Faded: Part Two
Title: Faded
Author: twilight_rush
Fandom: Hey Monday
Summary: It was suppose to be just another concert. Hey Monday would perform at The Gelda, all the fans would be happy, and that would be that. But it's not going that way. Something at The Gelda is hurting Cassadee, haunting her, and possessing her. She doesn't know what it is or how to fix it.
So she just might die before figuring it out.
Pairing: some Cassadee Pope/Mike Gentile
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: I am the great pretender. I own nothing. If you’re the above people run far away.
Chapters: Part One: Never; Part Three: Back
Note: Okay, I lied. This isn't going to be three parts - it's going to be four. After writing and editing part two I realized it was a tad too long so I had to split it up. So here's part two. Part three should be up soon.
Part Two: Look
“What did you do?” Mike trails his fingers lightly across the now pale purple bruise around Cassadee’s neck. She seethes at its appearance.
“I didn’t do anything!” Cassadee wails. She tries to keep the furious tears away but a few leak regardless. The bruise - it means last night’s event wasn’t a dream. It really did happen.
“It wasn’t there last night. Your neck was perfectly fine.” The way Mike says it; as if it’s just a dumb papercut she can put a band-aid on, irate her and she glances at him to call him out on it.
She holds her tongue. His back is slightly hunched over, shoulders slumped and he has a look of no concern - a total change from last night when he was acting sweet and caring.
Mike is acting like the bruise is supposed to be there. That it’s normal. That it’s nothing. Cassadee expects him to say at any moment, “Whatever, this is stupid.”
She asks, “What’s up with you?”
He doesn’t do as much as raise an eyebrow, shrugging. “Nothing. Just kind of tired. Why?”
She’s looking at his eyes and can’t find or get any comfort out of them like she used to. Maybe it is because he’s tired. Mike tends to act odd when not fully awake.
“I’m gonna wash up,” she utters, rubbing her neck, the spot still tender. Mike steps out, closing the door after him.
She doesn’t touch the shower for a long time, opting to stand there and gaze pitifully at the mark. A smothered whine escapes her throat before she finally backs away from the mirror and runs the water. The whole time she’s taking a shower she has the curtains slightly opened, her face facing where the door is. It’s not because of Mike, but something else she doesn’t know the name to.
Cassadee does not need a reenactment of the Psycho shower scene.
~
By the time Cassadee is dressed the bruise doesn’t look as brutal as before, but the boys still question it. And what can Cassadee say to them except, “I did it in my sleep?” or some other dumb answer. Since no one wants to drag up last night they quickly move on from it.
They have an interview with a radio station to talk about the new album, the show tomorrow, and other things. Once that’s done they decide to just walk around and go into places that look cool.
“You’re calm.” Alex chimes, and it takes Cassadee a while to acknowledge how lax her muscles are and the sort of happy vibe going through her. She didn’t even feel this way until they left the hotel.
“I guess I am.”
They buy some clothes at a few retro-looking shops and act like idiots at the park, making friends with some of the little kids. Halfway through the day they decide to head back to the hotel for a little rest.
The amount of dread that falls on Cassadee is depressing and the boys are too oblivious to notice it, simply smiling or hitting her shoulder in a friendly way.
Mike stays to himself and that bums Cassadee out even more.
As the view of the golden hotel comes into view Cassadee questions how something so seemingly wonderful can feel so terrible. The question nags her until she steals Elliot’s laptop (she forgotten hers at home), heads into the privacy of her room and looks up The Gelda.
She gets the hotel’s website and all it says is the basic: built in blah blah blah by who cares and yada yada yada . . .
She goes back to the other results notices a string of websites she didn’t pay attention to before.
The Gelda Haunting. The Gelda Tragedy. The True Story of the Gelda . . .
A hard lump forms in her throat as cold sweat breaks out on her skin.
Haunting? Tragedy? The arrow hovers over the words and Cassadee gains a sense of foreboding. She ignores the senseless fear and goes to click on it.
A dark shadow looms over her and Cassadee slowly gazes up, trying to hold back shock, as she gapes at Mike. He peers at her questionably and Cassadee quickly closes the laptop, feeling she was caught doing something bad.
She coughs down the spit gathering at the back of throat. “M-Mike? How did you -- did I leave the door unlock? You . . . Mike?” Something’s wrong - this is all wrong. Mike’s her friend. She grew up with him. She’s supposed to feel safe around him.
Her heartbeat hurts too much and the anxiety is making her dizzy. “Are you okay?” she squeaks.
He doesn’t say anything. Cassadee rubs her eyes as her vision wavers, and Mike’s features distorts. His eyes turn dark, his hair short and combed back, and his skin turns a shade pale . . .
Cassadee stands up, fumbles, “Mike, I think we - you should -“
“Eloise.”
That’s far from her name, but she recognizes it, she responds to it with, “What is it?” and holds her head as the heavy pressure from before comes back. A warning. She needs to get away. The same time she recognizes it Mike looks at her with hard hatred that makes her want to cry.
He’s not there anymore.
Run.
Cassadee sprints to the door, only to run awkwardly into it when Mike grabs her arm. Nails dig under her skin, his free hand raises to hit her.
“Mike - no!” Her yell shakes him, startles them into mute silence. He blinks wildly, mouth hanging open.
Like her eyes are being cleared of dirt, Mike’s features soften, and his face is bright but eerily sad. He looks like himself. The unknown hatred is gone.
He lets her go, saying hastily, “Oh, God, Cass, I’m so sorry. I don’t . . . I didn’t mean to, I just -“ His hands go to his head like overcome by a headache. He mutters what the hell is wrong with me? what’s going? as his fingers tug at his hair.
Cassadee touches his shoulders and guides him away from the door.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he chokes. “I haven’t been feeling good since I woke up. Cassadee, I’m sorry. I swear I’d never hurt you -“
“I know,” she tells him, and she does. She knows he’d never hurt her intentionally. “It’s okay. You should go lay down now.” She points to the bed and he goes. “I need to go do something, but I’ll be back soon to check up on you, take care of you.”
He nods gratefully, slugging his arm over his eyes. “Thanks, Mama Cass.”
Cassadee manages a laugh and quickly leaves. Her back leans against the door and she tries to focus on her breathing, to calm down. Panicking never works. Panicking makes things worse.
She’s comprehending leaving the hotel for a bit, going outside and just walk around. There’s a coffee shop down the street; she can chill out there and go over what just happened, what she found on the internet, what she needs to do now.
There was something in there controlling Mike and she needs to figure out what it is.
Cassadee takes off down the hall, jumping at every noise she hears. She accepts it’s from the guests staying there, but every voice and bang has an eeriness to it and she’s not so sure anymore.
The elevator buttons are a smooth, gleaming bronze in which Cassadee can see her face - small and pathetic with dark eyes and a set frown. The sight makes her stomach clench as the doors slide open, taking her attention away. She has one leg in, about to push her body in, when she feels It.
She turns her head and no matter how many times she blinks the image never becomes clearer. Cassadee has to wonder if she’s actually seeing it psychically or viewing a fuzzy memory in her head.
A young man stands around the corner, almost blending in with the shadows on the walls, but she can see his eyes clearly. They’re glowing. They’re glaring at her with sadness.
But mostly anger.
“Shit!” Cassadee jumps back as the elevator doors close on her leg and then reopens. She turns back to the boy and spies a fragment of a dusty figure dissolving around the corner.
She doesn’t think about it, just yells for him, running. “Hey!” She veers around the corner and comes crashing into someone.
She stumbles back and stares wildly at the person. “You!”
It’s not him. It’s only a cleaning lady coming out of a room she just cleaned.
Red embarrassment flows to Cassadee’s face as bright as the woman’s hair. “I’m sorry. I was . . . “ She peers over the lady’s shoulders and sees no one.
“Did you see a guy pass here?” Cassadee asks. “He looked kind of upset?”
The lady’s eyes widen and the way she’s gazing at Cassadee like she does know who she’s talking about makes her feel hopeful.
But then she quickly sidesteps Cassadee, shooing her away. “Sorry, no one came by here.” She grabs her cart of cleaning supplies and begins trudging away.
“But I saw him and he came this way. You had to have seen him!” Cassadee grabs her arm and stops her. “Are you sure you didn’t -“
“Look, Andrew will--!” The woman stops at the slipped word, her face burning. She snatches her arm away from Cassadee. “Look, hun, I’m really busy.”
Cassadee doesn’t stray from following her. She knows the woman can call security for bothering her, but Cassadee doesn’t care. She obviously knows something and Cassadee is not afraid to bug her repeatedly till she gets answers.
All she wants to know is who the boy is and what’s going on.
“Look, m’am, I’ve been having a crappy time since I got here yesterday,” Cassadee groans. The woman stops, sighing. “I’m freaking out because weird shit is happening to me, and my friend, and I don’t - I can’t -“
She glares up at the ceiling, frustrated. She gives the woman a distressing look. “Please.”
The woman seems to feel pity for Cassadee, twiddling her thumbs as she sighs again. “I guess you really don’t know much about this place if you’re that persistent, huh?” she laughs, sitting on the floor. She motions for Cassadee to do the same.
“I’m gonna be honest and get to the point. This place is haunted - has been for years. You’re nothing special, everyone’s had their time at this place, some meaningless and others . . . more extreme.”
Odd relief falls off Cassadee’s shoulders. She isn’t crazy. She was right about something being wrong with the Gelda, someone attacking her.
But she’s staying in a haunted hotel and that doesn’t exactly make her feel any better.
Author: twilight_rush
Fandom: Hey Monday
Summary: It was suppose to be just another concert. Hey Monday would perform at The Gelda, all the fans would be happy, and that would be that. But it's not going that way. Something at The Gelda is hurting Cassadee, haunting her, and possessing her. She doesn't know what it is or how to fix it.
So she just might die before figuring it out.
Pairing: some Cassadee Pope/Mike Gentile
Rated: PG-13
Disclaimer: I am the great pretender. I own nothing. If you’re the above people run far away.
Chapters: Part One: Never; Part Three: Back
Note: Okay, I lied. This isn't going to be three parts - it's going to be four. After writing and editing part two I realized it was a tad too long so I had to split it up. So here's part two. Part three should be up soon.
Part Two: Look
“What did you do?” Mike trails his fingers lightly across the now pale purple bruise around Cassadee’s neck. She seethes at its appearance.
“I didn’t do anything!” Cassadee wails. She tries to keep the furious tears away but a few leak regardless. The bruise - it means last night’s event wasn’t a dream. It really did happen.
“It wasn’t there last night. Your neck was perfectly fine.” The way Mike says it; as if it’s just a dumb papercut she can put a band-aid on, irate her and she glances at him to call him out on it.
She holds her tongue. His back is slightly hunched over, shoulders slumped and he has a look of no concern - a total change from last night when he was acting sweet and caring.
Mike is acting like the bruise is supposed to be there. That it’s normal. That it’s nothing. Cassadee expects him to say at any moment, “Whatever, this is stupid.”
She asks, “What’s up with you?”
He doesn’t do as much as raise an eyebrow, shrugging. “Nothing. Just kind of tired. Why?”
She’s looking at his eyes and can’t find or get any comfort out of them like she used to. Maybe it is because he’s tired. Mike tends to act odd when not fully awake.
“I’m gonna wash up,” she utters, rubbing her neck, the spot still tender. Mike steps out, closing the door after him.
She doesn’t touch the shower for a long time, opting to stand there and gaze pitifully at the mark. A smothered whine escapes her throat before she finally backs away from the mirror and runs the water. The whole time she’s taking a shower she has the curtains slightly opened, her face facing where the door is. It’s not because of Mike, but something else she doesn’t know the name to.
Cassadee does not need a reenactment of the Psycho shower scene.
~
By the time Cassadee is dressed the bruise doesn’t look as brutal as before, but the boys still question it. And what can Cassadee say to them except, “I did it in my sleep?” or some other dumb answer. Since no one wants to drag up last night they quickly move on from it.
They have an interview with a radio station to talk about the new album, the show tomorrow, and other things. Once that’s done they decide to just walk around and go into places that look cool.
“You’re calm.” Alex chimes, and it takes Cassadee a while to acknowledge how lax her muscles are and the sort of happy vibe going through her. She didn’t even feel this way until they left the hotel.
“I guess I am.”
They buy some clothes at a few retro-looking shops and act like idiots at the park, making friends with some of the little kids. Halfway through the day they decide to head back to the hotel for a little rest.
The amount of dread that falls on Cassadee is depressing and the boys are too oblivious to notice it, simply smiling or hitting her shoulder in a friendly way.
Mike stays to himself and that bums Cassadee out even more.
As the view of the golden hotel comes into view Cassadee questions how something so seemingly wonderful can feel so terrible. The question nags her until she steals Elliot’s laptop (she forgotten hers at home), heads into the privacy of her room and looks up The Gelda.
She gets the hotel’s website and all it says is the basic: built in blah blah blah by who cares and yada yada yada . . .
She goes back to the other results notices a string of websites she didn’t pay attention to before.
The Gelda Haunting. The Gelda Tragedy. The True Story of the Gelda . . .
A hard lump forms in her throat as cold sweat breaks out on her skin.
Haunting? Tragedy? The arrow hovers over the words and Cassadee gains a sense of foreboding. She ignores the senseless fear and goes to click on it.
A dark shadow looms over her and Cassadee slowly gazes up, trying to hold back shock, as she gapes at Mike. He peers at her questionably and Cassadee quickly closes the laptop, feeling she was caught doing something bad.
She coughs down the spit gathering at the back of throat. “M-Mike? How did you -- did I leave the door unlock? You . . . Mike?” Something’s wrong - this is all wrong. Mike’s her friend. She grew up with him. She’s supposed to feel safe around him.
Her heartbeat hurts too much and the anxiety is making her dizzy. “Are you okay?” she squeaks.
He doesn’t say anything. Cassadee rubs her eyes as her vision wavers, and Mike’s features distorts. His eyes turn dark, his hair short and combed back, and his skin turns a shade pale . . .
Cassadee stands up, fumbles, “Mike, I think we - you should -“
“Eloise.”
That’s far from her name, but she recognizes it, she responds to it with, “What is it?” and holds her head as the heavy pressure from before comes back. A warning. She needs to get away. The same time she recognizes it Mike looks at her with hard hatred that makes her want to cry.
He’s not there anymore.
Run.
Cassadee sprints to the door, only to run awkwardly into it when Mike grabs her arm. Nails dig under her skin, his free hand raises to hit her.
“Mike - no!” Her yell shakes him, startles them into mute silence. He blinks wildly, mouth hanging open.
Like her eyes are being cleared of dirt, Mike’s features soften, and his face is bright but eerily sad. He looks like himself. The unknown hatred is gone.
He lets her go, saying hastily, “Oh, God, Cass, I’m so sorry. I don’t . . . I didn’t mean to, I just -“ His hands go to his head like overcome by a headache. He mutters what the hell is wrong with me? what’s going? as his fingers tug at his hair.
Cassadee touches his shoulders and guides him away from the door.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he chokes. “I haven’t been feeling good since I woke up. Cassadee, I’m sorry. I swear I’d never hurt you -“
“I know,” she tells him, and she does. She knows he’d never hurt her intentionally. “It’s okay. You should go lay down now.” She points to the bed and he goes. “I need to go do something, but I’ll be back soon to check up on you, take care of you.”
He nods gratefully, slugging his arm over his eyes. “Thanks, Mama Cass.”
Cassadee manages a laugh and quickly leaves. Her back leans against the door and she tries to focus on her breathing, to calm down. Panicking never works. Panicking makes things worse.
She’s comprehending leaving the hotel for a bit, going outside and just walk around. There’s a coffee shop down the street; she can chill out there and go over what just happened, what she found on the internet, what she needs to do now.
There was something in there controlling Mike and she needs to figure out what it is.
Cassadee takes off down the hall, jumping at every noise she hears. She accepts it’s from the guests staying there, but every voice and bang has an eeriness to it and she’s not so sure anymore.
The elevator buttons are a smooth, gleaming bronze in which Cassadee can see her face - small and pathetic with dark eyes and a set frown. The sight makes her stomach clench as the doors slide open, taking her attention away. She has one leg in, about to push her body in, when she feels It.
She turns her head and no matter how many times she blinks the image never becomes clearer. Cassadee has to wonder if she’s actually seeing it psychically or viewing a fuzzy memory in her head.
A young man stands around the corner, almost blending in with the shadows on the walls, but she can see his eyes clearly. They’re glowing. They’re glaring at her with sadness.
But mostly anger.
“Shit!” Cassadee jumps back as the elevator doors close on her leg and then reopens. She turns back to the boy and spies a fragment of a dusty figure dissolving around the corner.
She doesn’t think about it, just yells for him, running. “Hey!” She veers around the corner and comes crashing into someone.
She stumbles back and stares wildly at the person. “You!”
It’s not him. It’s only a cleaning lady coming out of a room she just cleaned.
Red embarrassment flows to Cassadee’s face as bright as the woman’s hair. “I’m sorry. I was . . . “ She peers over the lady’s shoulders and sees no one.
“Did you see a guy pass here?” Cassadee asks. “He looked kind of upset?”
The lady’s eyes widen and the way she’s gazing at Cassadee like she does know who she’s talking about makes her feel hopeful.
But then she quickly sidesteps Cassadee, shooing her away. “Sorry, no one came by here.” She grabs her cart of cleaning supplies and begins trudging away.
“But I saw him and he came this way. You had to have seen him!” Cassadee grabs her arm and stops her. “Are you sure you didn’t -“
“Look, Andrew will--!” The woman stops at the slipped word, her face burning. She snatches her arm away from Cassadee. “Look, hun, I’m really busy.”
Cassadee doesn’t stray from following her. She knows the woman can call security for bothering her, but Cassadee doesn’t care. She obviously knows something and Cassadee is not afraid to bug her repeatedly till she gets answers.
All she wants to know is who the boy is and what’s going on.
“Look, m’am, I’ve been having a crappy time since I got here yesterday,” Cassadee groans. The woman stops, sighing. “I’m freaking out because weird shit is happening to me, and my friend, and I don’t - I can’t -“
She glares up at the ceiling, frustrated. She gives the woman a distressing look. “Please.”
The woman seems to feel pity for Cassadee, twiddling her thumbs as she sighs again. “I guess you really don’t know much about this place if you’re that persistent, huh?” she laughs, sitting on the floor. She motions for Cassadee to do the same.
“I’m gonna be honest and get to the point. This place is haunted - has been for years. You’re nothing special, everyone’s had their time at this place, some meaningless and others . . . more extreme.”
Odd relief falls off Cassadee’s shoulders. She isn’t crazy. She was right about something being wrong with the Gelda, someone attacking her.
But she’s staying in a haunted hotel and that doesn’t exactly make her feel any better.