People Are Strange (The Lost Boys Anniversary Edition)

Chapter Eight

"Marko..."

It's time to wake up

"Marko..."

Rise and shine

"...wake up. For God's sake man, wake the fuck up!"

It was Paul's voice that finally made its way through the heavy fog that surrounded Marko's brain and brought him to his senses. The weightless black that had him swaddled in a comfortable state of numbness pulled back and Marko instantly regretted being alive. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. Everything hurt.

Oh god why?

A pitiful groan was all he could manage as Paul's dogged persistence forced his eyes open. Colours, there were weird colours, neon vivid and way too focused. Marko shut his eyes while Paul helped him to sit up. Both of them were dazed and utterly confused.

"Man, I feel like shit." Marko gagged as he rested his forehead on his bent knees and waited until the world stopped spinning.

"What did we get into last night?"

He promptly lost the battle with gravity before the words left his mouth. Instinctively he curled up into a tight ball to ride out the nauseous wave that swept over him.

"I don't know bro, I can't remember a fucking thing."

Paul gingerly shook his head. He felt as if he had been hit head on by a Mac truck and then wrung out like a wet rag. When he had groggily regained consciousness he could not figure out who he was or which way was up for at least ten minutes or more. It had been impossible for him to do little more than fight to breathe until the vertigo had finally passed.

"Paul," Marko mumbled into the patched arm of his jacket as a spastic shudder sized his spine.

"What." Paul growled as he gently massaged his temples. God, beating his head in with the pointed end of a pickaxe would be less painful than the migraine that was pounding out the baseline of Ace of Spades behind his eyes.

"Where the hell are we?" Marko asked before he managed to roll over onto his back without choking on the acid bile that hung back in his throat. Was this how Jimi Hendrix felt before he bought the farm? Because if so, it freaking sucked.

"Huh?" Paul squinted at Marko. The clash of colourful images on his jacket were starting to meld into each other.

"Look."

Paul blinked hard and looked about owlishly. It took a few long moments before things started to sink in.

Huh.

"Are we dead?"

The words just spilling out of Marko without him realizing it. Paul snorted, which was not a smart move, and swore softly.

"Ah...god I hate hangovers. No, we're not dead. We wouldn't be feeling like this if we were. I think we're under ground...looks like some sort of cave...I think."

Paul carefully attempted to stand up. Before he was even half way up, his legs gave out and he collapsed.

"Ok, not good." Paul said as he just laid there next to his best friend. What was wrong with him? No hangover had ever done this before. What exactly did they do last night?

"Evening boys. I wasn't expecting you both to wake for a few more hours yet."

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where the voice had come from because it echoed off the rock walls. Paul lifted his head in an attempt to find the owner of the voice. He gave a start of surprise when he realized that a guy decked out all in black stood right at his feet and stared down at them with a bemused smirk on his pasty face. One that Paul had a sudden and inexplicable urge to remove by force.