đź đ±đąđŁđđ« đź đđ©đłđđ±đŹđŻđą (wouldberipper) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-03-06 18:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, joe hardy, stefan salvatore |
Who: Joe Hardy and Stefan Salvatore
When: Early November
Where: The Garage, then Joeâs place
What: Stefan helps Joe with his Dreams
Rating/Warnings: Low/None
Status: Complete when posted
Coffee wasnât really working anymore. Neither were energy drinks or the energy shots, but Joe kept drinking them in vain hopes of staying awake. Everytime he fell asleep that Dream was there, making just a little more progress before his phone woke him up with a call from beyond the grave. It was going to make him as crazy as he was becoming in the Dream, or the lack of sleep was. At this point, Joe wondered if he even cared anymore.
He was on his fourth cup of coffee that morning, maybe fifth, heâd lost count. He wasnât as chatty as he used to be, just trying to muddle through each day as best he could.
Stefan had notice that there was something going on with Joe. The man was on edge. Stefan assumed it had something to do with his Dreams, because letâs face it; everything around here did. It was insane.
Heâd just finished up with a customer, and was going to take a quick break before starting on the next car. Stefan washed his hands in the bathroom, then grabbed cup of coffee from the sludge-machine. âHey,â he said, sidling up next to where Joe was hanging out. He didnât want to startle the man. âWhatâs up?â
Stefan could have come into the break room riding a pink elephant and Joe was so lost in his own fog, he probably wouldnât have noticed. So when the vampire slid up to him with a greeting, Joe started anyway, spilling coffee on the counter and his coveralls. âGoddammit,â he hissed more as a reaction than in annoyance. Tired blue eyes flickered up towards Stefan as he tried to wipe himself off. âStefan. Hey. Hi. Sorry, man.â
There was a huge difference between Normal!Stefan and No-Inhibitions!Stefan. The latter might have laughed at the other man splattering coffee all over the place. But Normal!Stefan reached for a cloth to help Joe wipe up. âItâs okay.â He said, more concerned than anything else. âYou all right? Youâve been⊠distracted.â
Distracted was a nice way of putting it, wasnât it? Joe sighed and shook his head. âYeah, I know. Iâm sorry, Stefan,â he said as he fumbled to help Stefan clean up the mess. âItâs - I havenât been sleeping well lately. These Dreams-â he stopped himself. It really wasnât the Dreams that were bothering him, but what the dreams had potentially done. Blue eyes darted up towards Stefan. If anyone knew what was going on, it just might be Stefan. And Joe trusted Stefan to not think he was crazy.
Joe had some serious bags under his eyes thanks to the coffee and lack of sleep, but his eyes looked a little wild when he asked, âhave you ever heard of the Dreams bringing people back from the dead?â
âHey, itâs okay.â Stefan said, trying to reassure his friend. He knew from Dream madness, of course. Heâd thought he was going crazy himself back in the day. The safe in the lake. It was the worst. But he wouldnât compare them. That would never be fair.
He paused for a moment, wondering if that was true. âIâve never heard of it happening before. Whatâs going on? You think someone came back to life?â
âI donât know,â Joe shook his head. âIâve been having this one Dream again and again and I canât seem to get through it. Everytime I fall asleep I get a little bit further and then I wake up to my phone ringing.â He moved away from the counter and the coffee heâd been attempting to pour. He ran a hand through his hair. âThe person on the other endâŠâ he turned around towards Stefan. âItâs Iola, Stefan. She calls me in the Dreams and sheâs calling me here. Is it possible? Could they have brought her back?â
Stefan frowned. It sounded a lot like someone was fucking with his friend. Stefan wondered who would do such a thing. Or was this one of those Orange County fuckery things that he hated so much? He folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowing in thought. âYouâre sure itâs actually her? Here, I mean? Itâs not just some horrible prank?â
âI thought it was.â Joe answered. âAt first.â He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. âBut the person calling me. She sounds just like Iola. And she knows things. Things only Iola would know. And...I saw her. Here. The other day. I went after her, but couldnât catch up to her and lost her. It has to be her.â
Stefanâs eyes went wide at that. He folded his arms across his chest in a protective stance--guarding against what? He didnât know. But the idea that people could come back from the dead was a little terrifying. âAre you absolutely sure it was her? One hundred percent? Iâve never heard of this kind of thing happening. Are you sure itâs not just⊠the Dreams affecting your mind?â
There was a part of Joe that still thought this was impossible. People did not just come back from the dead. Even after everything heâd seen since moving to Orange County, that still seemed beyond what even it could do. And yet...there was a part of him, a very strong part of him, that wished it was true.
âI donâtâŠâ he shook his head. âI donât know. Something is happening to me in the Dreams. People are dying. First it was Vanessa and then...my mother.â He shuddered. The image of Mrs. Hardy sprawled in that chair with a knife in her chest was still so vivid in his mind. And yet when he had come back with the police, the body was gone and the room in the attic where he had found her looked as though it hadnât been disturbed in months. A layer of dust had coated everything and there wasnât a drop of blood to be found anywhere.
Joe rubbed his eyes with shaky hands. âI think I might be losing my mind. In the Dreams.â he said. âMaybe all the years and decades as a detective are catching up to me. In the Dreams Iâve seen more death and murder than any teenager could ever possibly handle. Iâm only seventeen. How could I possibly handle all of that?â The only reasonable explanation was that he was going crazy in the Dreams. âVanessaâs death must have caused something to crack. Thatâs the only reasonable explanation. Frank went to Maine on some kind of lead. If he were there I know heâd be able to figure it outâŠâ Joe trailed off. He lowered his hands from his face and looked at Stefan. âThe only explanation is that the Dreams are affecting my mind. If I could just make it through the Dream, maybe itâll all stop?â
Stefan nodded. He could absolutely understand. He himself had been through a lot of things that no normal teenager should ever go through. It was a lot for one man to take. Heâd Dreamed several lifetimesâ worth of atrocities, and his Dreams were still coming. There were times when he thought heâd gone mad, too. The safeâŠ
âCould be.â Stefan said, nodding. â...Do you⊠do you want a second opinion?â Stefan asked. âIn my Dreams vampires are able to manipulate other peopleâs dreams. Humans or weaker vampires. I could go into your Dream with you and help you try and investigate. I donât know how much good itâd do, but it might be worth a shot.â
Joe stared at Stefan. At first he thought maybe his sleep deprived mind was making him hear things, but no, Stefan had actually said that he could go in to Joeâs own dreams and poke around. Frank still hadnât dreamt about Vanessaâs boat exploding or what happened next. Joe really felt alone through this, but with StefanâŠ
âCan you really do that?â He asked. âEven if itâs one of those Dreams?â
âWell, I can try. I canât make any promises that itâll actually work.â Stefan had never done Dream manipulation when it came to Orange Countyâs crazy dream stuff. But he could manipulate Dreams. Hopefully whatever he did would help and not hurt. âAt least, we can try and figure out what clues you may or may not have missed.â It sounded like Joeâs Dreams were full of mysteries. Maybe they could solve it together.
All Joe needed to hear was that they could try. It didnât matter that it might not work, or that Stefan may not have been able to manipulate a Dream. All Joe wanted was to finally make it through the Dream to the end and put an end to this.
âYes,â he said eagerly. It was all he could to keep from hugging Stefan right there. âYes, letâs do it. Please, StefanâŠâ If he could just get through the Dream and finish the mystery, he wouldnât feel as though he was losing his mind. It did mean losing Iola all over again, and that made his heart twist. But maybe...maybe...she wasnât really dead. They had never found her body after the explosion. Joe hadnât been there when the car had exploded. Maybe...she had gotten away. Maybe someone had pulled her away just in time? Or the blast had knocked her back. The parking lot had been utter chaos. It was possible that her unconscious body had been taken away and that the trauma had made it possible for the Assassins to reprogram her. If Joe could find her...if he could just get to her, get her away from them.
âOkay. Okay, weâll give it a go.â Stefan said. âIâll swing by your place after dinner.â He made a mental note to pick up a bottle of whiskey on his way home from work. They might need it later if his dream manipulation failed. Or⊠succeeded. âAs for now, letâs try and finish out the day getting the rest of these work orders done.â
Joe nodded. Yes. They still had work to do. Dean counted on them to do their jobs and Joe was determined to do so, Dreams or not. He quickly downed what he could of what remained in his coffee mug. âThank you, Stefan.â He said. âI owe you.â Even if Stefan, with his special vampire abilities, couldnât do anything about the Dream itself, at least Joe wouldnât be alone.
Joe managed to finish out the rest of the day by forcing down another two cups of coffee. The day was long, but Joe managed to get through. At the end of the day Joe went home and made a quick dinner and waited for Stefan to arrive.
Stefan finished his shift an hour after Joe did, so it gave the other time to go home and eat. Stefan swung by the liqour store on the way, and picked up a bottle of whiskey. Either way, heâd make sure that his friend got some sleep tonight. Alcohol-induced or no.
Bottle in hand, he knocked on the front door to Joeâs place. When his friend opened it, Stefan broke into a small smile. âYour brother home?â Because what would Frank think of Joe bringing home a friend to his bedroom? Though, Stefan supposed they could use the sofa, too. Joe would probably be more comfortable in his own bed.
It wasnât unusual for Joe to have a âfriendâ spend the night. Though those âfriendsâ were usually people heâd met at a bar and they were always women. Frank had actually started making a game out of guessing the profession of the girls he caught sneaking out of Joeâs room in the morning. He somehow managed to guess right about 80% of the time. However, tonight, Frank was out.
âFrankâs working late tonight,â Joe answered as he let Stefan into the apartment. âHe wonât be home untilâŠâ Joe made a vague gesture as if to indicate it would be late. When Frank got his teeth into a story, he really had a one-track mind. Heâd been struggling making a name for himself at the news station, to garner any kind of respect as a journalist who got actual news to cover rather than random fluff pieces to pad out the evening news. It wasnât working out the way Frank had planned. It was maddeningly frustrating and the last thing Joe wanted to do was make his brother worry on top of that. âI let him know you were coming over and that we were doing a guysâ thing in or something. I donât want him to worry, you know.â
He lead Stefan into their living room, a comfortable looking room with a couch and a recliner. The apartment house had been a large single family dwelling back in the day, but over the last 50 or so years had been converted to apartments, and as such still had that mid-century feel and charm to it, which was one of the reasons Frank had wanted to move to this place in particular.
The smell of a recently cooked meal - Lasagna to be specific - was still wafting pleasantly from the kitchen just beyond the living room. âDo you want some dinner first orâŠâ Joe was anxious to get right into the Dream, to figure it out once and for all, but he didnât want to push Stefan. The guy was doing him a solid.
Stefan shook his head. âNot unless youâre hungry.â Vampires didnât have to eat. Not human food, anyway. So Stefan set the bottle down on a nearby surface (table?) and motioned to the rest of the space. âGo wherever you feel most comfortable sleeping.â Whatever that meant. Did he have to take off his shoes or get under covers? Stefan wasnât there to judge. Just to jump into Joeâs dreams and explore.
âIâll hang out here to wait.â He couldnât do much until Joe was sleeping.
This was a little awkward at best. Joe stood in the living room, uncertain what he should do. He wasnât hungry. He just wanted to put an end to this Dream once and for all and figure out what the hell Orange County was trying to do to him. He took a breath and ran a hand through his hair. His eyes settled on the bottle of whisky on the table. That would help.
âThe couchâll be fine,â he said and had a seat. Joe had a talent for sleeping just about anywhere. He didnât need a blanket or to take his shoes off in order to feel comfortable enough to drop off. And, of course, heâd been depriving himself of sleep the past few days, so that should make it relatively easy, especially with a few shots of alcohol in his system.
So, he helped himself to the bottle. âSo, how does this work? You just wait for me to fall asleep?â
Stefan moved over to sit by the sofa, too--there was a chair there, right?--and waited for Joe to finish with the bottle. Then heâd grab a swig, too. Or glass. Whatever. He wasnât picky. âI just wait for you to fall asleep.â Stefan agreed with a nod. Then a sigh. âAs creepy as that sounds, believe me, itâs even creepier in my Dreams.â
Had Joeâs grip on sanity not been quite as tenuous, or if he hadnât been nearly as anxious to have someone help him figure out what exactly was going on, then the whole thing â Stefan sitting in the recliner watching him as he fell asleep â would have been super creepy. But as things stood currently, Joe wasnât even thinking of that. Didnât cross his mind in the slightest.
He didnât bother with glasses for the whiskey and drank right from the bottle. A shot and a half in a single pull, glugged down as if it were soda. Then he handed the bottle to Stefan. He had no idea if Vampires could get drunk the same way humans could. On the one hand, he hoped not. He needed Stefan as sober as possible to see the things that Dream Joe was missing. On the other, Stefan may need a shot or two to prepare him for what was coming.
As Stefan took his drink, Joe dug his phone out of his pocket. He looked at it hard for a moment. He wished he could have shown Stefan evidence of those strange calls. He checked his call history, even though he knew that an entry for âUnknown 000000000â had vanished from his phone on every occasion heâd gotten a call from Iola. An attempt to even try to explain it would have made him sound even crazier than he already was. Without really knowing why Joe put the phone on the coffee table in front of him. Maybe heâd get another call, maybe this time Stefan would be there to see it.
He took the bottle back and drank another shot and a half. He was no cheap date when it came to alcohol, but tonight drinking on a stomach that contained only coffee, energy drinks and half a serving of lasagna, it didnât take much for Joe to feel the buzz when it hit â and it hit hard. Joe tried to explain the Dream to Stefan in an attempt to prepare him for what he was getting into, but the explanation came out haltingly and more muddled the more the buzz took hold of him. After another pull of the bottle, Joe crossed the line from buzzed to drunk and it was only a few moments later that his seat on the couch became slouched. His head lolled back against the cushions behind him, eyes closed. His breathing became deep and rhythmic as the bottle slipped from his fingers.
Stefan reached forward, quick as a flash, and caught the bottle before it hit the floor. He set the thing aside on the table, then settled back in his own chair to jump into Joeâs Dream. It was much easier with such a relaxed mind--though the alcohol might make things a little more foggy than usual. He was prepared for anything. Even after a few gulps straight from the bottle, he was stone cold sober. One of the vampire traits that was at times both reassuring and frustrating.
So he sunk into Joeâs Dream, not really surprised to find that heâd slipped into another time, another place. It was a house he didnât recognise, and he wandered through one of the halls to find his friend.
Every room in the house Stefan found himself had a light on. In some rooms more than one. As though whoever had turned the lights on was trying to ward something off. It was very much the middle of the night outside. A night that seemed to be going on forever and with dawn no where in sight.
Two male voices were coming from one of the front rooms. There Stefan found a living room with a large bay window facing an otherwise darkened street. There were two teenage boys in the room, both of whom were dressed as though they had come out of the early 90âs. One of the boys, a boy Stefan wouldnât have recognized, was tall, dark-haired and portly. He was lingering by the doorway that lead to the front hall. His round face gave the impression that he was normally a care-free youth and the uncomfortable worried expression he was wearing now looked ill fitting. The other boy - blonde and athletic clad in a pair of jeans and a torn-up denim jacket - was very obviously a younger version of Joe Hardy seated on the edge of the couch. His friend looked anxious and concerned, but Joe looked like he was going through hell. His face was gaunt, eyes tired and haunted. A rag was wrapped haphazardly around the palm of his left hand, spots of blood already seeping through.
âCon told me what you saw,â the dark haired boy was saying now. He spoke slowly, gently, as if he were talking someone through a really bad acid trip. âOr what you think you saw. But thereâs no evidence of a murder.â
âI saw a body, Chet!â Joe snapped back at him.
The other boy - Chet - was unphased. âThen where is it now?â He asked in that same gentle tone.
Joe looked away from him, eyes moving towards the floor. âI donât know.â
âLook, I know how you feel.â Chet started.
Joe whirled on him angrily, âyou donât have a clue! You havenât lost a mother and a girlfriend!â
âI lost a sister!â Chet yelled back at him, just as angry.
âAnd I bet you blame me for that, donât you?â Joe looked at him accusingly, as if he wanted Chet to hold him responsible for his sisterâs death.
âNot anymore.â the anger had drained from the other boyâs face. âNow isnât the time to be saying this.â
Joe thought otherwise. âNo. Iâve got to know. You did blame me?â It was phrased as a question, but came out as more of a statement.
Chetâs expressive face looked as though he were overcome by grief and guilt. He lowered his head before he said, âWhen Iola died, I thought, why did she have to be the one? Why did she have to go to the car. If she hadnât been with youâŠâ Chet trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish the thought.
Joe was silent. His attention was on the floor again.
âI had to blame someone,â Chet went on, âbut after a while I realized I was wrong.â
âNo, Chet. You were right,â Joe answered hoarsely. âIf Iola hadnât been with me, sheâd still be alive. Same goes for Vanessa. Even Mom.â He paused a moment to swallow what had to have been a giant lump in his throat. He looked up at his friend with haunted eyes. âDo you think they blame me, Chet?â
âJoe, thatâs not what I meant.â
âGo home, Chet,â Joe said as he got to his feet and started to usher his friend towards the door. âGo home before someone gets you too.â
The worry was back on Chetâs expressive features. He clearly did not want to leave. He reached out to put a hand on Joeâs shoulder, but the other boy moved out of his reach, both literally and figuratively. Chet took a breath. âPromise me youâre not going to do anything stupid,â he said.
âI promise.â But the words sounded hollow.
Chet didnât look convinced, but he couldnât stop Joe from forcing him out of the house. âYou know where I am,â he went on, âcall me anytime.â
âSure.â Same hollow sounding words. âAnd thanks Chet.â
The door was closed. Chet was gone and Joe was alone save for a Vampire intruder he seemed unable to notice.
âI shouldnât have pushed him out like that.â Joeâs voice, older and remorseful, stated right next to where Stefan stood. And there he was, watching the scene play out silently as Stefan had. He watched the younger version of himself pull something out of the pocket of his jacket and stare at it, consumed by his own thoughts. âHe was trying to help, but I couldnât stand hearing him forgive me like that. He did the same thing in New York. I couldnât stand it then either. It was my fault. Itâs always been my fault.â
Stefan watched, vampire eyes narrowed on the younger version of Joe, and the stranger Chet. He nodded, silently, letting his mind process all that heâd just seen. âIf she hadnât been with you, of course things wouldnât have turned out the way they did. But whoâs to say it wouldnât have been worse?â Stefan asked, lifting a hand to scratch at his chin, thoughtfully. âAnd I think youâre taking too much of the blame on yourself, Joe. She wouldnât have died if it wasnât for you, but she absolutely wouldnât have died if it wasnât for her killer.â
Joe frowned. It was hard to put into words why he heaped the lionâs share blame onto himself. Joe was angry. He was furious, but there was no one to direct his anger towards. No one except himself. So that was where he laid the blame. âI sent her to her death, Stefan.â He murmured. He glanced up when there was a knock on the door. âBut maybe thereâs a chance. Maybe sheâs not really dead in this world. He,â he motioned towards his younger self as he tiredly pushed himself up from the couch to go answer the knock, âthinks sheâs a ghost and that she wants his soul to join her, but I think sheâs alive. The Assassins took her, brainwashed her or something and turned her against us. But I know if I can just get to her, I can save her.â
It was what Joe truly hoped. He hoped it so much he actually believed it to be true. The teenage Joe had answered the door thinking Chet had returned. Instead a child, dressed in a store bought Halloween costume stood there on the doorstep, even though it was practically one in the morning, and the town sanctioned time for trick-or-treating were long over. The child had a note to give to Joe. The teenager took it, read it and whatever it said seemed to rattle him to the core. He reached out to grab the kid, but the kid jumped back.
âWho gave this to you?!â Joe demanded.
âHer!â The child pointed up the street, beyond where Stefan could see. But this was Joeâs Dream. He knew exactly what his younger self was seeing. Iola was there, standing under a streetlamp, beautiful, practically glowing in the spot of light. She smiled at him wickedly. The teenager bolted from the house and the adult went after him. By the time he reached the corner, though, Iola had faded away.
There was no way Stefan could have known. It was possible she was alive. It was possible she was dead. The vampire didnât have the kind of power that was necessary to divine what had happened to Joeâs girlfriend either here or in the Real World. But he was here to try and help Joe figure out what was going on. So he was paying attention to everything. Especially the âkidâ in the costume.
Stefan followed the older Joe, moving quickly through the dream-mist. He could tell there was something really fishy going on here. âWhat was on the note?â Stefan asked Joe. The older Joe. As they moved together under the streetlamps.
The younger version of Joe was running back towards the house, whispering to himself. The older version watching him go. For a moment it looked as though he was going to chase after him, but stopped as though remembering Stefan was with him. He glanced back towards the Vampire. Seeing him there dragged him back from becoming one with his younger, dream-self. âThe noteâŠâ he said breathlessly. âThe note said: âthe graveâs a fine and private place, but none, I think, do there embrace. My rest is lonely, Joe. Come to me, or else another will join me.â
A moment later and a panel van - Joeâs van - gunned from the Hardyâs driveway. The Older Joe watched it as it screeched down the street and out of sight. âHeâs headed for the cemetery where Iola is burried. Sheâs waiting there for me.â He jerked his attention back to Stefan. âThatâs where Iola is! I can get to her, Stefan. I can save her!â
Stefan reached a hand out to take hold of Joeâs arm. âNo.â He said, shaking his head. âThis doesnât feel right. None of it feels right. Itâs forced, itâs cinematicâŠâ He glanced to where the child was. âThat was a grown person--a short grown person--imitating a child. Donât you see whatâs happening here?â He asked. âTheyâre fucking with you, Joe.â
âWhat?â Joe stared at Stefan, his brows knitted tight together in disbelief. âNo, thatâs not-â What was he going to say? That it wasnât possible? He didnât want it to be possible. It was the only truth Joe was willing to accept. Because otherwiseâŠ. âItâs not possible!â He shouted and shook Stefan off his arm. âSheâs there, sheâs waiting for me. I have to get to her! Stefan, please. I have to see her!â
Stefan frowned. But maybe⊠maybe if this was what Joe needed to do? Maybe the graveyard was where they were going to find answers. âStart thinking with your head, Joe.â Stefan urged his friend. âThis is all a Dream. Itâs a Dream, remember? Câmon.â He started off in the right direction, letting Joe take the lead after a moment. âKeep your eyes open.â
It was difficult for Joe to think with his head when Iola was involved. He had no way of realizing that was exactly what The Assassins were counting on. They didnât have the most original name in the world and their plots were often times as outrageous as any James Bond villain, but they were smart. They knew exactly what buttons to push on the younger Hardy brother and, more importantly, just how to push those buttons. They didnât want to simply kill Joe or Frank. They wanted to ruin them first so that even after death, no one would take them seriously.
No, neither version of Joe Hardy, the younger or the older, had any idea that was what was happening. The younger was bent on confronting Iolaâs ghost, while the older was determined to rescue a living person. Both versions were desperate.
âThat has to be what the calls are about,â Joe told Stefan as they made their way to the cemetery. Joe knew exactly where he was going. Bayport of the Dreams was almost identical to Bayport of the Real World. âSheâs trying to tell me sheâs alive.â There was no hiding the excitement and determination in Joeâs voice. He knew, of course, that this was a Dream. But werenât the Dreams a form of reality? An alternate form presented to them when they slept. If Iola could survive in at least in one reality, wouldnât that be for the best?
Normally it would have taken Joe roughly 20 minutes to reach the cemetery driving, but the Dreams being what they were, Joe and Stefan were able to reach it just as Joeâs younger counterpart did. The cemetery was dark and silent, peaceful marred only by the heaviness that hung in the air making it seem eerie and thick.
They followed the young man as he made his way among the headstones, directly to the rear of the cemetery where a small grove pine trees stood sentry over the mausoleum where the Morton family laid their dead to rest.
A shudder ran through Joeâs body as he and Stefan approached and a hard cold lump formed in his throat. The Mortons had a similar mausoleum in his reality as well. Not exact, no, but similar enough to make Joe pause.
Stefan didnât really need a flashlight to be able to see. Something about being a vampire in a cemetery at night? It just sort of all fit into place. He followed after both Joes, still trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together. This wasnât his Dream. He was able to look at it a little more logically than Joe.
Stefan put his hand on Joeâs--the Older Joeâs--arm. âLetâs get to the bottom of this.â He said, softly.
Joe nodded in agreement, but he still hesitated. It had been a long time since heâd been to Iolaâs grave. He had been to the memorial service, of course, had been one of the pall bearers along with her brother and he had been since then, always on his own. He had been so lost. He could feel that sense of loss standing there now.
Stefanâs hand on his arm brought him out of his own mind for a moment. Heâd lost track of where his younger counterpart had gone, but the door to the mausoleum was open. There were only so many places he could go. Iola had to be in there. Joe glanced at Stefan and nodded. âYeah.â
Heâd taken a single step towards the mausoleum when a giant swarm of bats exploded from within. Way many more than could have possibly been living within the sealed tomb. Just under the flurry of bat wings there was a scream that could have easily been mistaken for a wounded animal. A moment later the teenaged version of Joe came running out of the mausoleum, screaming as though hell itself was after him. He staggered around, screaming, punching and grappling at thin air, as if he were in the fight of his life.
Next to Stefan, the older Joe stood staring at the scene with wide eyes. He could see what the younger version of himself was seeing: ghosts and corpses of the people he and Frank had fought and who had died throughout their many altercations with the Assassins, all of them dead and decaying and coming for him.
Fortunately, the older version was aware that what was going on wasnât real and that his younger counterpart was having the worst trip of his life. That didnât make it any less terrifying. He reached out and grasped hold of Stefan next to him in order to keep himself grounded. âSomethings happened,â he said needlessly, but breathlessly. âThe mausoleum. We have to get in there.â
Stefan nodded. His hand wrapped around Joeâs arm, sensing that the other needed the back-up, the grounding. âYour younger self is struggling with some pretty serious demons,â Stefan said. They could just bypass the younger boy, though. The main concern was the truth, not what poor Young!Joe was going through. Poor Older!Joe had already been through it.
âCome on.â Stefan wasnât afraid of bats or mausoleums. He was a vampire, damn it. This shit wasnât scary in the slightest to him.
âYou have no idea,â Joe murmured as he and Stefan headed towards the mausoleum. He did his best to ignore the screaming and flailing of his younger self. There wasnât anything he could do. Teenage Joe had finally succumbed to insanity and there was a very real possibility that once this was over, the older version would awaken crazy himself. Joe knew this, but he was so close to his answers. Iola was in there. He knew it and he was determined to find her.
With Stefan still (thankfully) gripping his arm and keeping him far more grounded, Joe made his way to the open Mausoleum door. He tripped over something on the ground. He paused long enough to see an electrical cord under his feet. He had a moment of confusion. Why was an electrical cord here? Something...something wasnât right.
Still Joe pressed on. With Stefan, he stepped inside the foreboding structure and there she was.
Iola.
The young woman stood just inside the door, dressed in a long flowing white dress. Her dark curly hair was down framing her face. Her pixie features were beautiful, but showed absolutely no emotion. She was watching what was going on outside among the gravestones. Even in side, they could still hear the young manâs screams occasionally punctuated by loud clunks. Iola showed no sign of concern or compassion for the young man she had once loved and who had loved her. She showed no signs of the glee or satisfaction someone out for revenge would have had, either. It was as though her face had been made of stone incapable of showing any kind of emotion whatsoever. A chill ran down Joeâs spine as it called to mind the clones of Lazarus.
Joe felt no relief seeing her. Something wasnât right. Something was so terribly wrong. Outside he heard someone call out and recognized the voice calling out to his teenaged self. Frank. He was back from Maine and had somehow figured out that Joe had come to the cemetery. Joe could hear him trying desperately to reach his brother, make him see reason. He was telling Joe none of it was real. Inside the mausoleum Joe winced. âPlease,â he begged with the woman standing in front of him, even though she couldnât see or hear him. âPlease. Go out there. Go out there and tell him heâs wrong! Go out there and tell him youâre alive!â
The âchildâ that had been at the house, the one who had given the teenager the note that had driven him from his home, stepped up beside Iola. Joe couldnât believe he hadnât seen it earlier, but Stefan had been right. That was no child, a midget, maybe, but definitely not a child. âYa better go out there, Margaret,â he rasped.
The woman made a noise of annoyance before walking out into the graveyard. Joe turned to watch her go. He was still holding out hope, just a small glimmer, that she was real. However, the moment he heard her speak to Frank, that hope vanished. She told him that she controlled Joe through his emotions that their plan had been to not only kill them, but discredit them in such a way that nothing they had told the authorities regarding the terrorist group known as the Assassins would have ever been believed. Driving the younger, more vulnerable Hardy, insane was the perfect plan. Even though Frank hadnât died in Maine, as had been the original plan, they could still kill him right there and make it look as though Joe had killed him and then killed himself. A murder-suicide perpetrated by a young man who had utterly lost his grip on reality.
The older Joe listened. Each word the woman masquerading as Iola Morten felt as though they were blades shoved into his chest and gut. He closed his eyes. âI canât do this,â he said softly to Stefan. âCan you get us out of here?â
Even in Dreams there were smells and feels, as much as there were sights and sounds. The woman didnât smell right. The âchildâ didnât feel right. Vampires had a sense for these things, and in Dream Walking all those senses were heightened. At least, thatâs how Stefan felt tonight. He watched as the young woman left the tomb to talk to Joeâs brother Frank, and then turned his eyes on the older Joe.
âYou can do this.â Stefan said, reaching a hand out to rest on Joeâs shoulder. The weight, the anchor. He wanted Joe to see, even if Joe didnât want to see. âThis is the truth you wanted. This is it. The whole James Bond Villain plan laid out before you. You can do it.â
Joe took a deep breath through his nose. Stefan was right. He had to see this through. This was what he wanted. The truth. He owed it to Frank as well, to be sure that neither one of them died as a result of this. He let out the breath and steeled himself. He stepped up to the door of the mausoleum and looked out.
A few feet away he saw Frank facing off with the woman who was not Iola. Frank was stalling for time, coaxing every bit of the womanâs plan from her, appealing to or insulting her ego. Of course Frank would have figured it out. He was the smart one of them. Joe listened to the woman proclaim that they had spent months on this plan. That she herself had underwent countless surgeries in order to capture Iolaâs appearance as well as studied for months in order to mimic her voice and learn all the necessary details about Iolaâs final hours in order to convince Joe that she was the real thing..
She proudly explained how they had used another clone to impersonate Vanessa both for the explosion that had made Joe believe she too had died and again for the performance at the burned pier in which âVanessaâ had ascended from the water and accused Joe of letting her die. The woman explained with no shortage of pride that even Mrs. Hardyâs un return from a family reunion hadnât interrupted their plan. They had simply nabbed her as she had left to get candy for that eveningâs trick-or-treaters and hired an actress to take her place for an elaborate âprankâ - a staged murder. She boasted just like a James Bond villain about how easy it had been to wage this psychological war on the brothers, how easy it had been to get Joe to do and act exactly as they wanted.
And now their time was up. Frank had learned all the woman had to tell him. It was time for him to die. At the doorway, Joe tensed when she produced a very real gun from the folds of her dress. The older version of Joe couldnât stop her just as he couldnât change anything about what was happening. He only prayed that during his stalling, Frank had figured out a way to get them out of this.
As it turns out, he hadnât needed to. The moment âIolaâ had stepped up to them, the younger version of Joe had fallen to his knees, no longer able to cope with anything that was happening. He stared ahead with haunted eyes and a dazed look. It was only when the woman had finished her exposition dump and had produced the gun that life and final realization seemed to dawn back on the younger Hardy. It was impossible to tell if he had rushed the woman because he was still under the influence of his drug induced insanity, or if it had been pure rage. Regardless, the result was Joe tackling the woman to the ground with enough force to knock her out while he yelled accusingly at her that she was a fake.
At the door, the older Joe breathed a small sigh of relief. This had not been the outcome he had wanted, had hoped for, but at least they were safe. He was tired and at the end of his own rope. âStefan,â his voice betrayed how worn he was. âIâve seen enough.â
They got the truth. Stefan didnât really understand all of it, but he was growing more and more aware. Heâd put together names and things through context, and was coming to realize what poor Joe had been through. He nodded, turning his attention from the scene before them to the Older Joe.
âYou can wake up anytime you want.â Stefan said, willing his friend to rouse from his dreams.
Joe did wake up. He found himself again sitting on his couch, slouched deep. He hadnât been sleeping that long. The clock on the DVD player indicated that at most an hour had gone by. Joe didnât feel as though heâd slept at all. He was still buzzing a little from the couple shots of vodka heâd taken in order to fall asleep. Joe sat up a little and rested his elbows on his knees to rub his face. His chest ached. It wasnât so much how heâd been manipulated and had a psychological war waged on him. He had time to be angry about that much later. Now it felt as though heâd lost Iola all over again. Heâd wanted so desperately for her to be there. For her to be alive. The last bit of hope heâd been hanging on to had been destroyed. Joe squeezed his eyes closed and softly started to cry.
So, Stefan didnât want to make Joe feel awkward or embarrassed. He understood that his friend had been through something pretty traumatic, and probably needed a bit of support. Reliving the loss of someone he loved so dearly? Stefan moved over to the sofa from his spot on a chair and wrapped an arm around his friendâs shoulders. The Vampire wasnât the best when it came to comforting people, but he wanted to give Joe a reminder of the here and now, of the support he offered. He didnât say anything, just sat there with his friend.
For as open a person as Joe was, he very rarely cried and never in front of anyone else. But tonight, after everything Joe had been through, had seen and heard, he couldnât help it. Any attempt to swallow back his tears were pointless. Stefanâs arm over his shoulder did provide the comfort Joe really did need. He was rubbish when it came to seeking out comfort and support. He was known to shut out everyone during times like this, even his own brother. Stefan was kind enough to simply not leave him and just sit in quiet support.
After a few moments of a much needed cry, Joe began to regain his composure. He took a deep ragged breath and tried to sit up straighter. âIâm sorry, Stefan,â he sniffed. âThank you.â
However the moment was ruined when Joeâs phone began to ring. The display read Unknown 000000. Joe didnât move to answer it. It continued to ring, even after the voice mail should have picked up.
âHey,â Stefan withdrew a little as Joe regained his composure. He didnât want to push, by any stretch of the imagination. Poor Joe had been through a lot tonight. âItâs no big deal. No need to apologize.â
And then the phone started ringing. Stefan turned to look, frowning as he counted five rings. Six. Then he picked up the phone and glanced at the caller ID. âHmm. I thought this would have stopped now.â
âI donât think it will,â Joe said softly. He stared at the phone in Stefanâs hand. âItâs her.â He reached for the phone. He hadnât gotten one of these calls when anyone else was with him. If Stefan was here, and he heard, at least he could assure Joe that he wasnât crazy.
Joe answered the phone, putting it on speaker. âHello?â He said cautiously.
âHi, Joe,â Iolaâs voice, soft and gentle greeted him. She sounded sad, remorseful, as if she too had witnessed the same Dream Stefan had. She also sounded distant, as though wherever it was she was calling from was far, far away.
Stefan frowned, listening hard. Was this some kind of recording that was digitally enhanced and played for Joe to mess with his mind? Was this some Orange County nastiness? He brought his eyes to Joeâs, and then nodded. Go on, Joe.
Joe glanced at Stefan. Bolstered a little by his friend, he looked back at the phone. âItâs really you, isnât it?â
âIt is,â she answered. Her voice sounded genuine. It was a real person on the other end of the line. A person who sounded sad and concerned.
âIâm sorry, Iola,â Joe said softly. âIâm sorry. Iâm so sorry. I screwed up. The man that murdered you. I let him get away.â
âJoe,â Iola paused a moment. A noise that sounded a little bit like a sigh came over the phone. A tired sigh. A saddened sigh. âJoe I want you to listen to me. You have to let go.â
Stefan raised both eyebrows at that. It didnât sound like a trick. This seemed like something else, something different. He couldnât put his finger on it, but he thought it sounded⊠genuine. Maybe he was being pulled in to the dream, or the scam, but he didnât think so. Stefan turned his eyes to Joeâs again, watching him closely.
Joe shook his head, âI canâtâŠâ
âYou have to let go, Joe,â Iola said gently. âYou have to let me go. You canât move on until you do. You canât live until you do. And you need to live.â
Joe took a deep shuddering breath.
âYou did what you had to do,â Iola went on. âAnd you canât change that. All you can do is move forward. Promise me. Please.â
Joe couldnât find his voice. He could only nod at first. Finally he managed to speak. âI promise, Iola.â
âGood,â she sounded relieved. âI love you.â
âI love you too,â Joe managed to choke out.
âGoodbye, Joe.â
The phone was silent. As it had been each time before, any record of the call was gone. The number and ID erased. The only thing that proved the call had even happened was that Stefan had heard it.
Stefan felt as though heâd just seen something really personal. He felt honored that Joe trusted him with it, but a little guilty that heâd been here for it. Stefan took the phone from Joeâs hands and set it on the table. âIâm sorry, Joe.â He said. At least his friend had closure? Had the answer to the question that had been driving him crazy.
Stefan settled back against the sofa cushion to give his friend some company. It was the least he could do. Joe shouldnât be alone until Frank was home.