Folie a Deux

When morning arrived bringing a warmn sunlight, Patrick in his sore and pathetic feeling state opened his green eyes and stared around at the lonely room bathed in stinging light. Either Pete had made a runner to avoid him, not wanting to face the morning result or he was somewhere in the small house, creating a mess of clothes and papers. Either way he wasn't pleased about the morning.

His face felt heavy as he heaved himself up, stumbling slightly as the blood rushed from his head in a sudden. Like a zombie he walked to the kitchen, desperately trying to avoid looking at anything reflective or anyone.

He tiredly poured himself a bowl of cereal, stuffing spoonfuls in his mouth without caring about the spillage down his chin. His hunger was almost eating its self.

"Don't choke".

Patrick didn't look up, in fact he acted like he had heard nothing. That made the sound was from the neighbors. He couldn't tell whether he was angry, embarrassed or frustrated. Maybe it was all.

"I'm sorry about last night" the ignored man said, sitting across from him with a coffee.

"Stop saying that" Patrick mumbled, mouthful.

Pete went silent and looked at his fingers. A good thing about him was he listened to your wishes not to rock the boat.

The man carried on eating until he stopped, bowl clean and finished.

"You haven't seen him have you?". There was a chance if Patrick was seeing the guy he'd once been, that Pete would see the guy he'd been.

His friend slowly shook his head. That made him feel more uneasy and maybe that it was paranoia. Maybe a memory had been that strong, it didn't make sense. Madness was one hell of a thing.

He buried his face in his hands, not able to control the belt of shaking that overcame him. His stomach was mushing and turning. He couldn't be losing the plot this young in life. He wasn't even in a relationship. His heart hurt at the feeling. What was happening to him? Nervous breakdown?

He let out a breath when he felt Pete wrap his arms around him, trying to calm him with calm words. His friend was always there to help him in anyway he could. He felt like Pete had always been there, sharing everything he'd been through. Even though he couldn't remember much, he knew him and Pete were somehow tied. He felt so safe in his friend's arms as if he could take away all the pain and fear.

"What if I'm going mad again?" Patrick whispered looking at Pete "I can't remember all, but I remember enough. Enough to make me not want to go down that path" His eyes briefly flickered to Pete's chest where he knew underneath lay a scar over Pete's heart "I know in my heart I'm responsible for your scars, I just don't know why".

Pete shock his head "No, you're not going their again. We escaped that land, you're free. This is where we belong. We were born here".

"But we hardly remember this place. Its changed so much look".

Pete held him tighter. It was his job to keep Patrick's mind away from the thoughts of madness.

He was used to his friend doing this. He was however the only one who could help him. The sick feeling to realize no medicine or help would work.

"Listen Patrick, Benzedrine is all in your head. He's a fucked up memory you need to forget and compel. YOU are Patrick Stump, a stunning singer who plays music and instruments and that has a sexy bass playing friend named Pete".

Patrick couldn't help a smile from passing his lips and he rolled his eyes at drama queen Pete. "I'm edgy on the last part"

Pete pushed his shoulder playfully and returned to his chair.

"What if I see him again?".

"Ignore him, see what he does. I'm sure its nothing".

The small man nodded, face frowning in frustrated thought. He tried to think, but again the feeling of a block in his brain.

"What Patrick?"

"You sure you haven't you seen…" Patrick began to say, but cut off as Pete looked disgusted.

"No now stop".

With that Patrick nodded and left. Maybe some fresh air would do his head good and clear what thoughts began to cloud it like a sickness.

He pulled on his jacket tightly as the sharp wind pulled at his hair and clawed at his face. Somehow the shards of icy wind helped him relax and focus on the simple suburb scenery.
Happy families, swaying greenery, birds chatting. It was normal. It was an everyday life, but to Patrick it all felt so new. He wasn't used to the freshness or peaceful atmosphere. It was like a dream of everything he had wished for. Somehow he knew his past life missed out on this luxury and it scared him to think what it might have been like.

He shock his head refusing to dwell on the past, the cold dead past that was for a reason locked away. Somehow if he ever unlocked it, he knew all to well demons would escape.

He sat beside the stream nearby, silently watching a family tossing ducks bits of bread. He bit his lip watching as the children laughed and looked at their parents with huge eyes of wonder.

He'd never truly known his parents. He'd been too young to remember much. Sometimes images of a man and woman would cloud his dreams and instinct screamed he knew them, but they were long dead. The times of the world he had escaped from were triple of what was here. It had taken months to realize over 100 years had passed while he was still a 27 year old and looked not a day over 20. He still wondered if his parents had searched for him. There was no contact to his siblings and for once his life had an empty hole that was ever ending.

But yes, he would not dwell on the hurtful past. He had to keep telling himself this. He decided to look to the stream, eyes taking in ever ripple, every reed and floating leaf, but just like in the car his mind zoned out.

The once clean crystal stream in his vision was now a flowing green river. Chunky, oozing, snot like mucus was flowing down the land. Just then he heard a splash as a girl ran into the river. Her helpless screams and thrashing fell on deaf ears as people nearby watched with unconcerned interest. It was cruel to see the girl gasping as the goo filled her lungs, choking, suffocating and dragging her down.

"Its so so tragic, but beautiful. Oh Doctor wouldn't there be an easier way" a low dull and rough voice drifted in.

To his side stood the dark and tragic Mr. Sandman. So beautifully terrifying in his dark tight clothes, long black boots, a chilling cape, a fanned out collar and who could ignore that pained smile of death. He was a true prince.

"I wouldn't know" Patrick said, his voice coming out in Dr. Benzedrine's mad coo. He'd tried his best to ignore the yellow radiating from him in harassment, almost sparking against the dark aura of his best friend.

"You know how their bodies suffer, please tell me again" Mr. Sandman said with a sad smile.

He looked at the bank they stood on his eyes going out to the settling bubbles of the girls last
breath of oxygen.

"The goo suffocates them, clogging and filling their lungs and nose. Its toxic as well, poisoning their blood, shutting down their organs. The gasping and thrashing only makes it worse".

Mr. Sandman sighed and rested his chin on his shoulder "What a waste of their organs. I know so much you'd love to have them, more or less in your hands" his cold hand squeezed one of his with pleasant chills. Somehow Sandman's dark touch was comforting even if upsetting for many. He liked it too much.

"Mm you know me too well" he said, a mad smile filling his features.

Patrick snapped back into his body gasping. Panic surged through him as the world around him died back to normal. Sweat soaked his clothes to him and uncontrollable trembles took hold of him.

What had just happened? He'd just remembered a memory. Watching innocent people drown and finding some sort of pleasure out of it. And there, Pete had been there, something so terrifying and depressing.

"FUCK YOU BENZEDRINE" Patrick snarled, not caring if anyone heard "Get out of my mind. Stay away from me".

He stumbled up confused and disorientated. All his mind could do was let him run, but as he ran he began to hear voices. They kept saying and talking about his love for organs, how he craved every patients organs just on approach. His sick and twisted mind was churning his stomach to dangerous moments and all he remembered was him smashing into the door which opened and collapsing onto Pete before everything went black.