Heaven Help You

He waited until they turned the lights off. It meant that the others would be asleep and so it wouldn't matter what he did.

His feet whispered across the linoleum tiles as he shuffled down the hall. He was hoping that no one would notice him. He wanted to just be like a shadow or a ghost drifting seemingly aimless, but always with a purpose in mind. Always the purpose that kept him going.

He stopped at a door and stared at it. It was clearly labeled claiming that it led to the stairwell. He reached out tenatively and his fingers brushed the handle that would lead to some kind of escape. He wondered if there was an alarm attached to it.

He didn't care.

Let them catch him.

Maybe they would end him then.

Jonathon finally pushed his hand against the handle and slowly forced the door open. There was no alarm however. The silence of the ward remained unbroken. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder as his feet shuffled foward carrying his body into the stairwell and up the steps without hesitation. He didn't want to go down. He wanted to go up. He knew going up wouldn't lead him to Heaven but maybe if he was lucky he might get close before he plunged into the fires of hell.

A window came into view after the third flight of stairs and he came to a stop looking at the window. There were no bars, but from his angle all he could see was the bright moon shining through at him, beckoning him onward. He felt his heart give a thrill as he slowly took one step forward. Then again. Another step. A final step and he was at the same level as the window.

There was a little ledge, big enough for someone to sit on if they tried hard enough.

It couldn't hurt could it?

It couldn't hurt to sit there for a little while.

Could it?

He slid onto the window's ledge and uncertainly leaned back against the window before he closed his eyes, allowing the moon's light to simply envelope him in the closest thing he had felt to peace since he had...since he had done what he had done.

Unconsciously, almost as if to show his ease instead of any kind of frantic urgency," his fingers began to tap against his leg. Two. One. Three. Two. One. Th-

"What are you playing?"

The quiet question struck him and his whole body jerked, dark eyes going wide in shock. A soft whimper escaped his throat as his eyes darted around, not catatonic like they usually were but active and demanding of the area around him until they fell on the little blonde girl who was sitting on the staircase that led further upward. He didn't know how she had gotten there or when. Maybe she was a ghost. Maybe she was an angel. No, she couldn't be an angel because if she was an angle wshe would know not to come near him.

So maybe she was a ghost.

"Your fingers," the girl continued. "You were playing something right? Like this?" She repeated the movements he had made and he felt something not quite like anger growing inside of him. He felt hurt and betrayed that someone would dare to use his motions was absurd.

His fingers twitched wanting desperately to make the movements that only moments before had flown easily. "What's wrong?" the girl asked, her face twisting into a question of concern.

His hands shot up, fingers tangling in his hair as he made a strangled sound. He shot off the ledge and fled down the stairs. He had to do something. He had to get it back.
As he ran, those three sweet numbers, the very ideal of his comfort echoed mockingly in his mind.

Two. One. Three. Two. One. Three.