I know who killed me || Solo Post
Was this it? Wasn’t he supposed to feel some sort of sense of entitlement now? Or feel like he knew the real meaning of life? But no, he’d died and nothing, no out of body experience, no tales of how he’d seen pearly gates before being yanked back down (take that however you want) or even seen his life flash before his eyes. That was supposed to happen right? Maybe that only counted if you could actually remember the whole experience rather than little bits of it while the demon in you was exorcised and killed. Since there was no-one to compare it to, Nick didn’t have any of the answers to that.
But the flashbacks were getting worse, he wondered if it was post-traumatic stress or something but decided it was probably just the natural reaction to drowning. To remember it everytime you closed your eyes. Of course, his main aim was to remember. Maybe it was wrong of him but he felt like he wanted to know who had killed him because someone had killed him and he hadn’t told anyone yet. Maybe he should think about that, about telling people that was. He was actually trying very hard not to remember the rest. The feeling of hands holding him down, the feeling of his wet fingers slipping hopelessly on a shirt as he struggled to get free.
Struggled to break the surface. Suddenly the feeling was back and his whole body was tense, strung out like a wire, quivering at every delicate touch. Everything felt heavy, the sheets against his skin were like lead, suffocating him, a weight against his chest as he struggled to pull air in and out of his lungs. It was too hot and everything was so constricting and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything but the push and pull of air into his too tight chest. He thrashed his arms and legs struggling to get the sheets off him and seeming to only end up in more of a tangle. Had he been more sound of mind maybe he’d have stopped struggling and tried to get it off by relaxing and taking a deep breath but that wasn’t seeming possible for the blonde boy at this moment in time.
Slipping off the bed and landing with a thump on the floor left the boy more winded than ever, actually struggling for breath now instead of just remembering the feeling. That left him quiet and he stopped struggling against the tightness of the sheets. A small noise of defeat escaped his lips (one he’d deny ever making if asked about it) and he closed his eyes, remembering how it felt, his entire body shutting down bit by bit until his eyes fell shut and the last bit of air left his body. He thought about his killer and why he’d (because Nick had gathered from the brief memory flashes of shirt against his fingers and holding onto a muscled arm to try and pull himself out of the water) left Nick there to die, or, more accurately, why he’d been trying to kill him in the first place.
Nick wondered if he should be worried, a random drowning didn’t seem like something that would go on here, so the person that had killed him had to have had a reason, if not the demon then maybe someone knew about them. Either way didn’t that mean they might try again? Perhaps he should be a little concerned. With his breath finally returned to him and a calmer state of mind Nick reopened his eyes and wriggled out of the cocoon of sheets that he’d made, using a drawer to help pull himself up.
At least, until the drawer came out of the dresser, scattering its contents all around the room. The witch sighed and bent down to scoop everything back up, wincing when his finger hit glass. He drew it back examining the few drops of red that were spilling out of the wound. Then he carefully picked up the glass with his good hand and looked around for more and/or the source. An upside down photo frame proved to be the latter and he turned it over coming eye to eye with his seven year old self and the small brunette next to him that had to be Diana. They were wearing lifejackets and suddenly he remembered. It was Diana. Charles had been about to take them out on his boat. Nick loved the feeling of being far away from everything with the wind in his hair but he’d hated the boat itself and the water around it, he’d just clung to Charles’ arm and- Charles’ arm.
He frowned, he had to be imagining it, there was no way…'Mr. Meade? What are you doing?' Nick swallowed thickly and stumbled back to sit on his bed, his finger still wrapped around the broken photo frame as the truth rang in his head louder than anything ever had before.
