Spilling Guts

Part 147 - Perchance to Dream?

This is real. Louis is real. I'm going to swallow him down and Rachel is going to do something in the BT. Just like test days. Except I'm tired. I'm hungry. Actually those two check out for test days. And...

Nope. Nope. It's not real, that thing sitting next to Louis isn't real. Louis is real. That's him on my hand not the thing.

Will put his left mittened hand under his right. He swallowed in anticipation and he might as well have shoved sandpaper down his throat.

Stop shaking. You need to keep Louis steady. Cause he's gonna be in your mouth and you're gonna swallow him like he's a really big pill.

A handful of Louis helps the terrors go 'way.

Will fit the heel of his wrist into the dip under his lips and opened his mouth wide. A small, warm, wriggling thing crawled into his mouth, leaving a puddle behind on his palm. Lubricant squished and pooled under his tongue, a lingering chemical sweetness that thankfully wasn't cherry flavored. Not that he could taste or smell anything.

Louis in my mouth, not the-

A bone white tendril, creeping amongst the vines attaching him to the machines, swiveled into his line of sight and lurched forward.

Will snapped his mouth shut, keeping the tendril out. His teeth caught on something.

Louis' scream echoed on his tongue and on Rachel's tablet. Rachel lurched forward.

No. No! What did he do? Did he-

The tendril. Not real. And he'd bit-

"I'm fine! I'm okay!" said Louis. "Nipped my boot."

Will's breath wheezed through his stuffy nose. Hard to have a sufficient panic attack when both nostril's were clogged and a person sat in your mouth. But his mind made a dedicated effort. His heart pounded, cold trickled down his spine as the nightmarish image of a tiny Louis with his leg bitten off came to mind. His gorge rose.

"Nope, nope, no!" yelled Louis. "Not again!"

The weight on his tongue thrashed.

"Will, calm down," said Rachel, gloved hands on Will's jaw. "You can spit him out and we'll try again."

Rachel's fingers had caught a thread of lubricant on Will's chin and accidentally smeared it on his cheek; cold, slimy. Like the tendrils keeping him pinned to the bed.

Trying to pry my mouth open. Trying to get inside to get Louis. No.

Will's hip went cold, a section of his body going heavy and numb. Usually, in a daymare this was where he lost control of his body and went limp. But he fought against it. He would be vulnerable to the tendrils and they would-

A shudder, a shake, the thing that looked like Rachel imploring him to open up, and the weight in his mouth accidentally squeezed into Will's throat.

Fucking hell!

Swallowing Louis was like a shattered, smoldering, Molotov cocktail going down his throat.

And he could taste blood.

Will resisted the "helping" hands on his shoulders and neck as he curled up on the bed. He wanted to vomit, but the cold from his hip had crawled up to his torso. Maybe this was another dream that started good but altered course to disturbing in the second half. He'd be vomiting bullets and body parts and wake up in a cold sweat, crying. He prayed this was a nightmare. Because if it was real than Louis could be in two pieces in his stomach.

But if it was a nightmare, then there was no hope. No cure. No new plan.

He looked to the side table for his phone. I need to call mom. Tell her what to do with my things when they put me away for cannibalistic murder. Or insanity. She won't know what to do with my costumes.

I just want to be held.

Then the side table rolled away.

No, the bed was rolling away and Rachel was talking to him.

"Will, are you with me? Louis has given the okay and we're going to the BT lab."

Louis? Was he here? Was today was test day? Am I awake now?

Something fluttered in his stomach. Not pain. Not hunger. "All in one piece," said Louis' voice through the tablet. "Let's do this."

Louis. Was inside him. Not a dream as Rachel rolled him down the hallway of Med Tech and into the lab area. Balcuwitz followed them with the tablet in hand, talking to Louis. Because Louis was fine. Somehow.

The chill left Will's limbs only to be replaced with a heat that made him kick the sheets off his legs. His foot hurt, probably from being pinned under the sheets for too long.

"I'm hot."

"I'll get you an ice pack in a moment," said Rachel as she maneuvered the bed into the BT lab. The lights were on and the giant machine blinked and whined as Will was slid inside it like a bulky pizza into a brick oven.

Will put his hands over his ears. Not that noise again.

Rachel replaced his hands with a cold towel. "Better?"

Will groaned. Better, but his head still ached. And he was hungry.

Right? That's what the fluttering was? Hunger? He couldn't remember anymore.

Then Rachel took back the cold towel and held out something orange.

It looked like an orange water cooler blown apart by a bomb and then glued back together to make modern art. Or a hat. He'd seen this thing before, hadn't he?

...Right. Space elves. Fellowship of the Rings of Jupiter. And he was Sailor Pluto, because Rachel was putting the crown on his head and telling him to lay still and sweet dreams in this bright white fishbowl. What happened to the shrimps? Did they die?

Did something kill them?

Will's eyes darted to the too bright corners of the chamber, looking out for whatever killed the shrimps and would kill him next. Where was Rachel? And Balcuwitz. Did the tendrils get them?

Then Louis' voice came over the speaker. "Try to sleep, fanboy."

How could he sleep when-

The orange thing turned on. A buzz trickled over his skull, down his spine and into his muscles, making them loose and lax, leaving a heavy lull in his nerves down to his core.

Actually, sleep sounded like a good idea. In theory. He could close his eyes and pretend to sleep... just for a moment...