Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

It's the early summer of 2011 and a beer lay idle in Patrick's hand. One night of many drinking alone. For some reason as the days dragged on, he was beginning to feel doubt in his work and love life. A whole album ready to be set out to the world, but he finds himself holding back. Was he truly proud of his work? Could people look at him as an individual instead of 'That one guy from Fall Out Boy'. It was a thought that haunted him frequently. The one person he trusted was his girlfriend, now ex, who left him to this pity party. It was like the world was against him.

He starts to feel a buzz. Good. He keeps chugging beers in hopes that maybe he could forget what his mind kept spewing at him. Self pity is so obnoxious.... worrying is so obnoxious, he thinks. The room has yet to start spinning.

A sudden hand lay on his shoulder. He isn't quick to react; the feeling of bother seems absent.

It's a man's voice, "Hello."

Patrick looks up eventually to see a pale young man in a hoodie, "Yeah?" Patrick says.

"I'm Jackson. I've noticed you frequent this bar quite a bit. I've noticed... how sad you seem."

"Well Jack, thanks for noticing. Feel free to un-notice." Patrick takes another sip of his beer.

"Well, you see, I happen to have a specialty with individuals like yourself. I'm someone who has a special gift. I can have just one simple conversation with specific people, and it will change their lives forever."

"Usually I hear the term of using your words as weapons. Preaching gospel. Persuasion. Yada yada, I don't really believe in that. Although I know my best friend's words have touched a lot of people's hearts. Probably changed them."

"Well, any simple man could have an impact with words. Mine are an instant guarantee."

Patrick chuckles, "Yeah what are you, a magician?"

"No, I'm a demon." Jackson says bluntly.

The musician coughs out another laugh and looks at the young man, "What?"

"Your band is on hiatus, but the best friend of whom you speak, Peter Wentz, had originally planned for it to be the end of the band. Your girlfriend for almost two years dumped you because she had started to travel a lot. You were convinced she was cheating. You're finished with your debut record although you have doubts on its success and if you even want to release it."

Patrick's head swims. This couldn't have been real. How could he know... all that. He vigorously rubs his forehead before whispering, "How?"

"There's many eyes and ears who have been following you for a while. Like I said, I can give you what you want. Self confidence and a guarantee that your band will reform and become more successful than ever."

It must be a dream or delusion, Patrick thinks. Maybe this 'demon' represents the confidence that could be so easily granted to him if he just stopped over thinking and dreading all the negative things that may or maynot come. He definitely needs it at this point in time.

He takes a minute before humoring this figment of his imagination, "Uh, sure."

"Come with me." He says. Patrick follows the man out the door and to the back alley.

Patrick's head feels heavy. Maybe he did have enough to drink or too much. The world around him seems to start bouncing in and out of haze.

"Alright, here's fine." Jackson says.

The musician starts to feel tired. If he feels tired, maybe he'll sleep later. He comes to the conclusion that this had to have been a delusion. He slaps his face a couple of times just to stay awake and pay attention to.... His conscious? The voice in his head? Whatever this person was supposed to be.

"Patrick Stump," Jackson starts, "Through hard work and a simple dream, you managed to find success in starting a band-"

So the dude was gonna preach his wikipedia page, Patrick thinks. He lets himself drift in and out of consciousness. His delusion's calm voice definitely catered to that.

A few minutes go by until Patrick notices Jackson hold out a contract, "I hereby grant you happiness, determination, optimism, and success."

If Pete was there, he would have told Patrick to read the fineprint, but it wasn't real.

Patrick takes the paper. He feels it between his fingers. He had to have been genuinely holding something.

"Wait." The musician says, "This... is this real?"

Jackson walks closer up to Patrick, proceeding to place both of his hands on the side of the confused man's face.

He nods slowly, "This is real, Patrick."

Patrick could feel Jackson's cold hands on his skin. He closes his eyes for a second and takes a breath, "You're a... what. Wait." He steps back.

The demon takes a pen out of his pocket, "I've told you all the words you have to hear. This paper states that you've listened."

Patrick blinks a couple of times and tries his hardest to process everything, "You... how could I believe you? If you're real, you're probably fuckin' scamming me."

Jackson blinks and instead of green irises, they were a glowing red. In fact, his whole eyes were red while his irises were a lighter shade.

Patrick's head starts to hurt. A demon. Demon's are real. He can't even begin to process everything. He wasn't sure if he was scared or surprised.

The demon's eyes flash back to green as he says, "Please, Patrick. I can give you what you truly need. I can give you your life back. The good part of your life. All of your positive emotions. There will be a price to pay, but it isn't in money. It's not anything that will happen anytime soon. You will live and thrive for now."

Patrick takes a second to really think about it. This actual.. physical demon... could give him what he needs to keep pushing on. But the repercussions...

"What will happen to me?" He asks.

Jackson gives Patrick the pen, "Nothing that will be worse than death." He smiles.

Patrick doesn't understand what that means, but he signs the contract.

"Very good." The demon says, "Tomorrow will be a fresh start. You'll feel so much better. Get that album out." He winks before taking the contract and walking down the alleyway.

Patrick stands for a minute to try and truly comprehend what happened. He watches Jackson turn the corner. The musician fast walks to see where this... demon went. As he looks around the corner, he sees no one there.

~

Fast forward to early 2013. Save Rock and Roll had been a success and the boys were about to go on tour. They spent less than a week figuring out who would tour with them. They had come to the conclusion of Panic! At the Disco and Twenty One Pilots. Patrick had been doing well and had almost forgotten how he got to such a positive point.

Meetings and rehearsals were set. The three groups of men all sat down to discuss and plan. It was a couple days before tour and Patrick couldn't have been more ecstatic to hit the road.

~

Patrick gets the last of his clothes together for tour. A smile is constantly plastered on his lips. The past few years were absolutely amazing to him. This tour in and of itself was definitely something he couldn't have fathomed back in 2011.

He goes into the kitchen and decides to take out the trash. A task he used to be fairly annoyed at, but now it seemed like any other thing.

He walks out of his apartment trash bag in hand. He tosses the bag in one of the dumpsters around the corner of the building. As he begins to walk back, the world goes blank. A sack is placed over his head and before he knows it, he's knocked out.

He wakes up in what seems to be a dusty, small warehouse. The lights are dim as he sees the shadows of figures in the distance. He looks down at himself and notices he's tied to an old wooden chair. His heart rate starts to speed up as the figures draw closer. The only one he could recognize immediately is Jackson. He couldn't forget that face and deal. He starts to wonder if that's what this was about.

"Patrick." Jackson says with a grin, "It's good to see you. It's been a while."

"What the fuck is this?" Patrick says bluntly.

"Your time is up. I told you it would come eventually."

Patrick stays silent for a while... realizing that it is true. There was a sort of time stamp placed on this deal, but so soon? What was going to happen to him?

"What's gonna happen now, huh? No, better question, why is your time absolutely shitty?" Patrick spits. With his reamped personality, there was no dwelling or worrying. He would not take this, not when he was about to go on tour. Not when his life was starting to pick back up.

"You didn't read the contract, Patty. It said clearly, when the current leader is no more, there must be a new one."

"New what?"

"Ruler of hell. Nail him down, boys." Jackson finishes as a group of demons flock around Patrick.

They all hold sharp metal nails in one hand and hammers in the other. The nails are hovered over Patrick's arms before being shoved down in his flesh and harshly hammered. The pain is excruciating as Patrick screams.

"Pain must be induced. It's the first step in the process. We are artificially making you a ruler."

Patrick barely even listens over the pain. He begins to sweat profusely.

Another set of demons come in; one holding a pair of headphones. They place the pair on top of the musician's head.

"Now, Patrick, the sounds that will shortly be emitted through these headphones will start to manipulate your mind. The most important part of the process."

A demon hands Jackson a remote and he proceeds to push a button. Patrick begins to cringe as the sounds are indiscernible and loud. He picks up on several different frequencies and tones. The jumbled noise causes his skin to crawl.

This process continues. Every so often Jackson would dial it down, then off, then on again. The various demons surrounding Patrick carved into his skin with knives. One even had a taser. When the sound died down, he would get a shock through his system. This goes on for almost an hour. Patrick begins to feel weak. His eyes are bloodshot; saliva and sweat dribble down his chin. His body coming ever so close to shutting down.

There was ten minutes of complete silence. At this point, he truly wished for death. He then feels a hand on his chin, raising his head up. His eyes meet with Jackson's. He would spit on the fucker if he could.

"One more push, Mr. Stump. One more big go. I have a feeling this will be a success." He holds up a syringe with dark liquid inside and injects it into Patrick's neck. His body starts to feel like it's on fire. The sounds erupt through the headphones at a piercing frequency. His hearing starts to fade rapidly.

The world around him begins fading to black as he sees a group of demons holding large blades. Before his eyes shut, he watches the 6 or 7 demons thrust the sharp objects into his body.

Death approaches rapidly as he feels the solid manifestation of his soul hit the dusty purgatory ground below. He begins to transform into a yellow eyed demon. That process alone rattled his core as he could feel a brand new power build inside him.

The door to hell opens to reveal a very smug Jackson. His eyes glowing that familiar red Patrick remembers from years ago. Black horns protrude from his forehead and parts of his skin are dusted in a soot like substance.

Jackson begins to speak, "Welcome to he-" His words are cut short as Patrick's hand plunges through his chest ripping out his heart.

The red eyed demon turns to ashes at his feet.