Way Down I'll Go

Never Look Upon Thee More

Red.

It was everywhere. The color gripped him and his lungs constricted under its weight. It was on his arms, his legs, his chest. His brain willed his body to move but he found his limbs as lifeless as the face on the floor across from him.

Blood dripped from Adam's mouth, eyes glassy. His small hand clutched a toy car, also splattered in scarlet.

No.

His eyes quickly found the lifeless forms of the other boys. The pain in his chest intensified until he was suffocating. And then, something in the corner of the room moved.

It was Rachel. She was alive.

The relief he felt was sucked out of his lungs when he saw the figure next to her.

You can't protect her, boy. You couldn't protect them. You couldn't protect yourself. Why did you think you could protect her?

The gun was pressed even tighter into her temple.

PLEASE!

He could hear her screaming it over and over but her mouth wasn't moving. He willed his legs to work, to run to her and save her. Instead, he watched helplessly as his father's lips turned upward in a cruel smile.

The gun went off.

Round after round was fired into her motionless body, but the screams continued from her still lips. The ground shook beneath him, and the room began to crumble.

"Jo!"

There were strong hands gripping his shoulders and he grabbed them, throwing them off of him. Scrambling away from the deep voice, his back hit a wall and he put his hands up to cover his head.

"Jo. It's okay, kid."

A hand touched his shoulder and he threw a fist at the voice. It connected and he used the opportunity to run. His feet, however, became tangled up in cloth and he found himself facedown on the floor once again. Crawling frantically, he found a corner of the room and pressed himself into it.

"Fuck, kid."

The red dotting his vision began to fade and he made out the form of the exasperated voice.

"It's me. It's Frank."

His chest heaved with exertion as Frank's face became visible. He blinked several times, not believing his eyes. Slowly, the room came into focus. His bedding on the floor, sheets tangled in disarray. The wooden table. The door hanging crooked on its hinges. And Frank, his face bearing a red mark that would likely bruise colorfully.

"Frank?" he asked, just to make sure.

"Yeah, kid," he grunted. "You calm yet?"

Jo ran his hand through his hair, coughing past the tightness that lingered in his chest.

"Frank... I'm sorr-"

"Save it, kid," Frank growled softly. "It's probably my own fault. Should've known not to touch you when you were...like that. You... You just weren't waking up..."

He trailed off, and Jo couldn't meet his eyes. He ran both hands through his hair and then scrubbed them over his face, trying to unsee his nightmare.

"Look at me, kid."

Jo reluctantly meet Frank's gentle gaze.

"I'm not mad at you. But you need help."

Jo looked down but Frank shook his head.

"Eyes up here, kid."

Jo obeyed. Frank's eyes were firm but held a mixture of concern and understanding.