?” She jumps in front of me, lifts her palm, and smacks it across my face. I wince, my hand shooting up to press it against my stinging cheek.
“Ow! What was that for?!”
“I was proving a point. Now c’mon. Mikey and your parents are waiting.”
I mumble several nasty words at her as I rub my cheek, following her out the door.
“Hmm?” I say, turning my head to look at her.
“The rain. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
I look out in front of us. We’re sitting under a bridge, on the bank of a river, I don’t know which one. The rain beats down on the ground a few steps ahead, but the cement of the bridge keeps our heads dry. The rain really is beautiful. It’s hard to make out anything in it, the water is coming down so hard, and everything is misted over. Objects in the distance appear to only be looming shadows. And the rain keeps coming.
“Yes.” I say, intrigued by the odd calmed sensation rushing over me. Helena is perched next to me, staring out at the rain alongside me. She smiles softly and I return the gesture, pleased with the silence that has overcome us.
We sit for a moment, just watching the rain.
“Do you hear that?” She breaks the silence.
“Hear what?”
“Your heart.”
And her pretty, high-pitched voice melts away revealing a deeper, more masculine one. I turn to see a doe eyed boy with a black and blond fauxhawk, staring at me with a curious expression. “It’s beating faster, your blood pumping through your veins. Hot, sticky, sweet, sweet, blood. Can you show me?” His dark brown eyes are wide like saucers, open and waiting.
“Show you... what do you mean?”
“Slit your wrists, sweetheart. Show me your life line!” he cackles. Suddenly the rain and the bridge aren’t there anymore and we’re sitting in the middle of a clearing in the woods. It’s dark, the moon a large ominous orb in the cloudless night sky. A ring of trees surrounds us, a particularly large oak tree towering to our right. A crow caws in the distance somewhere, it’s voice echoing in my ears.
“Please, Gerard!” The boy’s dark chocolate eyes grow darker, fire welling up inside them. He isn’t asking, he’s demanding. He pounces on me then, knocking me backwards, straddling my hips and pinning my wrists to the earthy ground beneath us. “Show me! Show me!”
It begins to rain again, but the drops of water aren’t cold, they’re warm and sticky. And I realize they aren’t water at all, but dark scarlet, staining my skin and filling my nostrils with the scent of salt and iron.
He digs his nails into the soft pale flesh of my wrists, the skin threatening to split under his hold. I shake my head, trying to wriggle out of his grip, squeezing my eyes shut so the endless blood pouring from the cloudless sky doesn’t get behind my eyelids. The crow continues to caw in the distance.
I’m taller than the boy above me, but not by much, and we probably weigh about the same, considering he has a bit of muscle and I’m thin and twiggy. But I manage to knock him off none the less. As soon as he hits the ground beside me, I spring up from my position on the wet bloody leaves and begin running. I make it a few steps, and then he’s running after me, yelling for me to stop.
I don’t stop.
And the boy disappears.
And so do the trees and the moon and the stars. The sky caves in and the ground falls beneath my feet.
Suddenly I’m running in complete darkness, the echo of the boy’s voice in my ears.
0-0-0-0-0-0
I wake up in a cold sweat. The sheets tangle around my legs and my bottom lip trembles. The room is dim, silent. I swivel my head in exasperation, checking to make sure the angry boy with the fiery doe eyes isn’t in my room. But I give up my search quickly, convincing myself that he was just a figment of my imagination. It was a dream. The sky doesn’t rain blood and worlds don’t collapse around you. That only happens in your head.
I lay there, out of breath, my chest heaving, as I stare up at the ceiling, wondering where everyone went.
I don’t have to wonder for too long.
A little while after I wake up, my mother walks into the room trailed by two people. One of them is average height with striking brownish-green eyes and thick jet-black hair. He seems to be in his mid-forties, his face creased with smile lines at the corner of his eyes. Behind him is a slightly taller, and much younger kid whose glasses perch at the very edge of his nose crookedly. His hair is a light toffee, short and messy, and his eyes are the same hazel-ish green as the other man's. The two look related, baring the same nose and chin.
The younger one breaks out with a grin as he sees me, eyes lit up. He calls my name and rushes forward, encasing me in a hug. I take a deep breath, feeling a great need to hug him back, and wrap my arms around his thin, almost frail body. I chuckle into his shirt, smelling coffee and some sort of hair gel on him. He pulls away, smiling still.
“You’re a dick wad.” He tells me in an almost friendly way, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“Michael!” I can faintly hear my mother gasp behind us, frazzled by this guy’s language, but I ignore her, my soul focus on the kid with the glasses.
“Why?” I ask a little hurt.
“Cause you left me for three whole months! I had to fend for myself! You’re an ass!”
“Oh, well that’s totally a good reason to call me an ass.”
“Yes. Yes it is,” Michael giggles, sitting next to me on the edge of the bed.
I’m assuming he’s my brother. He has the same toffee colored hair as my mother and is touching me like he’s family. My mom did say my father was coming, so the man in the doorway is probably the contributor of the paternal side of my DNA. What a sweet little family I seem to have. My mother is pretty and loves her children, my father works at a police station (he wears a badge around his neck that says ‘Belleville PD’) and seems overworked but nice enough, and my brother is happy and it seems like we got along well. But all families, even the picture perfect ones, have problems. I just haven’t figured ours out yet.
“So, how’s your head, big brother?” Okay, unless Michael has a thing for calling people his ‘Big Brother’, we’re definitely siblings.
“Could be better.”
“Aw, I’m sorry,” he says, concerned enough to show it in his eyes and place his hand on top of my own.
“Mikey, Gerard; your mother and I are going to step outside for a moment.”
Mikey nods, acknowledging my apparent father’s statement, but not looking at him. The two older people leave the room.
“Oh god, finally,” Mikey mutters, lifting himself up onto the cramped hospital bed, lying down next to me. I scoot over, wondering why he’s laying down with me. “Mom hates it when I do this. I was waiting for them to leave.” He grins looking over at me. I kinda just stare at him. “What?”
“Why... well not that I mind, but why in the world are you lying down next to me?” I don’t want to sound mean, but it’s kinda weird for your fully grown teenage brother to be lying down in a hospital bed next to you.
“Don’t you want me to?” He frowns, sadness in his eyes.
“Well, like I said, I don’t mind per se but it’s kind of... odd.”
“But Gee, when you were in the hospital before, you let me lie down with you.”
“I was in the hospital before this?”
“Yeah, don’t you remember?”
I mentally face palm myself. No one had told my kid brother that I had forgotten all about him and everyone else in this world. “No, Mikey. I don’t remember anything.”
Mikey’s face drops. “What?”
“I lost my memory. Completely. At least my memory of faces and people. I can still remember how to like walk and stuff I just can’t remember learning how to do it.”
“No one remembers learning to walk, Gerard.”
“Do you remember the teacher who taught you how to read? When you learned how to ride a bike? Your first crush?”
He blushes. “Yes.”
“Yeah well I don’t.”
“You just woke up from a coma, Gee. I bet it’ll wear off!” Mikey chuckles, a little bit hysterically, in some sort of denial over my memory loss. My depression over everything was bad, but at least I’m not denying it.
“Doctor said it’s most likely permanent,” I mumble, looking away.
“Doctors are bullshit.”
“I dunno, Mr. Way. I’m pretty confident about not being ‘bull shit’.” Mikey spins around to see a shorter, gray haired man wearing a white coat and that thing you measure your heartbeat with, a stethoscope or whatever around his neck. Mikey turns red and the doctor merely smiles. ‘Mom and Dad’ are standing in the doorway looking like the good parents they are. They don’t touch each other though, which I find a bit odd. I assume they were fighting earlier or something.
“Sorry...” Mikey mumbles. The doctor brushes it off, pulling a clipboard out of a plastic holster hanging off the wall, going through what I assume is my file.
“Nurse checked you over... I think we’re all good. You can go home now, bud.”
I frown. Go home? To where? Home is supposed to be comforting, safe even. It’s supposed to make you feel good. But all I feel is scared and confused. Those seem to be the only emotions in my possession at the moment.
“Okay...?” I say quietly, the question more directed at myself than anyone else.
The doctor tells me about some pills he’s sending home with me and then he leaves. Mikey hands me a bag of clothes to change into and he and my parents leave as well, shutting the door behind them.
Standing is a bit tricky with my knees locking up on me left and right and my legs shaking so bad I can barely support myself. I have to grab the edge of the bed to keep myself standing. Once I get the hang of it I strip quickly wanting to get out of this place as soon as possible. Opening Mikey’s bag I pull out a pair of boxers, slipping them on, and then yanking out a pair of dark denim jeans. The fabric looks a little small for me, and my suspicions are confirmed as I try to slide them on. They’re extremely tight, hugging my thighs and calves like a second skin, and I can barely get them over my underwear.
“I actually liked this shit?” I mutter to myself, forcing the button to slip into its little hole. I hear a giggle from behind me and I freeze.
“Loved it actually. That’s your favorite pair. You bitched all day long whenever your mom forgot to wash them.”
I spin around quickly. A girl wearing a long black dress is curled up in the tiny uncomfortable looking blue plastic chair pushed up against the wall. I squeal, almost embarrassingly high, turning back around and crossing my arms over my chest. “Have you been here the whole time?”
“Ayup.”
“Even when-”
“When you were butt naked, struggling to keep yourself standing? Saw that too.”
“Fuck.” I close my eyes, my face flushing a cherry red.
“Eh I’ve seen worse. You brought someone home one time-”
“Stop. Just stop.”
She giggles, complying.
“Just like close your eyes and let me get my shirt on.”
She huffs and I can just imagine her rolling her eyes in irritation. “Why are you so self-conscious? You’re a dude. People are supposed to see you shirtless.”
“Just close your eyes!”
“Alright! Alright! I’m closin’ em, hold your damn horses.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, moving as fast as I possibly can to pull a black shirt from the bag. I guess I really liked black. I pull on the shirt and the logo on the front kind of scares me. It looks like some sort of skeleton face with missing teeth and weird eyes. Under the face is the word ‘Misfits’ in jagged white letters. In the back of my mind I wonder who the Misfits are and why the hell their logo was so creepy looking.
The next article of clothing is also black. It’s leather and plain and hugs my body comfortably, the long sleeves keeping me warm. The last of it is a pair of white ankle socks tucked inside of (yet again, black) converse. I turn around, sitting at the edge of the bed and pulling on the socks.
“Can I look now?”
I tell Helena she can look and my apparent dead grandmother blinks appropriately.
“So, how come I can see you? I thought ghosts were supposed to be invisible.”
“You’re special.” She smiles. I roll my eyes, shoving on the first of the shoes.
“No kidding. What kind of special?”
“You’re a Necromancer.”
I look up at her quickly, disgusted. “Are you saying I like to fuck dead people? Cause I don’t and that’s offensive.”
“Nononono. That’s a Necrophiliac. You are most certainly not one of those.”
“That’s good.” I mumble, the knot in my laces caught between my teeth as I try to undo it.
“Yes it is. But you’re a Necromancer, which is a person who works with the dead. Talks to it, sees it, brings it back-”
“Brings it back?” I pull the lace out of my mouth, yanking the shoe onto my foot. I’m not quite wrapping my head around the idea of raising an army of dead people. That only happens in movies and comic books.
“Yeah. Y’know, like zombies. Blaaaarghphhh!” She gets up and starts walking around with her arms out in front of her and her feet shuffling and tripping as she goes. Honestly it was a fairly good impression.
“Right.” I finish tying my shoes and stand, smoothing out my jacket and hitching my pants up. “So I can control zombies whenever I want to. Makes sense.”
“Don’t be sarcastic with me! I’m serious! Why do you think you can see me and no one else can?”
She has a point. “Why can’t I see other ghosts too then?”
“You can see other ghosts. There’s just none around. Plus ghosts can choose whether people see them or not, even Necromancers.”
“But how do I know you’re not just a figment of my overactive imagination?”
“Can a figment of your ‘overactive imagination’ do this?” She jumps in front of me, lifts her palm, and smacks it across my face. I wince, my hand shooting up to press it against my stinging cheek.
“Ow! What was that for?!”
“I was proving a point. Now c’mon. Mikey and your parents are waiting.”
I mumble several nasty words at her as I rub my cheek, following her out the door.
Notes
Tada! Part three! Hope you guys enjoy. 'Skinda a filler. Sorry :/ Chapter Five is when it really starts to get good. Just have patience ^-^-Roach
OH MY GOD YOU LISTEN TO FINGER ELEVEN AMAZING AH
1/16/14