81/19 Don't Fear The Reaper
A/N: On Epitaph One.
Don't Fear The Reaper
By Demeter
After nearly fifty hours though, Lindsay is beginning to see the point when Claire tells her that she's going to have to sleep, or she will lose her mind. So she finally does, without any more prompting or medication. While her body is ready to collapse, her mind can't stop, and so she dreams.
There's the Dollhouse, dark and abandoned. Then, dead bodies, Sarah Classen wearing a white gown, her eyes wild as she sits at the railing staring down at the carnage. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
In her dream, Lindsay walks around the scenery worthy of a horror movie, but no one acknowledges her. In another room, Topher Brink is talking frantically to Adelle. Even in her dreamscape, Lindsay can' bring herself to feel sorry about witnessing him having a breakdown. Why should she cut him some slack when she's still drowning in her own guilt? Sorry, buddy. You made your bed, you lie in it. That's how it works.
There's a little girl, reminding her uncannily of Echo which makes her feel even more worse.
Then she's outside, walking through burning streets. It's looking like the set of a Terminator movie, but feeling disturbingly real to Lindsay. She can't escape it, and even though she's vaguely awake that she's dreaming, she can't make it stop.
Because there's a purpose. There's some place she has to go. Find the safe haven where no one can be robbed of who they are.
Another flash, and she finds herself on her knees in the middle of the same street, cradling Cindy to her. Lindsay can feel the heat from the fire raging in the building in front of her, making her eyes tear and her skin burn, but she doesn't care, not anymore.
Cindy's clothes are soaked in blood. It's too late.
Lindsay wakes shaking, the tears streaming down her face beyond her control. The images of the dream hold her in a vise, the feeling of blood on her hands and soot on her face so real she feels the urge to wash it off. Just like the guilt.
It's not going to happen, not after everything they've been through.
"I'll find you," she whispers. "I promise."
The she gets up and wipes her face, ready to face another day of make believe, because at the moment, it's all she has.
Don't Fear The Reaper
By Demeter
After nearly fifty hours though, Lindsay is beginning to see the point when Claire tells her that she's going to have to sleep, or she will lose her mind. So she finally does, without any more prompting or medication. While her body is ready to collapse, her mind can't stop, and so she dreams.
There's the Dollhouse, dark and abandoned. Then, dead bodies, Sarah Classen wearing a white gown, her eyes wild as she sits at the railing staring down at the carnage. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
In her dream, Lindsay walks around the scenery worthy of a horror movie, but no one acknowledges her. In another room, Topher Brink is talking frantically to Adelle. Even in her dreamscape, Lindsay can' bring herself to feel sorry about witnessing him having a breakdown. Why should she cut him some slack when she's still drowning in her own guilt? Sorry, buddy. You made your bed, you lie in it. That's how it works.
There's a little girl, reminding her uncannily of Echo which makes her feel even more worse.
Then she's outside, walking through burning streets. It's looking like the set of a Terminator movie, but feeling disturbingly real to Lindsay. She can't escape it, and even though she's vaguely awake that she's dreaming, she can't make it stop.
Because there's a purpose. There's some place she has to go. Find the safe haven where no one can be robbed of who they are.
Another flash, and she finds herself on her knees in the middle of the same street, cradling Cindy to her. Lindsay can feel the heat from the fire raging in the building in front of her, making her eyes tear and her skin burn, but she doesn't care, not anymore.
Cindy's clothes are soaked in blood. It's too late.
Lindsay wakes shaking, the tears streaming down her face beyond her control. The images of the dream hold her in a vise, the feeling of blood on her hands and soot on her face so real she feels the urge to wash it off. Just like the guilt.
It's not going to happen, not after everything they've been through.
"I'll find you," she whispers. "I promise."
The she gets up and wipes her face, ready to face another day of make believe, because at the moment, it's all she has.