Oh, God.
He didn't want to see who was there, didn't want to know. His only thought now was for Ginger. Ryan ignored the tilting floorboards, and kept walking. It was no more difficult than trying to walk after a few drinks, he told himself, and he'd never fallen over drunk. Yet.
I can do this.
Ryan walked carefully to Fizz's doorway, determined to reach it, tilting floorboards be damned. When he looked into the room, he saw Ginger, standing in the centre. Ryan looked around in surprise; the room had changed. It wasn't the same run-down, shabby old room. The walls were plain, clean. There were beds, lots and lots of single beds, all lined up against the walls, with neatly-folded, white sheets laid on top. Fizz sat on one of those beds, about the same place where his mattress had been. The boy's chest heaved in great gulps, and Ryan heard wheezing.
"Shit," he muttered. "Fizz? Are you—"
Fizz looked up. Eyes of dark brown fixed on him, and a knowing smile played on his lips.
It's not Fizz. Ryan didn't know how to explain it, but he felt certain.
Whoever that was, it wasn't Fizz. Those dark eyes shifted, resting on Ginger as the boy lifted his arms, the way a child might do for its parent. Ryan's gaze snapped back to Ginger. A worm of anxiety curled in his belly. He opened his mouth to call Ginger, then froze as he saw what looked like blood seep up from the floor. It collected in a small puddle around Ginger's feet. Ryan's heart caught in his throat.
Was Ginger hurt? But no, he couldn't be. He was unharmed, as far as Ryan could see. That pool of blood on the floor wasn't his. Even so, the blood was rising, like a pot overflowing, and it simmered. Ryan watched, stunned, as a drop of blood lifted from the floorboards, and shot upwards, like gravity reversed. His eyes followed the motion, and he gasped when he saw a larger stain of blood on the ceiling. It was bright red, vivid in colour, growing bigger and faintly pulsing. The stain was darkest right over Ginger's head, and Ryan feared it would break at any moment.
"Daniel," he choked out. "Daniel! Come here..."
Ginger turned slowly, his eyes dull and flat. He didn't move, only regarded Ryan with a dazed expression.
"Daniel." Ryan reached his hand into the room. The air felt thick, as if it was trying to push him back. "Daniel, please. Come here!"
"Go away," the boy growled. Ryan glanced at him, fearing what he might do. Those eyes were too dark. It's not Fizz. But he'd made the mistake of breaking eye contact with Ginger, and when Ryan looked back, he saw Ginger was once again facing Fizz. The boy opened his arms wider, and smiled.
"Daniel," Ryan pleaded, but it didn't do any good. Ginger went to Fizz, falling on the bed with him in a tangle of limbs. Fizz chuckled as he closed his arms around him.
"Daniel, no!" Ryan stepped into the room. Blinding pain lashed across his face, and he cried out. He felt the cuts on his cheek split open as something warm slicked down his face. Ryan stumbled against the wall. With shaking fingers, he touched his cheek. It was wet, sticky. When he looked at his fingers, they were covered in blood.
How could this be happening? The pain felt real enough; his cheek sang with pain. Ryan's temples began to thump to the rhythm of his heartbeat, his blood running down his face. In desperation, Ryan pleaded with the boy, the boy who wasn't Fizz. "Why are you doing this?"
A low, dirty chuckle answered him. Fizz had Ginger laid out beneath him, straddling his body. His hands played through Ginger's long hair, then tugged at his T-shirt, pulling at the neckline and exposing skin. The boy lowered his mouth, turning his face to look at Ryan as he darted his tongue out, licking Ginger's shoulder. "You want this, Ryan. You should have taken it while you could, but it's too late now."
"Stop it!"
That laugh again. It seemed to swirl around the room, permeate through the walls and rattle the very pipes in the building. "No one tells me what to do." The boy turned his face and ran his tongue over Ginger's lips.
Ryan's eyes widened. "Fizz, stop it! Daniel!"
Ginger closed his eyes. Fizz's tongue pressed between his cousin's placid lips, pushing inside his mouth. Ryan's body started to tremble, though not with fear, with anger. The pool of blood on the floor was still dripping up, collecting on the ceiling.
So much red.
All Ryan could focus on was someone else kissing Ginger. Someone else taking what he wanted. Red heat lined his vision until he saw crimson. The smell of sulphur burned his nose when he drew in a breath and, with fists clenched, he surged forward.
Ryan had never hit anyone before—had never wanted to—but the cloud of rage propelled him, guiding his hand as he grabbed a handful of Fizz's hair, yanking the boy up. His right hand clenched into a fist, swung round, and punched Fizz so hard Ryan felt the impact shudder all the way to his shoulder. He gasped from the pain, and the heat of his anger faded with the shock. Fizz fell back, blood spurting from his nose. He laughed.
Ryan looked down at him as the boy opened his eyes. His tongue snaked out to lick the fresh blood off his lips. "Ryan," he purred. "Do that again."
Ryan backed away. "Stop it! Who the fuck are you?"
Fizz writhed in the face of Ryan's anger, half closing his eyes. He moaned softly, and the sound made Ryan pause. What the hell? Was Fizz getting off on this? The boy laughed again, the sound low and mocking.
Ryan turned to Ginger, who still lying on the bed. He looked up at Ryan almost sleepily, his lips parted and shiny.
"Oh, yes." Fizz chuckled from behind them, yet his voice seemed to be everywhere at once. "Isn't this what you wanted, Ryan? A bed together, just the two of you. Go on, touch him. I won't tell a soul."
Ryan's resolve wavered. The last of his anger faded as lust swept in, replacing one molten heat with another. The air around him felt thick and warm. It was like stepping into a dream, a fantasy. This can't be happening. Ryan leant forward, his eyes drawn to Ginger's lips, desperate to taste. His tongue wet his lips at the thought of claiming that pretty mouth. He so wanted to taste. His fingers reached down, grasping handfuls of red hair, sifting through the soft tresses.
Something dripped, red on red. Ryan blinked. Another drip of red, barely discernible in Ginger's hair. Still Ryan leaned in. This was his dream; he wanted this. Beneath him, eyes of hazel brown fluttered open, luring him in further. Ryan pressed his lips over Ginger's, just the softest touch. Did he dare take more? So many of his dreams started out like this. Ryan whimpered with sheer longing, but before he closed his eyes completely, he saw a spot of red appear on Ginger's cheek. Reluctantly, Ryan lifted his head. His eyes cleared, focussing on the drop of blood that had landed on Ginger's pale skin. Another drop spattered next to it.
Looking up, Ryan bit back a cry as he saw the stain of blood on the ceiling had followed them; bubbling and churning over their heads. If that was a cloud, it was about to start raining blood any second now. This was no dream, he realised; it was a nightmare.
"Daniel, wake up," Ryan said firmly. "We need to go." He grabbed Ginger's arm, using all his strength to haul him up. Ginger clung on, staggering against him. "Quick," Ryan hissed. He didn't look behind them, not even when he heard Fizz call out. Droplets fell, spatters of red on the floorboards. Ryan slid his arm around Ginger's waist, and pulled him away. The blood started raining down, bringing with it a rank stench of sulphur. Ryan gasped, then promptly closed his mouth. Blood, he thought, as his mind panicked. Don't swallow it. Get out, now.
The blood rained hard, and Ryan slipped on the floor. Ginger was too heavy to hold up. Ryan couldn't hold him, not like this. He almost toppled, then a strong arm shot out and steadied them both. A man had appeared on Ginger's other side. Ryan blinked through the lashings of red rain, staring.
The man looked back at him—that stranger in the mirror!—and he nodded once. His expression set, and his lips pressed thin as he heaved his arm back and pushed. A force harder than a freight train knocked Ryan off his feet. Everything blurred as it rushed past him. He shouted in alarm, desperately trying to keep hold of Ginger. The h
ard impact of the floor slammed against his back, making Ryan gasp. He grunted as Ginger's added weight came down on top of him.
Ryan blinked his eyes, surprised to see they were out on the stairwell, not in the pigeon loft at all.
That man had given them one hell of a shove.
"Daniel?" Ryan manoeuvred them around so he could check on Ginger. There was no blood, nothing on him, but Ginger lay on the floor as boneless as a ragdoll. "Daniel? Are you—" Ryan leaned over him, tears springing to his eyes. "Oh, God."
Ginger's eyes opened halfway, fixing on Ryan. His lips moved, and Ryan had to lower his head to hear.
"Wh-what?" he asked, voice shaking. "Daniel, what—"
"Sleepy," he whispered. "Just had to say..."
"What?" Ryan blinked, his tears falling onto Ginger's face.
"You," he breathed, closing his eyes. "It's you, Ry. Should've said... before."
"Daniel?" Ryan cupped his face. "Daniel!"
He didn't respond. Ryan dared to lift an eyelid, but he wasn't sure what to check for. The hazel brown pupil stared straight ahead, dull, unresponsive. Ryan let the eyelid close.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
He tapped the side of Ginger's cheek. "Daniel? Daniel, please, don't do this to me."
Still no response.
This couldn't be happening. Ryan's tears dried up as panic gripped him. He had to do something. Ginger wasn't having a mental breakdown, so this had to be a medical problem. Ambulance. The thought lit up like a beacon in his mind. He had to call for an ambulance.
Ryan pulled himself up, glancing down at Ginger on the floor. He was torn, unwilling to leave him there, but he knew he had to. Stupidly, he'd left his mobile phone down in the bar. The nearest telephone was downstairs. The nearest person, however, was Matt, in the kitchen.
Chapter 17
"Matt!" Ryan burst into the kitchen. "MATT!"
"Hang on." Matt pulled a cage of sizzling chips from the deep fat fryer. "What?"
"Call an ambulance! Now!"
"Huh? What's wrong?"
Ryan was already out of the kitchen. Matt left the chips, and followed him. "Ryan? Is it Fizz?"
"No." Ryan's voice wavered. "It's Daniel, he—he's collapsed."
"He what?"
"Just go downstairs and call the ambulance!" Ryan shouted, diving back through the staff door. He charged up the stairs, not wanting to leave Ginger for a second longer. What if Fizz came out of the pigeon loft? What if he did something more to Ginger? Ryan tripped on the stairs, fell and banged his knee. He cursed, but he didn't stop.
When he reached the landing, Ginger was in the same place Ryan had left him. Ryan fell to his knees next to him, whispering, "Daniel? Daniel, we're calling the ambulance. We should've called it before; I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
Low laughter filtered out from the pigeon loft. Ryan looked up, into a darkened hall. The pigeon loft seemed to absorb all the light, and was growing darker. A figure stepped into its hallway.
Fizz.
"Ryan," he called. "Come here? I want to say sorry."
"Go away!" Ryan shouted, leaning over Ginger protectively. "Just... fuck off! Go back inside your fucking room and stay there!"
Laughter answered him. "I'm not going anywhere... yet."
"Please." Ryan choked on a sob. "What have you done?"
Movement flickered in front of him. Ryan blinked in surprise, twice. The first blink, there was no one there. The second blink, a person stood with their back to him, facing into the pigeon loft. Ryan recognised the dark green military jacket, the scruff of brown hair.
It's that man.
A growl came from inside the pigeon loft, sounding almost animalistic. "What do you want?"
"You're hurting them," the man said gruffly. "Stop it."
"No. This is my chance, Martin, don't you see?"
"You're not coming out." The man waved his hand, and Ryan watched the door to the pigeon loft slam shut.
Relief flooded him. Fizz—or whoever the hell that boy was—had been kept away. Ryan realised that the man was trying to protect him. Ryan wanted to ask who he was, but the words stuck in his throat. As the man turned to look down at him, Ryan saw a dark patch of blood stain his chest. It dripped over the brass buttons, seeping down his clothes. "I can't hold him for long," the man said, then he vanished.
Ryan blinked. The stairwell was empty, just as before. He looked around, but the man really had vanished into nothing.
"Oh, shit." Ryan grabbed for Ginger's hand. "Daniel? Shit, Daniel, you got to wake up. I think—I think I'm going mad." He tried to feel for a pulse, but his own was beating too loud. Ryan leant down instead, holding his breath, and placed his ear against Ginger's chest.
A faint thud was music to his ears. "Thank God," he breathed. Ginger was breathing, but he was still unconscious. "Just hold on, Daniel," he said. "I'm going to sort this all out."
The door down the stairs opened. "Ryan?" Pete called.
Pete!
"Here!" Ryan called back.
Pete heaved himself up the stairs. When he got to the landing, he glanced down at them before dropping to his knees. "I just got back. What happened?"
"I don't know," Ryan said honestly. "He just—he collapsed. He's breathing, but he won't wake up."
"Okay." Pete crouched at Ginger's other side. "Matt's calling an ambulance. Let's put him in recovery. You get his legs."
Ryan cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner. He moved and, with Pete's help, they shifted Ginger onto his side. Pete had done a first-aid course, but a long time ago. He'd been happy for Ginger to take over that duty. Not that it helped them much now, but Ryan hoped Pete remembered enough to help until the ambulance arrived.
Pete arranged Ginger's arms, bending one elbow to support his own head. Ryan positioned Ginger's legs, the bottom one out straight, the other bent to keep the body from moving back and forth. He kept his hand on Ginger's thigh, desperate to stay in physical contact.
"Where's Fizz?" Pete glanced at the pigeon loft. "And why's the door shut?"
"He—um, he..."
"Guys?" Matt's voice called, as his boots stomped up the stairs. "How old is Ginger?"
"Thirty-two," Ryan and Pete answered together.
Matt came up the stairs, cordless phone in hand. He would've had to have gone into the basement's office to get the cordless. "Thirty-two," Matt said into the phone. "Hello? Sorry, you're breaking up. Hello?"
"Shit," Ryan cursed. "Matt, the reception doesn't work up here! Go back down."
"What?"
"Go back downstairs!"
"Okay, okay." Matt retreated, staying near the bottom of the stairs.
Ryan wiped a hand over his face, breathing deeply. Pete touched his shoulder. "It's all right. They'll be here soon."
With Matt at the bottom of the stairs, speaking to 999 on the phone, Ryan and Pete stayed with Ginger. They had to all work together, answering the questions Matt was being asked by the operator.
"Why isn't the reception working?" Pete frowned in confusion. He checked his own mobile. "My phone won't work, either."
"Mine, too." Ryan said.
"Ambulance on its way," Matt called up the stairs. "They want me to stay on the line."
"Okay!" Ryan called back. Please, God, he thought to himself. Please, please, please. Ryan squeezed Ginger's hand, which felt limp and cold.
"Oh, hang on," Matt said, then shouted up, "What about Fizz? They want to know if anyone else, er, needs assistance?"
Pete looked at him, but Ryan couldn't meet his eyes.
"He... um..."
"Hello?" a small voice called from behind the door.
Pete glanced at the pigeon loft. "Fizz? That you?"
"Can somebody help me, please?"
Ryan grabbed his arm as Pete went to move. "Pete, no. Leave him in there."
"What?" Pete frowned at him. "What's wrong? Rachel said he was ill or something? He hasn't collapsed as well, has he?"
"No, but..."
Ryan's words faltered. How could he possibly tell his boss about Fizz acting weird, and rooms full of blood, and strange men in uniform? Pete would think he'd lost his mind.
"Guys?" Matt called again. "Should I tell them?"
"Well, yeah, if he's ill, too," Pete called back. "Hang on, I'll check."
"Shit." Ryan gripped onto Ginger's body, as Pete stood up and opened the door to the pigeon loft. The darkness and the tilting floorboards had mysteriously vanished. It was all as it normally looked. Ryan stared, not quite believing his eyes.
"Fizz?" Pete stepped inside.
"In here," the small voice called. "Please..."
"Pete," Ryan tried again. "Don't."
"I can't ignore him, Ryan," Pete said. "This mess is all my responsibility, don't forget." He went in, walking down the hall, and turned to Fizz's room. "Fizz?"
Ryan held his breath, and watched Pete disappear from view as he went into Fizz's room. Ryan strained his ears, but he couldn't hear anything. "Pete?"
No answer.
"Pete!"
"Ryan?" Matt called. "What's going on? The lady on the phone wants to know about Fizz."
"Shit," Ryan muttered. What the hell was going on? "Matt, come up here."
"What?" Matt walked up the stairs. "But the phone goes all crackly up here." He held it away from his ear as he stared at it. Ryan could hear the static blast from the ear piece.
"Never mind that. Go check on Pete, but don't go in the room. Just tell me what he's doing?"
Matt turned worried eyes to the pigeon loft. "Uh... okay." He left the phone on the bannister, and carefully stepped over Ginger's legs.
"Just tell me what's happening," Ryan said again. "Don't go in there."
"Yeah, yeah," Matt muttered. "I heard you the first time." He crossed the threshold and crept along the hall. Ryan watched him. Matt cautiously peeked around the open door to Fizz's room, then started backwards. Ryan's breath froze as Matt hurried toward him, a look of shock on his face.
The Haunted Pub Page 20