Twilight Zone Harry
Title:False Impressions: Broken
Author:stormyd55
Pairing/Characters:Harry/Bob... no smut.
DisclaimerNot mine! But, oh how I wish they were (evil chuckle).
Rating:PG... just for creepyness.
Summary:Sorry, I just can't tell you anything without spoiling it.
Warnings:Creepyness and murder
Word Count:approx. 2150
Author's Note:Yes! This is for the October challenge. This idea came to me in a dream right after the October challenge was announced. Its been gnawing and chewing on my brain ever since. Its been driving me nuts with its creepiness. But I'm feeling much better now that its out of my head and running around loose in cyberspace.
October Challenge
Part One
Title: False Impressions: Broken
Author: stormyd55
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Bob... no smut.
Book/TV-Verse: TV
Warnings: Creepyness and murder
Disclaimer: Not mine! But, oh how I wish they were (evil chuckle).
Word Count: approx. 2150
Summary: Sorry, I just can't tell you anything without spoiling it.
Author's Note: This idea came to me in a dream right after the October challenge was announced. Its been gnawing and chewing on my brain ever since. Its been driving me nuts with its creepiness. But I'm feeling much better now that its out of my head and running around loose in cyberspace.
*****
Broken
Harry stood before the window. He always stood there, looking out at a world denied him. He was in a house somewhere in the foot hills of Peru, about a twenty minute walk from a small village. That's all he knew. Every ten or fifteen years, Bob would move them to another country, another small town or village. He had no idea how many years had passed. He didn't really care. He just stood by the window and watched the seasons change. He watched the flower and vegetable gardens being tended by Bob or one of the local villigers he had hired to do the task. Harry just watched.
Anyone who'd known him while he was alive would never have recognized him. His hair had always been an unruly mess, his chin covered with a perpetual five o'clock shadow, and his clothes had been nothing but old t-shirts and blue jeans. Now, His hair was neatly trimmed. His chin sported a sharp black goatee. And his clothes? Stylish to say the least. He wore a black suit and tie with a black button down silk shirt and polished black leather shoes.
All these changes had been made over the years at Bob's command. Bob never commanded him, unless it was to... improve Harry. But the biggest change was his demeanor. His shoulders were slumped. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His face held no emotion. His eyes were empty. He was... broken.
A boy from the village walked past the window, carrying the basket of vegetables that was his payment for tending the gardens. It wouldn't be wise to spend too much money in an area like this. It would attract too much attention. The boy didn't notice Harry. Years before, Bob had put a glamour on the house, making it so that no one would notice Harry, or his skull.
A little while later, Bob came home from shopping in the village. He was wearing a light, comfortable linen suit. Though he'd always prefered dark suits, he'd soon found out that lighter material was more appropriate for the heat of South America.
He carried his groceries into the kitchen and placed a package on the counter. After putting away his groceries, he picked up the package, came into the front room and stood by Harry. "Good afternoon, Harry. How are you feeling today?" He asked, not really expecting an answer. "I have a surprise for you. I know your birthday isn't until next week, but I thought I'd go ahead and give you your present." He began opening the package. "Carlos found it on the internet. He knows I'm always looking for old jazz records and told me about it." He revealed an old fasioned record album and carried it over to an old record player. "I know you don't have this one. I hope you like it." He let the music play for a few moments before turning back to Harry. He said, "Happy birthday, Harry."
He stopped when he saw Harry's expression. His eyes were closed and he seemed lost in the music. It wasn't much, but it was the first emotion Bob had seen on his face in a very long time.
Bob hesitated, then took a chance. He approached Harry and said, "Oh Harry, it's only been a few decades for you. Imagine six hundred years. Do you understand, now, why I failed you? Why I no longer had the strength to say no to temptation?" Every few years, Bob would ask something along those lines. At first, Harry would just cry and proclaim that he didn't understand how Bob could do this to someone he claimed to love. Then he would curse Bob and scream that he hated him. But for several years, now, he had remained silent, never saying anything. He just stared out whatever window was nearby, emotionless. Bob would have prefered to be cursed and screamed at.
Again, he asked, "Do you understand?"
Harry whispered, "Yes, I understand."
Bob felt his chest tighten. For the first time since he'd tricked Harry into performing that wretched spell, he felt hope. He brushed the backs of his fingers down Harry's noncorporeal cheek, leaving a golden glow behind. "My darling, Harry. Do you forgive me?" Over the years, He'd asked that question a dozen times. As with his other questions, the answer had, at first, been a vehement 'No', then just simply 'no', then nothing at all.
Now, Harry turned to him. His dead eyes filled with sorrow. "Yes." he whispered.
Bob's heart practically leapt with joy. If Harry was ready to forgive him, then there was a good chance he'd be ready to let Bob set him free. But, there would be a cost. "Harry, I need you to listen to me. I've found someone to take your place. He's a Dark Wizard, evil as they come. He's a Necromancer as I was. In fact, he's improved on my old methods, making his actions undetectable by the wardens. He sells his skills to powerful people not willing to accept death. I'm speaking of people the world could do without, cult leaders, drug lords, political tyrants. As I said, evil. The world will be a better place without him. I've been in contact with him for a few years now. He trusts me. He thinks my name is Robert Dresden. I've made him believe that you are the 'Bainbridge Ghost' and that you have centuries of magical knowledge. I've also told him that I've discovered a spell that will basically copy and transfer that knowledge to another person. He believes that I've already successfully done this. I'll tell him that, for a price, I will let him do it. He doesn't read Sumerian, so he won't know what hit him until its too late." Bob didn't notice Harry wince when he said that. It was the same with Harry. He couldn't read Sumerian and Bob had told him that the spell would make Bob temporarily corporeal using a bit of Harry's essense. Stupid Harry.
"Harry, I know how you feel about this sort of thing. Please, let me set you free."
Harry didn't say anything. He just nodded.
*****
A week later. Halloween night.
Bob looked down at the chalked circle. The spell was ready. All they needed was Anton Zohara.
He walked over to Harry and picked up the papers lying on the table next to him. Smiling, he held them up for Harry to see. "This is your new life, Harry. Identification, passport, everything you need. I've told a few people in town that my dear friend, Harry, was coming to stay with me. Everything is ready for you to live, again." He put the papers away in a small drawer. It wouldn't do for Zohara to see them.
There was a knock at the door. Before opening it, Bob said, "Now, Harry, let me do all the talking. Alright?" It was an unnecessary caution. Harry barely spoke at all, unless prompted by Bob.
Anton Zohara appeared to be in his late forties. He had dark eyes and dark hair, graying at the temples. And, though slightly plump, he seemed to be in good shape for a man of his age. Especially if one considered the fact that he was well over two hundred years old.
At Bob's insistance, he'd come through the Nevernever, rather than a more conventional form of travel. Bob had told him that he didn't want people from the village to see him. Strangers attracted too much attention in this part of the world. This was fine with Zohara. He prefered to attract as little attention as possible.
"Robert, my friend, we finally meet in person." He had a thick Southern European accent. As with most people who traveled a great deal, there didn't seem to be a specific country to attribute it to. He hugged Robert, who returned the greeting with enthusiasm.
"Anton, please come in. You brought the money?" He glanced at the briefcase Zohara carried. Bob didn't care about the money, but he knew that if he hadn't asked for a huge payment, Zohara would've suspected something.
"Of course, my friend." He looked at Harry. "And is this the Bainbridge ghost? He is younger than I would have imagined. Ah but, hundreds of years ago, men accomplished great things while still very young. Am I right, my friend?"
Bob smiled, pouring on the charm. "Yes, you are. Now, it's nearly time. Let me go over the spell with you. I know you don't know the language. I will read it for you and you will repeat it, concentrating on pouring your magic into it. Near the end, you will start to feel strange, but once started, you must finish."
Zohara paused. "Strange? How so?"
"You'll be having centuries of knowledge pushed into your head in a matter of minutes. Trust me, it feels strange." Bob replied wryly.
"And you have done this, yes?"
"I've been through this spell before, yes." It's easy to lie when you're not lying.
Bob placed Harry's skull in the circle and indicated to Harry that he should stand beside it. Then he lit the candles that had been placed around the circle. They took up their positions.
Bob spoke the first words of the spell, Zohara followed and repeated those words. As with the last time this spell had been performed, it took approximately fifteen minutes. Then both Harry and Zohara felt the pressure. Zohara seemed confused, but continued with the spell. The pressure soon became pain for Harry, but he kept silent.
When the pain passed, Harry was on his knees. He almost cried with joy. He could feel again, the air against his skin, the floor beneath him. He could feel.
Bob approached him, grinning. He helped Harry to his feet. He gazed up at the younger man and brought his hand up to caress his face. He lightly touched the goatee, then Harry's lips. "Oh, my beautiful boy. Welcome back and happy birthday."
Harry said nothing. He brought his hands up to cup Bob's face and leaned down to brush his lips against the other man's. As they kissed, Harry brought his hands down to Bob's neck and... began to squeeze. He pulled away and stared into Bob's eyes, which had gotten wide as he struggled to breathe. Bob saw only madness in Harry's eyes. He clawed at Harry's tightening grasp. As he lost consciousness, Bob's last thought was I did this to him. I destroyed him. I'm sorry, Harry, I'm... truly... sorry...
It was a long while before Harry let go and the madness left him. He stared down at Bob's corpse, not quite understanding what he was seeing. When it finally dawned on him what he had done, he couldn't believe it. He went down on his knees and pulled Bob's body to him. He began crying, cradling the dead man, brushing his fingers through the white hair. "Bob? Bob, please wake up. Bob, I'm sorry. Please don't be dead. Bob?" He rocked back and forth, clinging to body of the man he'd never stopped loving, calling out his name, praying for a miracle. Then he saw the skull.
He froze. He made his decision.
Very carefully, he picked up Bob's body and carried it into his bedroom. He laid the man on his bed as if he were only sleeping. After studying that beloved face for a moment, Harry leaned down and gently kissed Bob's dead, unresponsive lips. Then he turned and resolutely went back into the main room.
He picked up the skull and studied it. There was a new name etched into the bone. "Anton Zohara, I summon you." His voice was rough from grief.
A ball of orange and black energy emerged from the skull and formed into Zohara. He looked about, obviously confused. Then, he saw Harry, holding the skull, and he knew. "Damn him. Damn him to Hell!" he screamed.
"Shut up!" Harry commanded.
Against his will, Zohara became silent. He glared at Harry.
Harry took a step forward. "I need information. And you're going to give it to me." The tone of his harsh voice made it a command.
Zohara tried to fight the geas but quickly gave up. "What do you want to know?"
Harry snarled, "Tell me about... Necromancy."
The End
Author:stormyd55
Pairing/Characters:Harry/Bob... no smut.
DisclaimerNot mine! But, oh how I wish they were (evil chuckle).
Rating:PG... just for creepyness.
Summary:Sorry, I just can't tell you anything without spoiling it.
Warnings:Creepyness and murder
Word Count:approx. 2150
Author's Note:Yes! This is for the October challenge. This idea came to me in a dream right after the October challenge was announced. Its been gnawing and chewing on my brain ever since. Its been driving me nuts with its creepiness. But I'm feeling much better now that its out of my head and running around loose in cyberspace.
October Challenge
Part One
Title: False Impressions: Broken
Author: stormyd55
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Bob... no smut.
Book/TV-Verse: TV
Warnings: Creepyness and murder
Disclaimer: Not mine! But, oh how I wish they were (evil chuckle).
Word Count: approx. 2150
Summary: Sorry, I just can't tell you anything without spoiling it.
Author's Note: This idea came to me in a dream right after the October challenge was announced. Its been gnawing and chewing on my brain ever since. Its been driving me nuts with its creepiness. But I'm feeling much better now that its out of my head and running around loose in cyberspace.
*****
Broken
Harry stood before the window. He always stood there, looking out at a world denied him. He was in a house somewhere in the foot hills of Peru, about a twenty minute walk from a small village. That's all he knew. Every ten or fifteen years, Bob would move them to another country, another small town or village. He had no idea how many years had passed. He didn't really care. He just stood by the window and watched the seasons change. He watched the flower and vegetable gardens being tended by Bob or one of the local villigers he had hired to do the task. Harry just watched.
Anyone who'd known him while he was alive would never have recognized him. His hair had always been an unruly mess, his chin covered with a perpetual five o'clock shadow, and his clothes had been nothing but old t-shirts and blue jeans. Now, His hair was neatly trimmed. His chin sported a sharp black goatee. And his clothes? Stylish to say the least. He wore a black suit and tie with a black button down silk shirt and polished black leather shoes.
All these changes had been made over the years at Bob's command. Bob never commanded him, unless it was to... improve Harry. But the biggest change was his demeanor. His shoulders were slumped. His arms hung loosely at his sides. His face held no emotion. His eyes were empty. He was... broken.
A boy from the village walked past the window, carrying the basket of vegetables that was his payment for tending the gardens. It wouldn't be wise to spend too much money in an area like this. It would attract too much attention. The boy didn't notice Harry. Years before, Bob had put a glamour on the house, making it so that no one would notice Harry, or his skull.
A little while later, Bob came home from shopping in the village. He was wearing a light, comfortable linen suit. Though he'd always prefered dark suits, he'd soon found out that lighter material was more appropriate for the heat of South America.
He carried his groceries into the kitchen and placed a package on the counter. After putting away his groceries, he picked up the package, came into the front room and stood by Harry. "Good afternoon, Harry. How are you feeling today?" He asked, not really expecting an answer. "I have a surprise for you. I know your birthday isn't until next week, but I thought I'd go ahead and give you your present." He began opening the package. "Carlos found it on the internet. He knows I'm always looking for old jazz records and told me about it." He revealed an old fasioned record album and carried it over to an old record player. "I know you don't have this one. I hope you like it." He let the music play for a few moments before turning back to Harry. He said, "Happy birthday, Harry."
He stopped when he saw Harry's expression. His eyes were closed and he seemed lost in the music. It wasn't much, but it was the first emotion Bob had seen on his face in a very long time.
Bob hesitated, then took a chance. He approached Harry and said, "Oh Harry, it's only been a few decades for you. Imagine six hundred years. Do you understand, now, why I failed you? Why I no longer had the strength to say no to temptation?" Every few years, Bob would ask something along those lines. At first, Harry would just cry and proclaim that he didn't understand how Bob could do this to someone he claimed to love. Then he would curse Bob and scream that he hated him. But for several years, now, he had remained silent, never saying anything. He just stared out whatever window was nearby, emotionless. Bob would have prefered to be cursed and screamed at.
Again, he asked, "Do you understand?"
Harry whispered, "Yes, I understand."
Bob felt his chest tighten. For the first time since he'd tricked Harry into performing that wretched spell, he felt hope. He brushed the backs of his fingers down Harry's noncorporeal cheek, leaving a golden glow behind. "My darling, Harry. Do you forgive me?" Over the years, He'd asked that question a dozen times. As with his other questions, the answer had, at first, been a vehement 'No', then just simply 'no', then nothing at all.
Now, Harry turned to him. His dead eyes filled with sorrow. "Yes." he whispered.
Bob's heart practically leapt with joy. If Harry was ready to forgive him, then there was a good chance he'd be ready to let Bob set him free. But, there would be a cost. "Harry, I need you to listen to me. I've found someone to take your place. He's a Dark Wizard, evil as they come. He's a Necromancer as I was. In fact, he's improved on my old methods, making his actions undetectable by the wardens. He sells his skills to powerful people not willing to accept death. I'm speaking of people the world could do without, cult leaders, drug lords, political tyrants. As I said, evil. The world will be a better place without him. I've been in contact with him for a few years now. He trusts me. He thinks my name is Robert Dresden. I've made him believe that you are the 'Bainbridge Ghost' and that you have centuries of magical knowledge. I've also told him that I've discovered a spell that will basically copy and transfer that knowledge to another person. He believes that I've already successfully done this. I'll tell him that, for a price, I will let him do it. He doesn't read Sumerian, so he won't know what hit him until its too late." Bob didn't notice Harry wince when he said that. It was the same with Harry. He couldn't read Sumerian and Bob had told him that the spell would make Bob temporarily corporeal using a bit of Harry's essense. Stupid Harry.
"Harry, I know how you feel about this sort of thing. Please, let me set you free."
Harry didn't say anything. He just nodded.
*****
A week later. Halloween night.
Bob looked down at the chalked circle. The spell was ready. All they needed was Anton Zohara.
He walked over to Harry and picked up the papers lying on the table next to him. Smiling, he held them up for Harry to see. "This is your new life, Harry. Identification, passport, everything you need. I've told a few people in town that my dear friend, Harry, was coming to stay with me. Everything is ready for you to live, again." He put the papers away in a small drawer. It wouldn't do for Zohara to see them.
There was a knock at the door. Before opening it, Bob said, "Now, Harry, let me do all the talking. Alright?" It was an unnecessary caution. Harry barely spoke at all, unless prompted by Bob.
Anton Zohara appeared to be in his late forties. He had dark eyes and dark hair, graying at the temples. And, though slightly plump, he seemed to be in good shape for a man of his age. Especially if one considered the fact that he was well over two hundred years old.
At Bob's insistance, he'd come through the Nevernever, rather than a more conventional form of travel. Bob had told him that he didn't want people from the village to see him. Strangers attracted too much attention in this part of the world. This was fine with Zohara. He prefered to attract as little attention as possible.
"Robert, my friend, we finally meet in person." He had a thick Southern European accent. As with most people who traveled a great deal, there didn't seem to be a specific country to attribute it to. He hugged Robert, who returned the greeting with enthusiasm.
"Anton, please come in. You brought the money?" He glanced at the briefcase Zohara carried. Bob didn't care about the money, but he knew that if he hadn't asked for a huge payment, Zohara would've suspected something.
"Of course, my friend." He looked at Harry. "And is this the Bainbridge ghost? He is younger than I would have imagined. Ah but, hundreds of years ago, men accomplished great things while still very young. Am I right, my friend?"
Bob smiled, pouring on the charm. "Yes, you are. Now, it's nearly time. Let me go over the spell with you. I know you don't know the language. I will read it for you and you will repeat it, concentrating on pouring your magic into it. Near the end, you will start to feel strange, but once started, you must finish."
Zohara paused. "Strange? How so?"
"You'll be having centuries of knowledge pushed into your head in a matter of minutes. Trust me, it feels strange." Bob replied wryly.
"And you have done this, yes?"
"I've been through this spell before, yes." It's easy to lie when you're not lying.
Bob placed Harry's skull in the circle and indicated to Harry that he should stand beside it. Then he lit the candles that had been placed around the circle. They took up their positions.
Bob spoke the first words of the spell, Zohara followed and repeated those words. As with the last time this spell had been performed, it took approximately fifteen minutes. Then both Harry and Zohara felt the pressure. Zohara seemed confused, but continued with the spell. The pressure soon became pain for Harry, but he kept silent.
When the pain passed, Harry was on his knees. He almost cried with joy. He could feel again, the air against his skin, the floor beneath him. He could feel.
Bob approached him, grinning. He helped Harry to his feet. He gazed up at the younger man and brought his hand up to caress his face. He lightly touched the goatee, then Harry's lips. "Oh, my beautiful boy. Welcome back and happy birthday."
Harry said nothing. He brought his hands up to cup Bob's face and leaned down to brush his lips against the other man's. As they kissed, Harry brought his hands down to Bob's neck and... began to squeeze. He pulled away and stared into Bob's eyes, which had gotten wide as he struggled to breathe. Bob saw only madness in Harry's eyes. He clawed at Harry's tightening grasp. As he lost consciousness, Bob's last thought was I did this to him. I destroyed him. I'm sorry, Harry, I'm... truly... sorry...
It was a long while before Harry let go and the madness left him. He stared down at Bob's corpse, not quite understanding what he was seeing. When it finally dawned on him what he had done, he couldn't believe it. He went down on his knees and pulled Bob's body to him. He began crying, cradling the dead man, brushing his fingers through the white hair. "Bob? Bob, please wake up. Bob, I'm sorry. Please don't be dead. Bob?" He rocked back and forth, clinging to body of the man he'd never stopped loving, calling out his name, praying for a miracle. Then he saw the skull.
He froze. He made his decision.
Very carefully, he picked up Bob's body and carried it into his bedroom. He laid the man on his bed as if he were only sleeping. After studying that beloved face for a moment, Harry leaned down and gently kissed Bob's dead, unresponsive lips. Then he turned and resolutely went back into the main room.
He picked up the skull and studied it. There was a new name etched into the bone. "Anton Zohara, I summon you." His voice was rough from grief.
A ball of orange and black energy emerged from the skull and formed into Zohara. He looked about, obviously confused. Then, he saw Harry, holding the skull, and he knew. "Damn him. Damn him to Hell!" he screamed.
"Shut up!" Harry commanded.
Against his will, Zohara became silent. He glared at Harry.
Harry took a step forward. "I need information. And you're going to give it to me." The tone of his harsh voice made it a command.
Zohara tried to fight the geas but quickly gave up. "What do you want to know?"
Harry snarled, "Tell me about... Necromancy."
The End