The Sunshine in My Veins (Peterick) ➳ Book 1

Seven

Patrick shouldn't have gone alone. His mind was reeling with images taunting his vision and static ringing in his ears. A loud screeching sound—just like an old dialup tone—brought him to his knees. Then everything was gone.

Hands pressed to his ears, chin tucked to his chest, Patrick didn't notice the two figures standing at the end of the hall until he regained enough composure to look up.

The air was nearly taken from his lungs when his eyes met the two identical faces. The walked in perfect synchronisation, stopping ten feet from Patrick's kneeling figure.

The static noise was back. "Tell me which one's the real one, Patrick."

"No," he whispered to the voice. "I'm not doing this again."

The voice tsked. "You know which one it is. . . . The minute you saw them you knew."

"Please don't. I don't want to. I don't . . ."

Patrick's sharp, uneven breathing pierced through the night air. His hand was on his chest this time, gripping the shirt fabric covering his heart. The heart that was beating so rapidly Patrick was surprised it hasn't launched itself out of his chest yet.

"C'mon, Patrick, come play with me."

They even got his voice right. How did they do that?

"No," Patrick wheezed. "NO!"

Both figures before him burst into a shower of gold light, dissolving into nothing. The voice was back again with the words of adoration and praise. "Very good, Patrick. You're getting stronger. Now go back to your companion and rest. There's a reward for you by the door."

The static faded away and soon Patrick was on all fours retching violently onto the wood floor. He just wanted to give in to the darkness ebbing at his vision, but he had to get back to Pete. Weakly, Patrick stood to his feet and made his way towards the door. As promised a reward of some canned fruits and vegetables were in a pile. There was even a bag of some baked good that Patrick was apprehensive to take. In the end he stuffed everything inside. Pete probably wouldn't question it anyway.

The walk back seemed to take ten times as long as the trek there. Patrick almost cried when the small apartment complex came into view, and then he remembered the stairs. Step by step, Patrick navigated his way through the emergency exit to the top floor. He still didn't know why Pete had chosen the top floor exactly; he didn't understand why Pete did a lot of things.

Three knocks on the door and Patrick stumbled in, his sights set on the king mattress.

"What the hell happened to you?" Pete asked in shock as he watched Patrick collapse on the bed.

Patrick didn't know what to say. If he told Pete it was an attack they'd be out of there in a heartbeat. He couldn't exactly explain what really happened because he didn't understand it himself. This had been happening since he was a child. To him this was nothing to be alarmed about.

"Nothing. Just tired," he muttered. "Food in the bag."

Pete waited until Patrick's breathing evened out before he did anything. His hands reached for the worn backpack while his eyes remained on the sleeping figure. Subconsciously, he began pulling out cans; he pulled out the bag of warm bread and froze.

"Where the fuck did you get this?" Pete shouted, disrupting Patrick's sleep.

The end of a stunner gun was pressed against Patrick's temple by the time he came to his sense.

"I-I, um, I found it."

Pete scoffed. "Fuck that."

"Fine. Someone g-gave it to me. A human. They weren't going to make it. So they gave me w-what they had." The static in his ears was slowly coming back. "Go away," he moaned. "Leave me alone."

But this was punishment. Patrick hadn't done what he was instructed. He wasn't resting, and it was going to ensure he did.

"Patrick?" Pete asked.

It wasn't a panic attack that he was witnessing, but it was something close. He gently tried to pull Patrick's hands from his ears, and succeeded for seconds; Pete never noticed how strong Patrick actually was. Faintly, he could hear Patrick whispering to himself, "Need to sleep. Just let me sleep."

"Okay, Lunchbox. You can sleep."

And carefully, Pete got Patrick to lay on his side. Running his hand through Patrick's reddish brown hair, he began softly singing a lullaby he wrote for Bronx when he couldn't sleep.

"Honey is for bees, silly bear
Besides, there's jelly beans everywhere
It's not what it seems in the land of dreams
Don't worry your head just go to sleep."

Everything was calm. Patrick was out cold and Pete was still ruffling up Patrick's hair. His fingers gently ran over a bit of cool metal, and on closer inspection, Pete found it to be a small square attached to Patrick's skull. There was no indication that it was anything but a bit of metal, but it made Pete uneasy. He knew if he was going to stay with Patrick he was going to need answers. Like where he got the bread and what that piece of metal was doing on the side of his head.

For now, Pete would sleep. It probably wasn't the smartest ideas to have no one on watch, but both he and Patrick were tired—despite his hatred for the man, Pete couldn't force him to stay awake to take watch. So Pete put his faith to the unknown and laid down next to Patrick, wrapping his arm around his waist.

Morning brought about a silent Patrick and a confused Pete. Questions needed to be answered, both of them knew it. Patrick wanted to talk, to tell someone what had been tormenting him for as long as he could remember, but it was instructing him not to speak.

So Pete got nowhere in his interrogation. They ate the bread in silence and decided to remain where they were for a few days. It's not like it would kill them. At least that's what Pete assumed.