soft lamps burned. Ryan felt himself stagger into the room, drunk on something stronger than alcohol,

some kind of drug. Opium. He was seeing and experiencing everything as if it were a hazy dream. He

gazed down at his suit, rumpled in places, but still neatly pressed.

The walls around him shuddered. With that strange knowledge that often came with dreams, Ryan

knew that these weren’t the same walls. Their bricks and mortar were different now, but their dust and

energy had been re-used in the new building. He could feel the pulsing energy within every brick,

within the very lining of the room. The walls watched him, and Ryan in turn watched through them, as

the vision unfolded.

Drunk, drugged, all by his own making, but the effects distorted what he saw. His delirium pulled at

the edges of his vision, like an artist’s impression. The room was dark and colourful. Ryan felt giddy.

He heard brash laughter echo through the room, and realised it was his own. Two men were with him.

They had been laughing along before, but now they’d stopped. Their dark, hulking figures closed in on

him, dangerous in their intent.

Ryan looked around the room in panic, realising he was alone. Truly more alone than he’d ever felt

before. He looked at the man nearest to him, feeling a surprise as the man’s fist connected with his

face. Sound went first; things became muffled, warped. Time itself slowed down. A sharp pain rang in

Ryan’s head. He blinked, only to see that fist come again, and again, raining down blow after blow

until he was on the floor.

Darkness invaded, his eyelids drooped. Keep them closed, he thought. Don’t look. But his eyes kept

opening. He saw flashes of the room, of the men’s faces with their twisted, distorted expressions.

Their voices were garbled, nasty. Ryan felt them pull and tear at his clothes. No! No, please! He tried

to scream. Breath wheezed through his lungs, but no voice came out. The men’s faces became

shadows, sinister and leering. Their taunts echoed in his ears as they groped his body and forced his

legs open.

Ryan tried to call out. His lips moved, trying to speak. Enough! I’ve seen enough, let me go!

The vision didn’t stop. Hands clamped around his throat, squeezing tight. Ryan closed his eyes, and

his mind drifted, attempting to escape the pain, the humiliation. He knew he wouldn’t be able to come

back from this, and that hurt more than anything. His last thought was of face framed by red hair, and

a familiar smile he loved so much.

Daniel, I’m so sorry.

Chapter Nineteen

Abruptly, the vision dispersed, like a dark cloud blown away. Ryan gasped. His hands raised to

shield himself from the men...

They were gone.

Sammy was there, his hands in Fizz’s hair as he yanked him back, away from Ryan. “Shit-head!

I’m gonna smack your fucking –”

Fizz swept his arm out, throwing Sammy off as if he weighed nothing, sent him flying across the

room. Ryan heard the sickening crack as Sammy’s body hit the wall.

“Sammy!” Matt rushed in, dodged around Fizz, and fell to the small body on the floor.

Ryan saw Fizz glare at Matt, and worried what would happen. “Wait!” he reached out to grab Fizz’s

arm, to stop him from moving. His skin was cold, slippery, like holding onto ice. Pain throbbed

through Ryan’s fingers, but he held on. “Y-you didn’t tell my your name,” he said, trying to think of

something – anything – to distract him. “Please?”

“My name?” The boy turned back to him. His eyes were black, smoking.

“Y-yes. I c-can help you find your, um, your family? Or where you’re buried? Tell me your name,

and I’ll help you.”

“Ah.” Fizz smiled, leaning over him. Ryan tried not to flinch, tried to stay as still as possible. He

had to keep this thing away from Matt and Sammy, whatever it took.

“They took me,” the boy hissed out. “Wrapped it in a sheet, and dragged it outside.”

“Y-your body?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-kay.” Ryan swallowed, trying to think straight. He put the horrible images and feelings of mere

moments ago aside, and tried to focus. “I-I can help you.”

Dark eyes searched his. Ryan watched, and the black vapour seemed to recede. The eyes grew

lighter, hazel in colour. Risking a glance up, Ryan saw the blood on the ceiling had stopped churning

around. If it had been boiling before, now it only simmered. The stench wasn’t quite so powerful

either.

This was it, he realised. If he could somehow appease whatever bad feelings there were. That was

what spirits wanted, right? Ryan had spent many a late night watching spooky documentaries, mostly

for their comedic value. Now he was clinging onto a growing belief that he was in the middle of some

crazy ghost story himself.

“You’d help me?” Fizz stared at him like he could see right through him. Ryan tried to project the

clearest, most honest feelings he could muster. If it would help everyone else then, yes, he would help

this...this person.

“Yes.”

“Ryan, don’t talk to him!” Matt stood above them. “He hurt Sammy! And Pete, and Ginger!”

Fizz rose up, glaring at Matt. The blood on the ceiling bubbled anew.

“Matt, wait!” Ryan shifted; his limbs were finally able to work, although they felt painfully sore.

He tried to get up, to stop the inevitable, but he wasn’t quick enough. “Don’t do anything! Fizz? Come

back here, talk to me.”

Fizz glanced at him, at Ryan’s outstretched hand.

“Come here, okay?” Ryan gestured to him. He shifted onto his knees, but he couldn’t stand up. His

body was stiff, sore. He didn’t even have time to think about it, as Fizz snapped his eyes to the door.

Ryan heard footsteps thundering closer, and looked up just as Ash burst into the room.

“What’s –” he gasped, breathless. “Fizz? Oh, shit!”

“Ash!” The boy backed away, holding out a hand. “They’re trying to hurt me.”

“Ash, don’t!” Ryan tried to grab Ash’s leg as he charged into the room. “ASH!”

He couldn’t stop him. Ryan could only watch as Ash ran into Fizz’s arms, and they embraced like

long lost lovers. Fizz kept moving back, taking Ash with him into the corner.

“ASH!” Ryan tried once again to get up. He was in too much pain. “Fizz, don’t do anything, okay?”

Fizz peered at him warily over Ash’s shoulder. Ash’s body appeared to sag, while Fizz held him up.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Fizz said. “I don’t need your help, Ryan.”

“You do,” Ryan insisted. “You –”

More footsteps echoed down the hall. Ryan hoped it wasn’t Rachel. She would only go to Pete, still

lifeless on the floor, and put herself in danger. He saw with surprise that it was Sheila. She was about

to run to him, then stopped herself as she looked about the room. “Dear God,” she whispered.

A small, blonde woman was right behind her. Ryan recognised her as Beth. She swept a glance

across the room, then focussed on Fizz. Beth put a hand out, and pushed Sheila behind her, stepping

into the room.

“Wait,” Ryan said. “It’s too –”

“Silence!” Beth barked. She planted her feet wide on the ground, pulling something from her

pocket, some kind of pendant on a chain. Holding one hand out, she began to swing the pendant in

front of her in a figure of eight. “Take back your energy,” she said in steely tones. “Accept my light.”

Her hair shone. Ryan watched, dumbfounded, as white light poured from it, stretching out across

the room. The blood shied away, receding into the walls. The darkness lifted. On the other side of the

room, Fizz gasped. His hands let go of Ash, who slumped to the floor.

“Ash!” Ryan tried to move toward his friend.

“Leave him!” Beth snapped. “Don’t move, don’t speak.” She swung the pendant to a standstill in