Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > My Own Sins
He felt as if he was never going to stop falling. At first he had screamed, loud and long until all his breath was exhausted, but he kept falling. Catching his breath again, the panic in him released itself almost immediately as another terrified scream. Running out of breath once more, Pete was still falling. Everything around him was total blackness, not a speck of light to be seen. Somehow, he had the impression that there would be nothing to see even if there had been enough light to pick anything out. There was no sense of heat, or wind either. He would expect to feel wind rushing past him as he continued to drop, but there was nothing. In fact, the only reasons he knew he was falling was that he occasionally turned and there was nothing beneath him. Finally, he realised that he had been thinking about this for quite some time and yet he was still falling, he assumed rapidly.
Without a hint of warning, a flood of lights, aromas and noise assaulted his senses. A cacophony of sound filled his ears as he broke through from the utter darkness into a green-tinged hazy gloom. From apparently nowhere, a wind whipped up around him giving him some idea of the frightening speed his fall had reached. A cursory glance told him that he was underground in some sort of cave-like structure and that the floor was rushing to meet him. Now he realised that the noise filling his ears was his own renewed screams as he hurtled to what he was sure would be his death.
His screams stopped abruptly with a loud huff as some of the air was driven from his lungs. Somehow he had landed safely and unhurt. Pausing briefly to get his breath back, Pete looked up. His eyes widened in surprise as he found himself lying across a man’s arms, being carried bridal-style as he recovered his wits.
“Mr Sandman said you’d be dropping in, he sent me to catch you.”
“Andy?” Pete cried as he struggled to get down from the scoop-like hold he had him in.
“Stop wriggling!” the man scolded. “I’ll put you down.”
Dropped gently to his feet, Pete straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair as he continued to stare at the man who had saved him from certain death. In contrast to the black and gold of Mr Sandman’s outfit, he was colourfully dressed in a green tailcoat with lime green lapels, a matching bow tie and a pair of cropped pants of yet another shade of green, all topped off by a small, ill-fitting lime green hat decorated with a large felt sunflower. Beneath the jacket, he had opted to go without a shirt, revealing a human canvas of colourful tattoos that almost drew the eyes away from the garish suit. But most of all, he was the image of Andy. As he had found with Mr Sandman, this man was Andy’s counterpart from the America’s Suitehearts video. It was surreal to say the least. He almost dreaded the question he was about to ask. He felt he knew what the answer would be, but there was no choice, he had to be sure.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Donnie,” the man replied with a smile.
“The World’s Greatest Catcher?” Pete sighed; wishing desperately that he could wake from what he hoped was a nightmare.
“That’s right,” Donnie replied proudly. “Come on,” he added as he began to walk briskly away.
“W… wait! Where are we going?”
“To the Dream World, of course,” he answered without breaking stride.
“Where are we now?” Pete asked, struggling to keep up.
“The Hills,” Donnie replied darkly. “We can’t stay here.”
“Why?” Pete’s curiosity peaked.
Donnie stopped his brisk strides and turned a quizzical expression toward Pete.
“I’m assuming you want to survive?”
”Yeah.” Pete’s brow furrowed and the intimidating question.
“Then we can’t stay here.”
Doubling his efforts, Pete caught up with Donnie as he headed down a long tunnel of uneven and misshapen brickwork. So, this is what he meant by ‘Try not to be killed’?
“What about Doctor Benzedrine?” Pete shouted as Donnie picked up his pace and lengthened the gap between them.
Turning sharply, Donnie shushed him, trying to keep his voice to a low hiss.
“Not here,” he shook his head to emphasise. “I’ll tell you everything I can when we get there.”
“But, my friend, Patrick…”
“I know!” he snapped, interrupting. “I said I’d tell you when we get there.”
Without another word, Donnie spun on his heels and headed swiftly into the tunnel with Pete racing after him.
*
Sandman stood back from the mirror and frowned. He had removed all of his make up, discarded his thigh-length boots, glittering gold pants and long sheer coat. In place of his outfit of choice were a pair of skinny jeans, a dark blue shirt, pale grey hoodie and a pair of acid-wash sky tops. Exhaling noisily, his frown deepened as he combed his hair to sit flat against his head.
“So very drab!” he complained.
Picking up Pete’s phone from the bedside cabinet, Sandman smiled as he punched in a sequence of buttons.
“You didn’t know I’ve been watching you, did you, Petey boy?” he grinned as he heard the ringing tone. “I know enough to get by and fool them that I’m you.”
Only a few rings later, Sandman heard what was, to him, the familiar voice of two different people – of course, this could really only be Patrick.
“Hello?” the singer asked tentatively.
“Patrick, are you alone?”
Normally an easy question, it was now not quite so straightforward. Glancing at Benzedrine who hadn’t left his side all day, Patrick sighed and gave the honest answer.
“I… don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sandman asked.
“Pete, I… I don’t know how to say this… I think I’m hallucinating.”
Sandman could hear the uncertainty in Patrick’s voice, the unwillingness to accept that he was going crazy, but the lack of any other explanation. He frowned as he realised the only possible reason for Patrick’s troubled state – Benzedrine had already found him.
“I really need to speak to you, Patrick… alone,” Sandman insisted before adding: “You’re not hallucinating, well, not unless I am too.”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah, I mean lose the canary-coloured freak!”
“But… how did you…?” Patrick struggled to find ways to phrase his sentences so that that Benzedrine wouldn’t immediately know what, or rather, who he was talking about.
“I’ll explain later. I’ll meet you at the studio in an hour. I understand you can’t say much now, just find a way to get rid of him – even temporarily.”
“Okay,” Patrick nodded to himself, frowning as the line went dead.
As he turned, Patrick staggered backwards as he practically brushed noses with Doctor Benzedrine who was stretching the definition of personal space.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Benzedrine began. “Mister Sandman is trying to destroy me, but without me, everyone would lie in a permanent sleep state, locked in one of his hellish nightmares. We have to stop him!”
Without a hint of warning, a flood of lights, aromas and noise assaulted his senses. A cacophony of sound filled his ears as he broke through from the utter darkness into a green-tinged hazy gloom. From apparently nowhere, a wind whipped up around him giving him some idea of the frightening speed his fall had reached. A cursory glance told him that he was underground in some sort of cave-like structure and that the floor was rushing to meet him. Now he realised that the noise filling his ears was his own renewed screams as he hurtled to what he was sure would be his death.
His screams stopped abruptly with a loud huff as some of the air was driven from his lungs. Somehow he had landed safely and unhurt. Pausing briefly to get his breath back, Pete looked up. His eyes widened in surprise as he found himself lying across a man’s arms, being carried bridal-style as he recovered his wits.
“Mr Sandman said you’d be dropping in, he sent me to catch you.”
“Andy?” Pete cried as he struggled to get down from the scoop-like hold he had him in.
“Stop wriggling!” the man scolded. “I’ll put you down.”
Dropped gently to his feet, Pete straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair as he continued to stare at the man who had saved him from certain death. In contrast to the black and gold of Mr Sandman’s outfit, he was colourfully dressed in a green tailcoat with lime green lapels, a matching bow tie and a pair of cropped pants of yet another shade of green, all topped off by a small, ill-fitting lime green hat decorated with a large felt sunflower. Beneath the jacket, he had opted to go without a shirt, revealing a human canvas of colourful tattoos that almost drew the eyes away from the garish suit. But most of all, he was the image of Andy. As he had found with Mr Sandman, this man was Andy’s counterpart from the America’s Suitehearts video. It was surreal to say the least. He almost dreaded the question he was about to ask. He felt he knew what the answer would be, but there was no choice, he had to be sure.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Donnie,” the man replied with a smile.
“The World’s Greatest Catcher?” Pete sighed; wishing desperately that he could wake from what he hoped was a nightmare.
“That’s right,” Donnie replied proudly. “Come on,” he added as he began to walk briskly away.
“W… wait! Where are we going?”
“To the Dream World, of course,” he answered without breaking stride.
“Where are we now?” Pete asked, struggling to keep up.
“The Hills,” Donnie replied darkly. “We can’t stay here.”
“Why?” Pete’s curiosity peaked.
Donnie stopped his brisk strides and turned a quizzical expression toward Pete.
“I’m assuming you want to survive?”
”Yeah.” Pete’s brow furrowed and the intimidating question.
“Then we can’t stay here.”
Doubling his efforts, Pete caught up with Donnie as he headed down a long tunnel of uneven and misshapen brickwork. So, this is what he meant by ‘Try not to be killed’?
“What about Doctor Benzedrine?” Pete shouted as Donnie picked up his pace and lengthened the gap between them.
Turning sharply, Donnie shushed him, trying to keep his voice to a low hiss.
“Not here,” he shook his head to emphasise. “I’ll tell you everything I can when we get there.”
“But, my friend, Patrick…”
“I know!” he snapped, interrupting. “I said I’d tell you when we get there.”
Without another word, Donnie spun on his heels and headed swiftly into the tunnel with Pete racing after him.
*
Sandman stood back from the mirror and frowned. He had removed all of his make up, discarded his thigh-length boots, glittering gold pants and long sheer coat. In place of his outfit of choice were a pair of skinny jeans, a dark blue shirt, pale grey hoodie and a pair of acid-wash sky tops. Exhaling noisily, his frown deepened as he combed his hair to sit flat against his head.
“So very drab!” he complained.
Picking up Pete’s phone from the bedside cabinet, Sandman smiled as he punched in a sequence of buttons.
“You didn’t know I’ve been watching you, did you, Petey boy?” he grinned as he heard the ringing tone. “I know enough to get by and fool them that I’m you.”
Only a few rings later, Sandman heard what was, to him, the familiar voice of two different people – of course, this could really only be Patrick.
“Hello?” the singer asked tentatively.
“Patrick, are you alone?”
Normally an easy question, it was now not quite so straightforward. Glancing at Benzedrine who hadn’t left his side all day, Patrick sighed and gave the honest answer.
“I… don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sandman asked.
“Pete, I… I don’t know how to say this… I think I’m hallucinating.”
Sandman could hear the uncertainty in Patrick’s voice, the unwillingness to accept that he was going crazy, but the lack of any other explanation. He frowned as he realised the only possible reason for Patrick’s troubled state – Benzedrine had already found him.
“I really need to speak to you, Patrick… alone,” Sandman insisted before adding: “You’re not hallucinating, well, not unless I am too.”
“You mean…?”
“Yeah, I mean lose the canary-coloured freak!”
“But… how did you…?” Patrick struggled to find ways to phrase his sentences so that that Benzedrine wouldn’t immediately know what, or rather, who he was talking about.
“I’ll explain later. I’ll meet you at the studio in an hour. I understand you can’t say much now, just find a way to get rid of him – even temporarily.”
“Okay,” Patrick nodded to himself, frowning as the line went dead.
As he turned, Patrick staggered backwards as he practically brushed noses with Doctor Benzedrine who was stretching the definition of personal space.
“I’ll come straight to the point,” Benzedrine began. “Mister Sandman is trying to destroy me, but without me, everyone would lie in a permanent sleep state, locked in one of his hellish nightmares. We have to stop him!”
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