FicWad

The park was small by normal standards, but large enough to sit quietly and be unobserved. Only a couple of acres of land standing opposite a church and cemetery; Patrick reflected on the possibility that the park probably belonged to the church – a piece of landscaped property that had gone unused as part of the cemetery perhaps? Anyway, regardless of its actual purpose and who it belonged to, it was, to him, somewhere to hide. It was somewhere for him to take stock. But most of all, it was somewhere he could talk to the selectively visible Dr Benzedrine without seeming to passers by as if he were insane. Silently Patrick was pleased that it was a bitterly cold day and so very few people were strolling through, it wasn’t large enough to jog through either and, generally speaking, most people barely registered that it was there.

“I need to go to the studio,” Patrick announced as he returned his phone to his pocket. “We have to rehearse.”
“We don’t have time!” Benzedrine insisted.
“I have plenty of time!” Patrick snapped in reply, rubbing a hand across his still painful jaw, as if to remind his companion of the reason for his lack of sympathy with his cause.
“What do I have to do to convince you to do as I ask?” Benzedrine asked darkly.
“I don’t even know what you want!” Patrick raised his voice, satisfied that no one would hear him.
“I told you, I want you to help me destroy Mr Sandman and I told you why!” Benzedrine was becoming increasingly agitated by Patrick’s refusal to fall in line.
“How do I know that it isn’t you that needs destroying?” Patrick demanded as he pulled his coat tighter around him, protecting himself from the chill wind in the open parkland. “I don’t even know where you’re from or how you’re here – you or this Mr. Sandman!”

Benzedrine pouted, his red of his painted lips almost vanishing in his annoyance.

“Okay, I’ll tell you everything,” Benzedrine growled through gritted teeth.
“I have to go to the studio,” Patrick replied moving to stand.
“Sit down!” Benzedrine yelled, pushing Patrick back onto the bench and holding him there. “Don’t make me force you.”
“You’re doing nothing to convince me to help you!” Patrick snapped back with a mixture of surprise and anger at his reaction.
“You think I care about getting you to do what I want?” Benzedrine finally smiled, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “It’s not something I need to do, I can force you and I will if you continue to resist.”

Trying to stand once more, Patrick’s eyes widened as he found he could barely move under Benzedrine’s hold. Looking around urgently, Patrick’s heart sank as he realised that his decision to find somewhere quiet had left him alone and without any likelihood of any help.

“Yes,” Benzedrine chuckled callously, “you’re quite alone. Now, as I promised, I will explain all about us to you, but then, you’ll do everything I tell you to. I’m afraid you’re long past having a choice in this.”

Patrick stared up fearfully; he had grossly underestimated the man and had, as a result, played right into his hands. Seeing what he had managed to do already, Patrick had no reason to doubt that his threat to force him to do his bidding was genuine enough. No one knew where he was and he was unable to raise the alarm. He was in trouble – big trouble!

*

This was just a little bit too weird, Pete had decided. Mr. Sandman had tricked him. No, more accurately he had trapped him. It wasn’t his choice to be here in this strange world, not even accidentally and now he was… well, in truth he didn’t know where he was. The last he remembered was walking at pace down a dark mis-shapen brick tunnel with Donnie then the blinding flash of a camera and now he had woken here – wherever here was. Getting to his feet, he examined his surroundings. Behind him, it looked like the tunnel, the sides, blank white walls, the front, totally clear, clearer than glass. There seemed to be nothing there, but whatever it was, it was hard to the touch and completely solid. Using one of the moves he had learned for the Sixteen Candles video, Pete turned sharply and raised his right leg high, straightening it into what would have been a vicious kick. A shockwave ran along his leg and a severe judder shaking almost every bone in his body as it passed through him. Instantly collapsing in an explosion of pain, he felt as though he had kicked a brick wall. Arching his back as the pain coursed through him, he snatched at breaths as the agony subsided. Finally Pete flopped onto his side, breathing slowly as he summoned the courage to check himself over. Gingerly, he reached down, pressing his fingers along the length of his thigh. Pushing himself partially upright, he continued to check beyond his knee. Without shoes, he knew that his feet were likely to be most severely damaged and on checking he found his heel seemed badly bruised, but that seemed to be all. Thankful that nothing seemed to be broken, Pete massaged his still aching leg before sitting up fully. Wherever he was, he was trapped. He could see out of his prison, but there wasn’t much to see; the tiled ceiling of what might have been an office and in the periphery a wall with some clippings and notes pinned to it. It was only then that he realised that the window to his cell seemed to face upwards, he was facing it, yet he had just been standing. It meant he was standing horizontally! How was that even possible? Yes, a little too weird for his liking! He wondered if anyone cared where he was. Donnie knew he had been taken, yes, but did he care? Was anyone even trying to rescue him? Mr Sandman’s words kept coming back to him. ‘Try not to get killed. That would be awkward… for you, not me.’ Even he didn’t seem to care, why should anyone else? The best he could hope for was that Patrick was faring better than he was.