Round 2 Written Part 2 Preview

He didn't need to see the darkness to know the lights were out. He didn't need to feel the soft fabric to know what he wore. He didn't need to feel the rapidly beating heart against his back or the warm arms around his chest to know who was there. The walls would be the same; the sounds would be the same. The smell would be the same. Everything would be the same.

"I'm sorry"

The words whispered in his ear confirmed it. The nightmare had returned. He would open his eyes and be in the same room, on the same bed, with that same body laying there, the stains soaking the bed. Those arms, as well. They would also be drenched in blood. That same blood, and that same voice, always saying those same words,

"I'm sorry."

He shivered, the air growing colder and colder. How many times must he revisit this place? How long would it torment him? The memory clawed at his mind like a rabid animal, creating deeper and deeper gashes in his psyche. Breathing became more difficult and his heart pounded in his ears, blocking out the voice which whispered softly beside him.

Head swimming, he began to feel faint. There was only one way to end this. He had to finish the dream on his own terms. Time and time again it ended after he screamed. He tried, but his voice caught in his throat. Half open, he gasped like a fish out of water, mouth flapping uselessly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the light switch. Flicking it would cause him to scream. It always did. The sight of the blood, the cold yet comforting sensation of the arms on his chest vanishing, and the smell, dear god, that horrid smell of death that crept deep within your mind and ate at your soul. The switch would reveal it all in an instant, and the dream would end.

"Don't turn on the light."

Beyond the pounding in his ears, he felt the words more than heard them. He had ignored them every time. His had crept closer to the switch, inching desperately for the release it would grant. Eyes wide and panicky, Lawrence felt his face stretch into silent laughter.

"...stop."

Lawrence felt his had freeze, his fingertips ever so slightly brushing the switch. That voice was not in the dream.  The other, softer voice had called out before, but this... this was not that one. It was not panicked or afraid, but full of authority. Yet it remained quiet, as though it were a passing afterthought of the speaker. Lawrence began to breathe again, not sure when he's stopped. The smile left is face in an instant, though blood still pounded in his ears.

Had it been the body? This was a dream, after all. The dead could speak in dreams. Had he heard the owner's voice? It was a male voice; of that much he was certain. Yes, yes perhaps the body had been agreeing with the person holding him. Lawrence turned back towards the bed, focusing his attention on the corpse he knew to be there. The pressure on his chest increased as the arms kept him from leaning further forward. His eyes strained in the blackness, trying to make out the features, catch a mouth movement, anything. He desperately wished for light.

It came. Silent lightning cast through a window on the opposite side of the bed illuminated the room in a stark black and white detail. This had never happened before. Was there even supposed to be a widow there? Had there been that long ago? Lawrence had these thoughts come and go in an instant, as the image of the room was burned into his memory in a detail unlike before.

The body was still there. That powerful frame, clothes stained black with blood, the harsh light allowing no room for color. Deep shadows hid the emotion that the face carried, and the stray wisps of hair left on the head reflected a brilliant white. Sheets stained as black as the clothes formed a twisted pattern in the light, matching the pale arm now resting on Lawrence's lap. This hadn't changed. The body was not speaking. The voice belonged to the figure across the bed.

There was no reason for anyone else to be in this room. There had never been someone before, yet in that sudden flash of lightning; a seated figure was sharply outlined, casting a shadow across the bed. The light vanished as quickly as it came, yet Lawrence continued to stare at the place where he knew the figure to be seated. One minute. Two minutes, Five minutes passed in absolute silence. Even the figure holding Lawrence had ceased to apologize. Time had seemed to cease entirely.

The silence was not broken, but eased away with a gentle rustling. The sounds grated on Lawrence's nerves, as though it was not the gentle rustle of cloth, but instead the harsh grind of sandpaper. Another moment passed in silence, and then there was a small pop and hiss causing Lawrence to jump in his seat, held down only by the silent figure behind him. A small flame had ignited in the face of the sitting figure, illuminating the jaw line and eyes briefly before retreating to glowing embers.

A cigarette. The figure had lit a cigarette. Nothing wrong with that. Guy just needed a smoke.

Except there had been no lighter.

Or match.

Still, this was a dream, right? His dream.

Give or take an extra person, it was the same as before.

An extra person who didn't need a lighter to light a cigarette.

Lawrence began to get the giggles. They welled up, and bubbled to the surface. Small at first, then louder and longer, until there was nothing but a series of high pitched squeals escaping his lips. His eyes were wide open with fear, and he rocked slowly back and forth in place, holding his sides as though he feared losing his body to this dream. This continued for several minutes, until silence once again fell upon the room.

The glow of embers grew brighter for a moment and moved to the side. There was a deep exhaling, and the smell of smoke permeated the room. The figure, his mouth now free of obstructions, spoke once again.

"Good. Now that you've calmed down, we can discuss exactly what you were doing in my head."