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Blood Ties	By : maiafay376 Category: +S through Z > Silent Hill Views: 6706 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
Tense confrontations, Frank, and an unlikely rescue...
--------------------Chapter 10: Tenebrous Desires--------------------
Blood.
There was so much of it.
The dark puddle fanned under Andre�s battered skull, thick like molasses. Tiny bubbles popped in slow motion and reminded Daniel of boiling mud. Flashes juxtaposed upon what was left of Andre�s face: images of his father, his ashen skin, his wide staring eyes that saw worlds known only to the dead. Daniel saw darkness and stained floors--red and yellow liquid spreading and spreading�like yolk from a chicken egg hatched before its time. For one, numb moment, he could smell the beer--see the reflections of light upon the pieces of glass scattered around his father�s head. His vision filled with static and spots but then he blinked, and the images faded. Reality settled like a lead weight in his stomach. He stared at the battered corpse on the floor, and realized that he, Daniel Morgan, was a cold-blooded killer.
He found the strength to swallow and then grimaced at the taste of old saliva. He had forgotten that his last meal was two days ago. Whatever hunger he had, though, was gone. When he finally spoke, the words flowed out of his mouth with detached hysteria; he babbled without thought or concern of how he sounded. He just wanted to stop staring at Andre�s face--that imploded mess that he had created--and speaking seemed to focus his mind on something else, blame something else instead of his own reckless stupidity.
�This--this is a trick somehow. I don�t believe it�this isn�t real! It's not real!�
Denial was a wonderful thing--so convenient, but like sifting sand, it remained a slippery surface to stand. Walter came closer, his gaze riveted on Daniel�s pinched features with a crooked but sincere smile. "You toss the blame to me then? Your little golden ball of despair and delusions?� Walter shook his head and his lank blond hair swayed. �I refuse to catch it. This judgment was yours and yours alone. You simply saw what he really was--saw beyond the veil of flesh and into the core of his soul. You found him undeserving of this life, greedy and selfish--squandering his blessings on drink and vanity. You judged him accordingly Daniel�and what a fitting punishment it was! You�ve impressed even me.�
�I impressed you?� Daniel cried, his expression mixing both outrage and revulsion. It was one thing for Walter to find this debacle amusing, but impressed by it? It made him feel dirty, cheap, as if he had just screwed with someone watching, and now said person complimented him on how well he performed.
His cheeks grew hot, and the bat shook in his hands. �Why the hell would I care about impressing you?" he demanded, his voice rising along with his temper. "I was defending myself--not �judging� as you call it. I did what I had to survive and this wasn�t some little show for your entertainment! I have no right to �judge� anyone--and neither do you!" he jabbed his finger at Walter in accusation. �You arrogant son-of-a-bitch! You enjoy playing �God� don�t you? You like deciding who lives or dies. I�m not like that! I'm not like you! And while I may not understand how this all happened--I know you had a hand in it. You made me see something else instead of Andre--you tricked me!�
Yes�keep saying that�maybe then you�ll start to believe it Danny boy. This isn�t real. It�s only a dream. The evil villain tricked you and this only a dream. Andre is still alive somewhere�maybe running away from the cops or Frank--maybe even beating Lucia up again--but this broken, glob of flesh bleeding out on the floor is not real�not real�you didn�t hurt anyone�
Walter smirked, and appeared to find Daniel�s anger endearing. �And the ball is tossed once more�� he laughed then, toying with the dagger in his palm. �Tell me little bird, what did you intend to do once you and he confronted? How would you restore that female�s honor? Spank him with your Daddy�s bat?�
Daniel then looked down in shame, his gaze resting on Andre�s pulpy face.
The sound had echoed when I hit him�bones crunched like sticks underneath�blood poured out�over my hands�hot, sticky�and smelling. I wonder why the smell�was he rotting inside?
Wincing, Daniel jerked his eyes away and focused on Walter as the man strode forward. He still played with the dagger and the rubies twinkled like drops of blood. For whatever the reason, Sullivan managed to unnerve him as well as infuriate him. No shimmering impetus surrounded the other man, but Daniel could still feel it. It hummed just below Walter�s skin and clothes, radiated through his gaze and shone when he smiled. That little boy grin was what drove Daniel nuts. Boyishly innocent, yet, brimming with malevolence--like the Boy Scout gone bad.
�Blame me all you want.� Walter said, his tone paternal and eyes level with Daniel�s face, �bury yourself within false illusions and deceit. It amuses me how blind you are to the gifts Mother has bestowed upon you. Her blessings should be cherished above all else. We're her chosen, her special ones--�
Blah, blah, blah�shut up about your fucking mother!
�--I�ve heard this speech before Walter.� Daniel interrupted and the bat thunked with a metallic clang on the floor. �It�s boring. Think up another bullshit story to feed me--I�ve had it with this one.�
Walter grinned, the smile sudden and full of teeth. �So impatient--how typical. Like a spoiled, little boy," his smile turned wicked. "You were always a spoiled little boy weren't you Daniel? You had everything you ever wanted and spurned it all.� He halted and stood before Daniel--the body of Andre the only divider between them. Daniel fidgeted in place, every muscle tense and his wounded shoulder nagged with a burning twinge. What was the nutcase rambling about now?
Walter studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he quirked another dark smile, his next question taking Daniel by surprise. �Remember that day your mother died?� he asked, his tone amiable--but Daniel heard the malicious undertone like a knelling bell. He braced himself for what Walter would say next--dreading that his words would be as perceptive as he knew they would be. For all his cryptic candor, Walter had a way of knowing exactly what to say--and when to say it. The tone and delivery of his perceptions seemed always accurate. Daniel started to wonder if the bastard was telepathic.
�You were a selfish boy back then--just like your father,� he said with that conniving, tight smile. �Why else would he drink his life away? The only thing that made life worth living was your mother Daniel--not you. You were a consequence of their love and joy. Something to clothe and feed--something that demanded attention and every whim catered. He must have realized that all he had left was a whining, ungrateful brat. You were a leech to them both--and once your mother died, it was no wonder that your father killed himself...�
Daniel flinched as if slapped, blinking and speechless at the downright nastiness of Walter�s statement. Memories rose like a dark tide, fraught with bitterness, angry words--of many nights staring at the ceiling and wondering always how he could have changed things. Scenarios would play in his head. What if he did this, what if he had done that--over and over again different outcomes would taunt him with happy endings and forgiving tears. Other times, he had pretended he dreamed the whole thing, and that he would wake any moment to the smell of his mother�s coffee, and the banana pancakes that she liked to shape into hearts for his father. But when he tired of that--and when all daydreams had exhausted--he would then weep into his pillow, shamed and hating himself for being such a selfish fuck, and that he should have went to that goddamned store as she had asked in the first place�
It had started with one of her rare, impatient glares--her �angry face� is what Daniel used to call it. When he was a child, he determined his mother�s mood by these expressions alone. She could never hide her emotions very well, and �wore her heart on her sleeve� as his father put it. But Old Ben loved that about his Pammy. "No secrets, no masks--no lies�� he said once, as if it were the most important thing in the world to him. Daniel never understood why. To him, his mother's expressions were a weapon to wield.
Her lips press in that familiar line, and she stands now with her hands on her hips, watching him and looking at her watch in dismay. �Can�t you just take a few minutes and run down to the store for me Daniel?� She taps her index finger along the pocket of her dress pants, a tic and a warning that her patience wears thin. �Honestly, if you boys want your supper on time--I see no reason why you can�t contribute for once. I ran out of eggs for this recipe and I need a dozen more picked up. I would get them myself, but I have Kenneth in the next room studying his time tables, I can�t leave him alone--�
Her �happy� face was all smiles and apple cheeks, eyes glittering as if he just gave her something that she had always wanted and never received until now. When she made that face: he felt special, cherished, as if he were the only one that could make her day. Her �sad� face consisted of a down-turned, pained quirk of her lips, slightly furrowed brows and tiny little lines that formed like thin �commas� around her mouth. Her eyes were always hollow, red-rimmed, as if she had been crying for days--even if the situation had just arose. She looked older, empty somehow--and it was his least favorite of her faces. It made him do anything she wanted just to see it go away. The second least favorite was the one she wore that day. The infamous �angry� face. Lips pressed in a thin, stained line, brows furrowed and nostrils flaring. Instead of her eyes narrowing as one would expect--they stayed wide, displaying vast amounts of disappointment. Those eyes could pierce him to the core; it made him burst into tears when he was younger-- but he had trained himself to feel only vague discomfort when she unleashed this face upon him�
�--Mom, I wish I could but I have to finish this collage; it�s due tomorrow.�
He�s in the basement, shuffling through the pile of material, buttons, and metal scraps that he plans to use for his project. He ignores the �angry� face and focuses on the task at hand.
�Why did you wait until the last minute Daniel?� she sighs, her hands still upon her hips, but her head cocks in that disapproving mother fashion--the universal look reserved for adult children who know better--adult children who test their parents patience by doing things inconsiderate and foolish. �I swear, you�re just like your father. Always putting things off until you can�t put it off anymore. Then you scramble and complain that you have too much to do, and don�t have time to do it in. It�s damn irritating when your father does it--and while I tolerate his vices--don�t think I�ll encourage yours. Why do you think your father has ulcers? All those years of procrastinating and then worrying about it all. It�s ridiculous��
She talking to him as if he�s twelve years old, and this makes his bad mood worse. He�s not a child, and he�s tired, cranky, but he knows she�s right, as she always is, and this makes him defensive. �Yeah, I know Mother�I just couldn�t get inspired with this piece until now, okay? Collages aren�t my thing,� he grumbles, throwing the button he was holding back into the pile. He takes another look at the �angry� face and shakes his head--relenting a little. �This is a stupid thing to fight over. I�ll just watch Kenneth if you want and help him if he has any questions. I may not think very well with that side of my brain, but at least I can still do multiplication. I'd rather not waste time driving back and forth with this sitting here unfinished--this project is half my grade!�
�So, your Mother can waste her time then?� the angry face gets even angrier, and he knows he pushed it--but he is as stubborn as she--and will not surrender easy. His expression firms and his lips press into their own thin line. Not enough to rival her grimace, but enough to make his point.
�I�m sorry, but my credit in this class is more important than eggs to me. Don�t worry about dinner; I�ll just warm the left over pizza from last night--�
�No. Then what will your father have when he comes home?� she says in her no-nonsense voice. But, she already seems tired of the argument, giving a curt wave of her hand. �You know what? Never mind. Watch Kenneth for me if that isn�t too much trouble and tell him I�ll be right back. The last thing I need is for one of my students telling their parents I left them alone.� She turns on her heel and walks up the stairs with stiff, awkward movements. He feels sorry then, as adult children do when they know they are behaving selfishly, but still unwilling to compromise.
�I�ll do the dishes if you want�� he says in a weak attempt to make peace. She refuses him, casting a dark look of hurt over her shoulder.
�No, stay here and finish your work. I�ll bring you dinner when it�s ready.� she sighs, defeated, resting a slim hand upon the banister. Uncertainty clouds her next words, and her angry face falters--just for a moment. �I just hate driving in the rain��
That irritation creeps into him again as she reveals the true reason for her request, and his guilt dissipates like a cloud. He rolls his eyes. His mother is such a baby about the rain. Give her snow, sleet, hail and she�s fine--but rain? It unnerves her for some reason. �It�s not that bad out,� he says, picking a casual tone, but can feel the sarcasm biting through his words. He clears his throat and plucks a twisted piece of metal from the pile, finding the shape pleasing. It would provide a good focal point for his piece. �It�s not even raining that hard--it�s just sprinkling. I think you�ll survive Mother��
No reply and he hears the door shut quietly. He pauses and looks back, frowning. Anxiety shivers through him for a split second--then is gone. Shrugging, he resumes his careful selecting of material to cover the metal. He does not give her errand another thought.
She�ll survive�
It was a closed casket funeral. Head on collisions have a tendency to leave gruesome corpses. No one wanted to see. No one wanted to see how the once smiling, pancake-making and benevolent tutor now lay twisted and crushed--unrecognizable even with her best Sunday dress and the brown penny loafers she liked to wear. Her picture: the one that Daniel took last Christmas after he coerced his parents into posing in front of their white and blue tree, lighted and twinkling like brand new stars--sat upon the top, her smile girlish and his father beaming as if it were his first date. That image was what they wanted to remember. Pamela: loving wife, kind, honest mother, and skilled teacher. Not broken Pamela, not with bones cracked and face gone; not the victim of careless driving and drunken stupor�
His father stands to the side like a wounded animal, hand clasping his arm, fingers digging into the expensive black suit. He only wears it on formal occasions, and Daniel can�t remember the last time he saw his father in it.
Daniel is wearing his own once-in-a-blue-moon suit, and it�s making him sweat despite the autumn weather. He looks at his father in concern. Old Ben trembles, and his lips press together as the preacher speaks. His eyes shine and tears slip down until they drip like dew off his chin. He had never seen his father cry before--not before today--but today is a day of firsts for many things. His father appears as if he wants to throw himself on top of the casket--and for a moment, Daniel thinks he just might. He had been drinking that morning�heavily, and spoke not a word to him since the morgue--and the sheet pull that revealed his mother as a crumpled, maimed thing--a sight that would stay with him for the rest of his life.
Daniel feels a white flash of anger--so bright and searing that it makes him ill. How dare he? Did he not realize that he insulted her with every glass he poured? But the indignation fades as he thinks with sudden, numbing terror that maybe his father �knows�. Maybe he knows how their last conversation went�how Daniel just waved her concern away�
�I think you�ll survive Mother��
How many times does he replay that in his head? How many times does he set aside his own menial concerns and get those damn eggs? How many times does he order take-out instead? How many times does he just go with her and warn of the man driving into the oncoming lane, taking the wheel from her hands and swerving at the last possible second? How many times?
Daniel�s breath froze in his chest, memories overwhelming him to the point of tears. He made a sharp noise of outrage when Walter gave a little shrug, unconcerned, but aware of how his words affected Daniel. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out--and every instinct in his body shrieked for blood. He almost gave in--almost lost his reason--but by sheer force of will he remained where he stood, somehow fighting the impulse to shove the bat into Sullivan�s impish smile and watch all those pearly white teeth crack to pieces.
He took a deep breath, focusing his anger and used it to steady himself. �You don�t know shit about me.� Daniel spat, his voice trembling more than he wanted, but at least his tears remained controlled. �You didn�t know my mother, my father, or what our life was like! All you have is scraps of conversations that didn�t include you! You know what? I�m going to ignore what you just said. It�s meaningless bullshit coming from a nutcase who thinks he�s king of mommy�s Never Never Land! This isn�t real! I�m--I�m just dreaming or something�maybe hallucinating--�
�--Of course Daniel! It's all just a horrible, horrible dream!� Walter started laughing, rocking back and forth on his heels.
Daniel bit his tongue--literally, to keep from retorting. It was useless to continue this mud slinging. He knew Walter was just playing with him--goading him into a physical confrontation. If he surrendered his self-control and attacked Sullivan--he had a feeling he would lose�badly. He refused to play these mind games anymore.
But�what if Walter was right? Maybe he only thought Andre looked like a demon. Maybe he imagined the misshapen skull and deformed limbs�that �X� shaped indentation spewing black sludge. His shoulder twanged in memory, and he palmed the wound as he frowned in dismay. What if he was nuts? What if the trauma of the past week affected him more than he had thought? Did he ever leave? Did the conversation between Frank, Melanie and him really take place? What if he hallucinated it all?
On the floor, Andre�s smashed face resembled a broken melon, the insides spilling red and thick. Daniel�s gaze flitted away from it as his doubts whirled. He recalled how he pounded on the demon, not stopping even when certain it was dead. How could he be so blind? Did he see what Andre was inside as Walter said? Did he know all along?
Regardless of who was right or wrong, the fact remained that he had done something unforgivable. He had snuffed out a life--beaten a living being until he was unrecognizable. It did not matter that Andre was a bastard; it did not matter that he had hurt Lucia only hours before. What mattered was the result of his actions--his temper and recklessness. What would the others say when they found out? What could he tell Lucia?
His throat tightened and tears welled; Andre�s body swam in his vision as he struggled to keep from outright weeping. He could imagine the look on her face--the look of horror on all their faces as they realized what he had done�
�You�re not going to cry again are you?� Walter's head tilted and his tone laced with mild disgust. Daniel jerked his gaze to the other man and his lips pressed into a tight line. Blinking, he looked away, the bat shaking in his hand as he again, fought the impulse to launch himself in Walter�s direction.
�You are crying�� said Walter, exasperated. He stopped playing with the dagger and his lips curled. �You�re just like Bobby; he could never stop crying either. Always wasting tears on meaningless things. He would cry when punished; he would cry when reading scriptures; he would cry when he had chores. He would cry just for the sake of crying. Finally, the Order would tire of his sniveling and send him to the Tower for punishment--�
Sudden silence fell like a curtain, and though his face remained in half-shadow, Daniel could see Walter�s expression appeared troubled. This sudden shift in mood threw Daniel off, and he stared as Sullivan�s breathing strained, but then calmed a few seconds later; the mask of apathy back in place.
�The Tower was a test you see,� he said, in that slow careful way of his. �A place for the Order to slaughter the undesired sheep. Those not strong enough; those who rebelled, and those like Bobby who spent his days weeping. They had a tool for these lambs. A fat, useless tool that liked to drink and hurt them all until they cried no more. He loved to play with Bobby most of all. Bobby was his favorite toy to cuddle with at night and whisper all sorts of mad things in his ear. It did not matter how well Bobby read the scriptures, or how well he behaved�he displayed weakness and frailty--and that was unacceptable to the Order.
�And so he died there in that Tower: dirty, alone, and weeping his tears," Walter sighed, his eyes faraway, "tears that only brought pleasure to his tormentor and scorn from everyone else. It was a powerful lesson to me after his soul fled. I vowed to never yield to despair as he did. Instead of cowering from pain--I embraced it! Instead of cringing from each blow, I met it head on! It was in that place I finally grew strong enough to know my purpose in life--it was there that I realized Mother and the Order�s God were the same! She was imprisoned like me--suffering like me. Only through strife and pain would she gain freedom. And only could then she grant mercy to those who bore torment as she once did. Her children would again flourish under her wings--grow strong and know nothing of fear. All who opposed her would be destroyed by fire--by her purity. Only her chosen would know true grace��
Daniel stared at Walter, forgetting to breathe as he listened to the morbid tale. He remembered that sorrowful boy in the hallway, his bright innocent face, yet untouched by darkness. That was Walter before the Wish House. No inkling of the horrors he would soon see, no concept of the depraved teachings and brainwashing he would soon experience. It made Daniel feel a queer sort of pity. It was the hopeless pity--the pity that did nothing but make one feel empty inside--hollow. No words could make it better; no �I�m sorry� would end in hugs and comfort. He now dealt with a soul tarnished and battered beyond redemption�it was the pity for the damned.
Jade eyes met his in the gloom, the hue almost iridescent. Walter�s voice changed as he spoke, warming, now earnest and fervent. He reminded Daniel of those ranting fanatics on TV--not the ones that scream and shout, �HALLELUJAH! PRAISE GOD!� dancing in crazy circles or pitching themselves into snake pits. But those quiet zealots. The ones that sit and stare at you from the screen with their dark, pensive eyes, willing you to join God and only have their brooding charisma to convince you. You want to believe because they seem so sure of it all. Because they have passion�sincerity. No doubts, no hesitations. They have stood in the presence of the Almighty himself and He has found them worthy--He has sent them forth as a shepherd among sheep, leading the flock back to salvation. They can save you--but you just have to believe.
It was impossible listening to someone like that and not be moved. Daniel found himself entranced as Walter spoke, almost convinced that everything he said was rational and fact.
Walter leaned forward, holding Daniel's gaze. �I survived the Tower and all its trials. I became strong for her. I bided my time afterward, waiting and playing the ignorant lamb--the timid boy and brooding adult. The Order suspected nothing--not even Ms. Gillespie, who thought I was some gullible child to convert to her cause. My life was pretend; a dream of study and some pale form of normalcy. Until one day, Mother gave her blessing. She spoke to me from that dark place where she had waited so patiently. It was time. I began gathering all I needed for the 21 Sacraments�twenty-one golden steps to achieve heaven on earth. Finally, she and I would be reunited. Those that abused me would have purpose now, paving the way through blood and flesh for Mother�s rebirth, their souls forever sundered��
Walter paused, his gaze shifting beyond Daniel�s shoulder with a bemused frown. Then his eyes flickered with recognition. He stepped back, and began playing with the dagger again. His face twisted with a leer.
�Andre!�
Daniel spun, startled by the unexpected intrusion, and then blanched as he saw Frank standing in the entryway. Oh God�he thought, his stomach seizing in guilt and fear. But wait�how is he here? Is he real? Is any of this real?
Muddy light spilled from the hall, silhouetting Frank�s body and illuminating the disaster that was once apartment 207. His stomach gave another abrupt summersault and clenched as he glimpsed the look on Frank�s face. The older man stared in amazement at the bloody scene, his eyes unable to stay in one place as they flickered from Andre, to the walls, to the damaged furniture--then snapped back to Andre. Without lifting his gaze away, Frank pawed at the wall, searching for the light switch. Daniel heard the click several times when the super found it--but the room remained dark. Cursing, Frank idled a moment, and then ventured forward with caution.
Feeling breathless, and almost convinced that Frank was not a delusion, Daniel greeted him, raising his hand. �Frank--Frank, I know what this looks like�but I swear, I didn�t know it was Andre! I never meant to hurt him like this--�
Walter�s snort interrupted him, and Daniel snarled a shut up over his shoulder. He turned as Frank crossed the room, watching each stride with tense expectation. Distress had bled the super�s face white, and his eyes never wavered from Andre�s body. Puzzled over Frank�s reaction, Daniel came forward, the bat held in one hand and pointing his finger with the other. �Frank do you see him? Walter? He�s right behind me!�
Frank made no reply and kept coming. Daniel made a noise of unease, stepping back and clutched the bat. Why wasn't he stopping? Would Frank attack him?
He looked toward Walter and found the man staring at them, the dagger turning faster with excitement.
Great. He was going to stand by and let Frank kick his ass. It appeared as far as Walter was concerned, that this was just another way to entertain and help ease his boredom, something fun to watch before dragging Daniel off to meet mommy. No doubt also, that Walter expected a repeat performance of the �Andre� incident. Daniel hated to disappoint, but he had no intentions of hurting anyone else. If Frank wanted to have at him--then he would allow it.
But despite his vow, he twitched as Frank walked up--and then through him. The super continued forward without stopping until he fell onto his knees next to Andre�s body. His hands shook as the super appraised the corpse, and took no notice of Walter or Daniel�s presence.
Daniel whirled and blinked with confusion. Looking down at himself, he ran his palm over his chest in bewilderment, feeling the thumping drum of his heart, and lungs expanding with the sudden intake of air. His body seemed solid--real, but how did Frank walk right through him?
�Frank? Frank? Can you hear me?� His uneasy words floated through the air as he came forward and settled his hand upon the super's shoulder. It sank into Frank�s body with no resistance, but tugged as if he dipped his hand into a flowing stream. He made a noise and jerked back, his fingers tingling with warmth and another sensation he could not identify. Frank also twitched with a startled cry, swiveling his head around to peer at the room in suspicion.
He felt me? How can he feel me, but not see me? Daniel searched for Walter and found him skulking by the window, watching Frank. He held the dagger taut in his hand, his thumb caressing back and forth as he continued his thoughtful pacing. Daniel didn't like the look in his eyes; that calculated, greedy look--which meant nasty things for the unfortunate target.
�Daniel�oh no��
Daniel glanced toward Frank as the super groaned, rising and stumbling toward a lumpy shape across the room. He saw Walter�s grin flash in the dark, illuminated by the moonlight outside. It filled him with dread. Uncertain and scared, Daniel followed the super behind the overturned chair and then gasped when he saw what had caused Frank�s dismay.
The bat clattered out of his hands as he shook his head in protest. �No�� Daniel said, backing away, �I�m not seeing this��
His �body� lay on the floor, bleeding and unresponsive as Frank attempted to rouse him. Dried blood matted his hair and splotched his forehead, and shredded holes decorated his clothing in several places. His shoulder lay bare and bruised; blood stained the flesh and bits of his green shirt stuck to his collarbone. Old Ben�s bat lay discarded next to his body, the scratched metal shining copper and rocked a little when Frank bumped it with his knee.
Daniel looked back toward the bat he had just dropped. They were identical in every way--down to the dings and even the bloodstained tip. Feeling numb, he picked it up, and then hugged it close as he inched forward. He watched, terrified, as the super felt for his pulse, and then sighed along in relief when Frank determined he still lived.
But, how am I watching this? How can I be here and my body there? Am I in a coma or something? He had heard of �out of body experiences�, but never experienced one first-hand. This did not make sense--when was he knocked out? When did he receive that wound to his head?
Frank continued fretting above his body, muttering things like: damn it son, why didn�t you stay where I told you, and I shouldn�t of left you alone. He gently checked the extent of his injuries, tipping Daniel�s unconscious head to the side and brushed the clotted hair away for a better look. Daniel edged back, disconcerted and wanting answers.
He looked for Walter again and found him hovering not far, still watching both he and Frank with keen interest. Bouncing the bat against his thigh, Daniel questioned in a sharp voice, �Why am I on the floor, but still walking around? Why can�t Frank see me?�
The shadows parted as Walter eased forward, smiling that tiny, wise smile of his. �Because little bird, his perception is flawed, limited. He only sees what he believes is real--not the reality he now exists within.�
�Meaning what, exactly?�
Walter sighed: patient and irritated at the same time. �He is here�with us, but does not realize it.�
�What do you mean he�s here with us?� He glanced at Frank, watching as the super stood and fumbled through his pockets. He swore as the desired item eluded him and groped toward the kitchen, tripping over debris and avoiding pieces of glass from a lamp.
�Where is that damn phone?" the super muttered to himself, searching through the piles of bills and knick-knacks on the countertop. His movements were twitchy, and he glanced more than once at Andre�s corpse and Daniel�s unconscious body.
�You have the answer to that question.�
Daniel shot the other a perplexed look. �What? How would I know where the phone is?�
�No�silly bird,� Walter cocked an eyebrow and chuckled, twirling the dagger once more, �about why he�s here��
�And why would I know that?� He moved out of the way as Frank now searched through fallen cushions. He was leery about the man passing through him again. That feeling was too unnerving.
�Leave the door open long enough and something, or someone will wander through...�
Daniel cocked his head, his tone belligerent. �I know he followed me, Walter! Melanie probably told him where I was."
�No,� Walter said, his attention still upon Frank as the super muttered to himself and continued his quest for the phone. �You misunderstand--as usual. The door I mentioned is not physical.�
�A make-believe door? I don�t understand what you�re talking about!� he threw up his free hand, sick of Walter�s vague illustrations. �How could I be the reason he�s here? This is your world Walter, I really don�t think I have a say of who comes and who goes. Why can�t you speak like a normal person? Just say why he�s here and how he can get out!�
�Oh, but I don�t want him to leave�� Walter said, the softness in his tone belied something deeper, a hunger that rolled beneath like slick oil. Daniel tensed, sensing danger as Walter retreated to the entryway, his pace languid. He rested his hand upon the doorknob. �I think this meeting is long overdue. Personally, I�ve always wanted to thank Mr. Sunderland for saving me that day I was born. If it weren�t for his generosity and benevolence, I wouldn�t have met Mother--or be speaking with you now. I�m very grateful you've brought him to me little bird--�
�But I didn�t DO anything!�
The dagger gleamed and Walter smiled wide. �But you did Daniel�and now my savior and I are going to have a little chat.�
He slammed the door, startling Daniel and Frank with the resounding crack. Freezing in place, Frank eyes flew in the door�s direction, frowning when he could see no cause for the movement.
Walter drifted to the side and spun the blade in his hands, watching. Frank approached the door and Daniel watched through narrowed eyes. He prepared himself to intervene should Walter attack the super.
Swearing, Frank pulled and twisted the doorknob, his breathing unsteady when it refused to budge. �What the hell?� He turned and glanced over the room, grimacing a little when his gaze fell on Andre. It seemed to Daniel that Frank kept looking as someone does when they refuse to look at something horrible, yet, feel drawn regardless--the object catching their gaze almost in defiance. Look at me, Andre�s corpse seemed to say�see how I bleed? See how broken I am? You can�t remember what I look like before do you? Do you? All you see is a pile of faceless mush--of swollen flesh and clotted blood--and this is how you�ll remember me�always�
Something passed over Daniel�s face then--something that amused Walter to the point of laughter. His voice pierced the silence like a gunshot.
In response to the sound, Frank spun with a surprised cry, looking wildly around him. �Who�s there? Who was that?� he craned his head in Daniel�s direction--and Daniel thought for one miraculous second that Frank could see him. However, it seemed the super peered in the direction of his sleeping body--not Daniel himself. He gave a disappointed sigh, glaring at Walter when he sidled close to Frank�s position.
Daniel darted around the ruined couch and stood opposite the killer, preparing to hinder all attempts on the super�s life. �Stop it Walter! Leave him alone and open the door!�
Walter said nothing and grinned. Frank walked in a slow circle and peered down the hallway, scratching his head. Sullivan began weaving forward through the maze of tousled furniture and Daniel mimed his steps. Both men halted beside Frank as the super stood agitated and bewildered in the middle of the living room. As Daniel and Walter glowered at each other, the older man sensed something amiss and took a step back, looking from side to side suspiciously. �Who�s there?� He called again; fear cracked his voice and caused Walter to chuckle.
�Leave him alone!� Daniel hissed, planting his feet and tensed as Walter leaned forward, his breath brushing the fine, silver hairs along Frank�s nape.
�My Savior�do you regret what you did so long ago?� Walter whispered in his ear, the words tender and sweet.
Frank bleated and lurched backwards, falling over the broken coffee table and cutting his hand along a jagged corner. Pale and shaking, he stumbled to his feet and made a cumbersome retreat--clutching his palm as the wound oozed blood. Grabbing a discarded kitchen towel, Frank wrapped the injury, looking around the room with wary eyes. Seeing nothing as before, the super hedged his way toward the exit.
With bored disdain, Walter watched as the super tried the knob again, gracing Daniel with a devious smile as if they shared the same dirty secret. �Do you think I�ll let you go?� Walter circled to the right, his shoulders turning inward and body drooping with each meticulous step. Frank turned in surprise, the motion telling Daniel that he had heard Walter�s words quite clearly.
He was unsure to whom Walter spoke, but he stayed close to Frank; his bat held horizontal in his hands like a staff. �I said, leave�him�alone.� He growled the words, and then flinched as Frank scooted away from him, the older man�s eyes bulging.
�Daniel?� Frank looked at his sleeping body then back to the spot where Daniel now stood, wearing a mask of utter bafflement. �Daniel, I can hear you�where are you?�
He did not question why or how Frank could hear him now; what mattered was that Walter stayed away. He shuffled closer, keeping one eye on Walter, and the other on Frank. �I can�t explain it Frank, but if you can hear me, Walter's here in this room--and I�m pretty sure he wants to hurt you.� Daniel mirrored Walter�s movements as the other man stalked to the side, his steps graceful and cunning. �I�ll keep him away until you can get out, okay?�
�Walter�in here? What the hell is going on?� Frank looked all around him, settling his gaze on Daniel�s sleeping form. �I see you on the floor, but you�re talking like you�re right next to me.� Distracted, he jerked the knob, jiggling it with irritation.
At that moment, Walter stopped circling and dove from the side, swift and deadly like a hawk. With little effort, he threw Daniel out of the way and crushed Frank against the door. His hand wrapped tight around the super's throat. Frank struggled, his head bumping the top frame and his feet kicking as his body slid upward. Walter held him there, watching him writhe and gasp for air--that cruel grin never leaving his face. Frank shouted as Walter tossed him across the room, his cry truncating when he hit the wall and he sagged to the floor, stunned.
And now I�ll wrestle with demons�
Walter strode forward and Daniel tackled him, giving the super a few precious moments to regain his senses.
They rolled on the floor, smacking into splintered furniture and grunting like animals. Walter knocked the bat out of his hands, sending it spinning. Daniel retaliated by socking him in the jaw, wincing as his knuckles tore. He gaped in shock when Walter just laughed at him. The killer�s hands found his throat and squeezed, his face only inches from Daniel�s. His maniacal grin never faltered, the leer filled with teeth and the savage promise of agony. Daniel wheezed and arched, tossing his body to dislodge the other�s hold. Walter grunted as one flailing limb caught him in the face. His grip slackened. Sensing freedom, Daniel rolled to the side, but Walter snarled and backhanded him, using his weight to subdue Daniel�s fidgeting.
After an embarrassingly brief scuffle, Walter won. He pinned Daniel�s arms with one hand and then straddled his waist. Daniel's breath caught as the dagger appeared in Walter�s hands--biting into the soft flesh of his throat, a trickle of blood already flowing. �So, little bird, unable to wait your turn?" he made a �tsk� �tsk� sound, his tone reproving, �again, so impatient�even though it was you who gave him to me�� Walter leaned close, letting his breath caress Daniel�s cheek before whispering into his good ear, �I just wanted to show my appreciation�my love for the one who saved me.�
�Like hell you do! You want to kill him!� Daniel said with a hoarse gasp, and then clamped his mouth shut as the dagger pressed deeper.
A garbled noise of disbelief made Walter pause. He swiveled his head toward Frank who still sat senseless against the wall. He broke into a charming grin when the super stared back in awe.
�Sullivan? Walter Sullivan?� Frank shook his head, his blue eyes huge and face paling even more. Instead of feeling relief, Daniel�s heart sank. If Frank could see Walter--that meant he had �flipped� into this Otherworld. He would be trapped forever until Walter killed him--unless Frank could find a way out somehow. And even then�he thought with grim realization, he might never leave�
To distract Walter from Frank, Daniel squirmed until more blood warmed his collar and Walter leered down. He could feel the weight of the other male pressing, suffocating; the scent of that old coat and Walter�s body made breathing difficult. It was not unpleasant--just overwhelming. At this proximity, Walter�s dark energy flowed inside him, and his body reacted in unusual ways. Instead of shivering from the icy current invading--his body warmed to it. His flesh tingled with pleasure when Walter strained closer. Sullivan gave a soft laugh as Daniel twisted his face in disgust and bucked--attempting to throw the other�s weight off before the effect could spread further. �So, you want to continue this later little bird?� Walter taunted, flexing his hips, �as you wish��
Daniel protested as Walter rose and pulled him along in one motion. They stared at each other: gray eyes against green--two souls entangled and ensnared. For what felt like eternity, they held that position: Walter�s power throbbing against his body and Daniel unable to breathe. Then, Walter sent him flying.
His body hit the wall, hard--plaster pelted his head while gray and pink spots swarmed in front of his eyes. For what seemed like hours, he just sat there, his head ringing with a thousand, angry church bells. Blinking and then wincing from the movement, he saw Walter approach Frank through his hazed vision. The super lurched into motion when he saw the dagger in the killer's hands.
Walter stopped and watched as Frank staggered to his feet and then fell again, unable to keep his balance. Panicking now, the super rolled onto his stomach and dragged himself along the floor. Walter sauntered forward, placing his boot along Frank�s spine and then shoved him face-first into the smelly carpet. The motion was ugly and savage, but Frank only made a sound when Walter kicked him in the ribs--sending him sprawling.
Falling onto his hands and knees, Daniel gave an indignant snarl of warning, one that Walter mocked as he yanked the super by his silver hair and heaved him toward the kitchen counter.
�Stop it! Stop it! I said leave him alone!� Daniel shook his head to clear it, but his balance proved uncooperative when he tried to stand. Frank gave a hoarse scream in pain, and Walter laughed, that callous reaction giving him the motivation he needed to shove the fog away and wobble to his feet.
Walter had Frank on the counter now, pinning him down much like he had with Daniel before. Flailing and thrashing, Frank managed to hit Walter with a solid right hook--but the killer barely flinched. He gripped Frank�s throat with one hand and pointed the dagger above his heart, the tip pressing through the super�s dress shirt and the blood immediately welling.
Frank stilled all motion. He didn't even breathe. They seemed like statues; frozen embodiments of hunter and prey. Walter�s eyes glimmered and the super�s throat bobbed with fear, but his gaze remained hard--focused upon the man above him with razor clarity. Walter pressed close, his words puffing over Frank�s face. �Do you regret it now you old fool?� he said, his tone loving but with edges like serrated blades, �that you saved me so valiantly? If you wanted to show mercy, you should've let me die in that room! I�ve known nothing but misery since! All I had experienced in my former life was sorrow and pain! Every day was a new kind of torture, and every day I went on living and hating you all! No one tossed endearments my way, no praise or kindness. The only ones who cared were the ones who defiled me!"
Walter's voice was a snarl now, and Daniel thought he could see tears glimmering. "I suffered. I bled. I died--" he raged on, "and you! you have no concept of what pain is--of what it means to endure years of searching and yearning for that one thing�that one precious thing would make all the pain worth it. She waited for me to find her...waited and waited until I discovered her secret place. But you denied me�you denied my paradise!�
Frank blanched as Walter screamed and furious tears dripped from the corners of Walter's eyes. The super's cheeks grew pink and fingers clutched at the counter's edge as Walter nuzzled the side of his face. �I blame you entirely Mr. Sunderland.� he voice calming as he continued. He skimmed his teeth along Frank�s earlobe. �All your concern and charity led to every victim--every drop of blood spilled by my hand. They�re all yours Frank--every last one.�
Frank made a noise of protest; a snarling animal sound that would have made anyone flinch, but Walter just kept purring into his ear, his voice quivering. �Yes, they know you�re here--they know you�re coming. All my victims desire your pain�to know the one who began their suffering--the one who started it all. They�ve waited so long for you Mr. Sunderland, and who am I to deny them vengeance?� Walter suddenly bit the soft flesh between his teeth and Frank arched off the counter, a hiss of pain escaping. He did not scream, but his breath came quick and thready, the blood from the dagger spreading with every exhale.
Daniel would never make it in time.
He decided that even as he now stumbled toward them. Walter would plunge the dagger home--and Frank would die.
It was not the guilt or pain he feared afterward--though he expected those sentiments, but it was the fact that Frank�s soul would linger here, chained and bound to the one that murdered him much like those angry spirits surrounding �Mother.� He could not fathom what torture awaited such a fate--but he would never allow Frank to experience it first-hand. If Walter was right, and he indeed was responsible for the super�s presence--then he would somehow set him free. Frank would not suffer because of him.
His emotions surged inside, whipped into frenzy by fear and regret. Everything slowed--time crawled by as if astride a tortoise, the details hyper-real and they spun before his eyes: he saw the dagger as it pressed against skin; the blood as it spread through fibers of clothing, and Frank�s horrified gasp and glassy eyes staring at Walter with vacant disbelief. Daniel could almost imagine what went through his mind now. Frank probably thought he would wake soon--that everything he had experienced was nothing more than a vivid dream. There was no time to tell him otherwise; no time left to warn that the hand upon his throat and blade at his chest were very real.
It began with this jolt of awareness--and then a force hummed deep inside, oscillating from the same place his muse had emerged. Even though that traitorous creature remained hidden, something else bloomed in her place--something cold and dark.
Inside his body was a river; frozen waters thawed and flowed as if spring had arrived. They spilled over, filling his mouth, his nose, pressed against his eyes and surged with his heart. He gasped aloud, falling to his knees and shuddered there on the carpet. The same thought whispered over again in his mind, repeating until it rang inside his skull like a sonorous chant. Free him...save him...send him back...

Something gave within, like a door thrown open to light and heat.
Walter�s enraged bellow resounded through the apartment.
As sudden as the feelings arose--they plummeted. Waters refreezing, returning to their provenance, swirling dark and chilling down some unseen crevice. He felt drained, tired, and his body shook as he struggled to regain his bearings. Walter�s scream of fury hastened his efforts as Sullivan stabbed the counter top beneath him several times; each strike plunged the dagger to the hilt, yet, the blade showed no signs of breaking. Frank was gone.
Relief surged, but it was short-lived. Walter pointed the dagger at him like some mad tribal warrior--eyes wild and round. �Bring him back! He was mine! I had every right to take him! Open the door and bring him BACK!�
Daniel scrambled to his feet and down the hallway just as Walter vaulted around the counter. The flight and capture took only seconds, but every moment seared into his mind like a slow motion film.
He stumbled and fell as the dagger swiped; the arc of the blade skimmed his spine, and cut a long, thin swathe through his shirt. Daniel yelped and careened forward. The bedroom seemed miles away. The light beneath the door glowed with the promise of sanctuary, and was the beacon that hastened his pace.
Walter caught him just as he turned the doorknob. He yanked Daniel's head back and threw him against the wall. Cruel fingers twisted in his hair as Sullivan tossed him to the other side, repeating this motion until Daniel felt like a doll in the mouth of raging pit bull. His hand clashed with a glass frame mounted on the wall. Thick shards of glass dug into his palm and the picture of Andre and Lucia embracing fluttered to the floor. Walter snagged Daniel�s bloody hand and jerked it high behind his back. He shoved Daniel into the living room. He had no time to recover as Sullivan knelt over and smacked his head against the hard floor, knocking him senseless.
The room spun in a tipsy, dazzling circle, and he smeared blood over his face when he cupped his forehead. The sound of Walter�s mocking laugh brought him out of the haze--but it was the weight of the other man pressing against him that gave Daniel full awareness. He struggled in weak, flurried spurts when Walter flipped him over and straddled him like before. The dagger nicked and drew a familiar line of blood across his throat. Walter ducked Daniel's flailing fists and caught one in his hand, bending it until he heard the snap of bone. Daniel�s shriek of agony resounded. Walter let his arm flop to the floor, his smile never faltering. Daniel cradled the injury and attempted to curl around the limb and away from Sullivan�s oppressive weight. The dagger drew more blood as Walter pressed it closer, hissing a warning between clenched teeth. �Move again and I�ll break the other.�
Daniel stopped moving and stared at him, neck arched, breathing hard, and clutched his broken hand to his chest. Walter tipped his head and eased closer, his mouth and body pressing, quivering against Daniel's. Sudden claustrophobia gripped Daniel and he wanted to claw and scream his way free--rid himself of the unwelcome pressure. His hand throbbed with sharp sensation, and he could feel the fragile bones grinding against one another. He made an angry, whining sound, one that Walter smiled at with hungry pleasure. Daniel turned his head as lips brushed over his cheek, breath hot and air ghosting into his ear. He could feel Walter�s hardness straining though his pants, locked tight against his stomach and emanating heat. His words whispered into him, touching that center where power had erupted just a short time ago. Daniel wished he had it now, but the force was exhausted, tired. All he had was his bruised and broken body, with a man intent on killing him on top.
�Do you know what I want, Daniel?� Walter licked a slow circle around his earlobe, sucking gently. The dagger slipped down, no longer at his neck, but began a slow, painful journey over his collarbone, the tip skimming against his flesh. Blood welled, and Daniel gasped as Walter�s hand encased his throat. He could feel Walter smile against his cheek, his words a twisted parody of longing and desire. �I want to feel your flesh give under my blade. I want to hold your body as you writhe beneath me. I want your blood Daniel; I want to feel it coating my hand, slipping through my fingers so warm and red. I want to smell the tang in the air, taste it on my tongue--so pure, sweet�and mine. Every flare of pain, every groan of agony I will treasure. I will be your final thought, the last thing you see before you wake in Mother's arms. Let me have your last breath, little bird�let me love you��
Walter rocked his hips and Daniel groaned in response, feeling his face flush with blood at the way his body reacted. He had no idea why everything below his waist warmed and stirred with the friction--when other parts of him recoiled. The dagger halted its bloody trail and poised above his heart, the tip neatly puncturing his skin. The blade went no further, but Walter�s grip was iron. His pale fingers curled around the hilt in anticipation. Beads of sweat glistened on Walter's forehead, and his eyes appeared unnaturally green, aroused by what he was about to do.
This was like fucking to Walter. Daniel knew it with certainty. The way he breathed and strained against him evinced the other�s desire. The idea that Walter got off on his pain revolted him, and he glared, ignoring the weakness of his body. �Do it then you sick fuck!� he said, his sudden defiance giving him strength. �What are you waiting for? Kill me! Hurt me just like you have everyone else! You sadist--�
The blade slid through his flesh--and Daniel screamed, body rising in inherent reflex as blood soaked the front of his shirt. He twitched as Walter ran the back of his hand over his mouth, brushing his bloodstained lips with a soft caress. It took a moment to realize that he was still alive, and the dagger remained where it was--the blade a little deeper than before. It had yet to cleave through bone, but its target beat wildly only inches away. He could not move--not even a twitch. If he did, the blade would slide home.
Fuck. Walter was going to kill him slowly. He was going to plunge the blade inch by inch until it pierced his heart, riding his thrashing body while he did so.
Fear of torture and agonizing death made all pride scatter, and he wheezed in panic, clutching at Walter�s arm. �Please�just do it!" he pleaded, and hating himself as he did. "Don�t drag it out like this! Just--just--fucking do it!� He squirmed his lower body under Sullivan�s bulk, invoking a sigh of bliss from the other man. Daniel gave a wet cry and shuddered.
The blade slid deeper.
He could not die like this! Not like some trophy animal gutted with loving, twisted precision. His eyes stared at the ceiling, blurring with tears as he realized there was no escaping. Not this time. He could not displace himself in his mind or crawl away from the torture. He closed his eyes, flinching when Walter groaned and nestled his groin against his. Terror and arousal merged, and his body betrayed him; every shift in Sullivan�s position met with pronounced shivers of delight. The mesh of feelings dazed his reactions, and he could only moan, jerking as the blade trembled with Walter�s excitement.
Blood warmed his side, flowing freely now--just like Walter wanted.
How will I see my parents again if I can�t leave this place?�will they know I�m dead? Will anyone know? Will anyone miss me?
�Walter.�
Daniel opened his eyes.
Henry�s voice. That was Henry's voice!
How? How had he known Daniel was here? How did Henry find him? His timing was nothing short of amazing, but Daniel's hope and salvation sounded tired; he sounded defeated, and even though Daniel couldn't see him, he knew that somehow, Henry had tears in his eyes.
Walter jerked his head in surprise and his eyes widened just in time to catch a bullet right between. He pitched backwards with a clipped grunt and his slackening fingers released the dagger as he fell. Daniel grunted and did a sloppy, backward crawl, clutching his wounded chest with his good hand. Blood poured in a steady river and seeped over his fingers. It coated his green shirt a muddy brown. He watched as Henry swept past without looking at him. The slighter male pointed his revolver again, hand shaking as two more bullets chased the first.
Walter took them both without a sound--dying silently and convulsing on the floor. His fingers curled and nails broke as his body twitched. Henry stared at him the entire time, eyes wide and chest hitching with what could have been fear, guilt--or both. It reminded Daniel of someone putting down a rabid pet. A pet they had for years--that they had loved more than anything. Henry had that same look of dread upon his face--of sadness and pity.
The breath rattled in Walter�s throat, loud and moist, but before he died, his brilliant green eyes locked upon Henry's face. How dare you? How dare you do this to me? they seemed to say, and Henry kept staring and breathing, staring and breathing, until Daniel groaned. The noise snapped Henry out of his catatonic state.
�Oh God! I�m sorry Daniel�how bad did he hurt you?� Apologetic, Henry slid the revolver into his back pocket and lifted Daniel from the floor by his good arm. He shouldered most of Daniel's weight without much effort, but he stumbled a little as they both fought for balance. Blood oozed down past the waistband of his pants, and Daniel knew by his light-headed state that he had lost too much. His world spun on a drunken carousal, and his head began to hurt. Wincing, he raised a red-slicked hand to his forehead and leaned on Henry. The other man steadied him, but his manner became urgent as he glanced back at Walter�s body.
�Damn it! He�s already healing!� Henry cried, and began pulling Daniel with him as he made for the door. He continued looking over his shoulder, his face white with terror. �We don�t have much time; I have something that can heal you in my apartment--but getting there�s going to be a problem. They�re coming!�
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Blood Ties