|Pierce Gregory is Odin, CEO of the World (the_allfather) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2010-09-08 08:14:00
|Entry tags:||fenrir, odin|
Who: Pierce at the beginning. Then Simon and a guest appearance from mangled-in-a-car-crash-Ben Erikson.
What: Unhappy hauntings in the form of a completed log.
Where: Mostly in 205.
When: After Simon cracks Aura's skull.
Warnings: Creepy things. Angst. Unhappy ghost of Ben Erikson. Oh, and Simon's life. It sucks.
Notes: idk. Pierce is like Mr. Bigglesworth - when he gets upset, people die. Or more like he will find out which dead!skeleton is in your closet, summon them back to the world of the living, and torture you until you cry blood.
Summoning a ghost was a tricky affair, but if anyone was skilled at that special type of art it was Pierce. He had been practicing for decades, after all - and now was the time to christen Pax Letale, his new home which had yet to be invaded by restless spirits. But it wasn’t his home he planned to populate with the tired, tormented souls of the dead. It was Simon, who was about due for a visit from the adopted brother he had wronged so badly.
It would drive that boy crazy, possibly break him down and shatter him into a million pieces - but that was the point. That’s why Pierce very rarely ever retaliated physically. Emotional damage lasted longer. It was more severe than just a bruise on the skin, which faded over time. The mental and emotional types of wounds left a scar, a reminder to never cross him or his loved ones ever again. Trying to do Simon a favor? That was a mistake. The ungrateful brat hadn’t even said thank you, and then he put Olivia in a coma, which was inexcusable. He nearly killed her - how could he expect to just get away with that?
He was calm as he procured the bloody towel Simon had left in his car the day he took the boy to the hospital. Ghosts needed an object to be attracted to, something that would have a significant connection to them in this life. The dried blood of Ben Erikson’s brother ought to be enough. Looking very much the epitome of a distinguished noble, Pierce sat alone at the dining room table, three candles aflame in the center. Spirits were attracted to warmth and light. Sometimes food was also placed in the center, as spirits often still sought physical nourishment, but that wasn’t necessary this time around.
Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, he cleared his mind in order to make it open to contact to the spirit world.
“Spirits of the past, move among us. Be guided by the light of this world and visit upon us."
The chant was repeated until there was a sudden knocking on the table, jarring the candles slightly, the flames flickering. Ben was close now. Pierce could feel his presence as he moved from the spirit world to the present.
“Our beloved Ben Erikson, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us, Ben, and move among us."
When Pierce opened his eyes, he saw him - glass shards still stuck in him from where he flew through the windshield, severe road rash which had ripped a layer of skin off, a broken pelvis - and the crowning glory was the traumatic head injury. The ghost’s gait was horrific, limping pathetically as he moaned in pain, then he popped his jaw back into place to be able to speak.
Pierce waved him on, giving him the appropriate apartment number: 205.
The unhappy haunt shuffled off, seeping down through the floor, sinking slowly. He appeared on the second floor, continuing to creep along as he pushed himself under the door, bringing a noticeable chill along with him.
Simon was sleeping, something he was doing a lot of recently since that disaster in the hospital. This night was no different, curled up under a thin sheet, lost to the world of dreams. It wasn’t peaceful sleep, and it became even decidedly less so as a chill permeated the room, unnatural and bone-chilling. He shifted beneath the sheets, trying to get a warm place back again, but eventually he had to get up, teeth chattering together. “What the hell... did the air get turned down?”
Swinging his feet out over the side of the bed, Simon padded out of his bedroom, rubbing his arm with his good hand, shuffling down the hallway to peer at the thermostat to see what it was set at, having to peer close to see what it was set at in the dark.
Ben dragged himself through the apartment, moving slowly because of the fractured pelvis. His knees weren’t in the best shape either, twisted and contorted in unnatural ways. He groaned, exhaling an icy breath, his hand shooting out to drag along the walls. The banging noise as his fist made contact was apparent, echoing throughout the still apartment. His fingernails scratched pathetically along in the paint, leaving marks in his wake.
“Simon?” he called as he eked his way into the bedroom, knocking over pictures on the dresser and boxes of art supplies since he was unsteady on his feet.
He was just pulling the covers back to settle back into bed when the sounds drew his attention. And then not just the sounds but his very name. Eyes narrowed slightly, on edge as that chill continued to permeate the air around him. “Who’s there?” he asked warily, sitting back onto the edge of the bed, eyes sweeping the room. And then he saw it.
The blood drained from his face, and he felt light-headed as he stared. “Ben?” Simon asked quietly, hardly daring to talk above a whisper. It couldn’t be Ben. Ben was... he had seen him in the casket, had seen it lowered into the ground. Ben was gone. Ben... couldn’t be in his bedroom right now.
He heard his brother acknowledge him and he sighed, the temperature in the room dropping even more. But he was angry because he was in pain, he wasn’t at peace, and he needed his brother to realize the damage he had done.
“Why did you do this to me, Simon?” Ben asked, hands reaching up to delicately touch the glass which protruded from his neck and then one particularly large piece in his forehead. “I can’t believe you left me this way. You hit me and then you were gone. Everyone’s gone...”
He licked his lips nervously, staring at him, at the damage that had been inflicted, and he felt ready to be ill at the sight. “I... I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ben. I was just. I was upset. Scared. And... I didn’t know what to do. And I never knew how to apologise to you.” Simon wiped a hand over his face and dared to step closer, his breath coming a bit tighter from anxiety.
“You never know how to apologize to anyone,” the ghostly hologram snapped, his hand shooting out as if to throw a punch. When he curled his fingers into a fist, the cracking sounds were nauseating. “What have you done now, Simon? You wanted so badly to be apart of a family, but you left the one who truly cared about you and now what? You’ve ruined everything again.”
He shifted his weight to his other leg, his broken hip bones protruding from his torn clothing. All of his clothes were torn and limply hung off of him, revealing the terrible road rash. His face was especially bad, one side pulled down grotesquely, his skin melting off.
“I’ll never forgive you for this.”
A wave of nausea washed over him at the sound of those cracking bones, the sight of Ben’s hips protruding, and most disturbingly, the hideous way his face had been deformed. Simon had to look away, covering his mouth with his good hand as he sucked in a breath. “I don’t... I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said quietly, turning away and moving towards his bed, sinking down to sit.
“Not from you... not from her...” He paused, sucking in a breath, his chest tight. “I’ve... really fucked it all up. Again. I keep... doing this.”
If Simon was expecting sympathy, he wasn’t going to get it. That’s not why Ben had come here. And now that he knew how to get back, he would continue to come here until he was satisfied that his brother understood everything - understood his pain, the torment he felt all of the time, the neverending struggle, all of the sadness. It wasn’t going to go away. Ben wanted so badly to coast up to Heaven, toward the afterlife, anywhere but here in this Hell on earth - but he couldn’t. Something, or someone, held him back.
“I can’t go anywhere, Simon,” he said, sounding anguished. “Except back to the darkness. That’s all everything is for me and I don’t want to face it. I can only try to get you to understand. Maybe if you make things right, I’ll be able to rest.”
He could feel himself growing tired, being called back to where he came from. “I’ll return soon,” he promised, and moved to drag his mangled body from the room. Then he faded away, evaporating into the chilly air. He didn’t bother with goodbyes. Simon hadn’t bestowed one on him, so there was no need to return the favor.
Simon turned in time to see him evaporate into the air, and he finally let out a choked sob, sliding down to sit on the ground, arms pulling his knees close to his chest. Seeing Ben there, that destroyed body, that pained spirit... he wasn’t sure that he believed in ghosts, but he believed that that had been Ben. And knowing that it was his fault? That he had been the reason behind this?
For the longest time, all he did was sob, sitting there on the floor beside his bed, rocking, the first rays of morning sun coming through the window. He felt drained, half-there, and he pushed himself up to his feet, swaying, padding out of the bedroom and to the bathroom. And wordlessly, he climbed in, still in his pajama pants, turned the water on, and let the freezing water pour over him. The tears started anew then and he turned his face up into the water, letting the spray of the shower hide them.
“I’m so sorry, Ben. So... so sorry. You... you didn’t deserve that.” But Simon did. Simon deserved all of this.