Precise.
I'm disappointed in myself now. I actually wrote the next part after this while outside this afternoon, but I didn't realise until now that I hadn't posted this part. So I was all excited for nothing. Oh well. It'll go up later. Right now I'm thinking it's siesta time.
Days had passed, and Jon was feeling every single year of his life, which lately had been reduced to stopping at a different hotel every night and driving every day until he started seeing children running across the street and UFO’s landing on his roof. By the time they pulled into the parking lot of that night’s dive both men appeared to be possessed, flashing between quiet melancholy and violent anger at a moment’s notice.
Like every stop, Not-Stephen rushed headlong into the bathroom. Jon trudged in, quickly doing all the little things to make sure everything was secure. He then flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about his family.
When Stephen finally stumbled out of the bathroom, Jon startled; he hadn’t realised he fell asleep. The younger man held his head and was breathing heavily. “This demon is such an A-hole,” he said without any enthusiasm, the familiar bluster gone. Jon looked at him sympathetically, relieved to have his friend back, even if just for a few minutes. He never had the courage to ask why visiting the restroom prompted the change. Stephen picked up the remote, hitting the power button. Jon tried not to tense when the tv didn’t turn on. “What, so this tv doesn’t work either?” Stephen whined.
“It doesn’t?” Jon asked, trying to sound convincing. “That’s weird.”
Stephen smacked the remote against his palm. “You know how to pick the hotels, none of them have had a working one yet.”
“How about that,” Jon said, mind racing to find a different topic. “It’ll just rot your mind, anyway. Kind of like Muslims.”
Stephen sighed, leaning forward to try the power button on the tv itself. “I’m too tired to get worked up about Muslims, Jon. I just want to know what is going on in the world, I feel so cut... off...” A grimace of pain crossed his face suddenly.
Jon didn’t notice. “Yeah, I know what you mean; ever since I saw that guy on the corner selling italian dogs, I’ve wanted one. And I can’t even eat them.”
Stephen clapped his hands. “That sounds excellent! Why can’t you go get us some?”
Jon looked at him. “...because they aren’t kosher?” He asked sarcastically.
“Well, their price shouldn’t make any difference, Jon,” Stephen reproached. “What kind of friend holds out on their possessed colleague when he ever so politely demands something?” Jon sighed, pressing his hands to his face. “Jon. Jon. Jon, look at me.” When he moved his hands, Stephen fixed him with a doe-eyed look. “Please, Jon? I promise, I will not leave the room. I’m fully in control right now, I won’t escape. If I feel like he’s coming back, then I’ll... I’ll... I’ll knock myself out with the ice bucket. Please, Jon?”
Jon sat up wearily. “Okay, okay! I’ll go, but I won’t be more than five minutes. And I’ll be able to see this door the whole time. So please,” he stood up, giving Stephen a meaningful look, “Please don’t leave. There’s no saying who’ll see you.”
Stephen nodded gratefully. Jon sighed and pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt, hoping to hide his face as much as possible. One last look at his charge and he stepped out of the door, making sure the door was locked behind him.
Stephen waited until his footsteps died away before he sprung into action. “Stupid human,” he growled under his breath and set to work.
&&&
“Stephen, they were out of Mustard, but I hope that you don’t mind, it’s still plenty American having just ketchup and relish-” Jon paused in the doorway, a bag in his hand forgotten. He looked at the man posed on the edge of the bed. “You aren’t Stephen anymore, are you?”
Stephen’s eyes turned toward him. “If you mean that I actually have the capacity to figure out why the television wasn’t working, then yes, I’m not Stephen anymore.” He returned his gaze to the news that was flashing on the screen. “How long did you think you could get away with the television being unplugged, anyway?”
Jon sat down on his bed, groaning. “Well, I knew that Stephen had no idea how they worked. He prefers to think of it like God, some kind of miracle. He has interns change the batteries in the remotes, after all.” Not-Stephen nodded his head. “It seemed a fairly good bet that you wouldn’t understand either. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“Now, come on Jon, don’t beat yourself up. And face it, you wanted to see the news as much as I did.” He waved his hand at the screen. “Especially when, for once, the news is about you!”
Jon dreaded it, but was drawn in. It was tuned into a local station, where a good looking blonde woman was talking. A picture of Stephen and and him gave him goosebumps. They are talking about us. “Unofficial reports have come in saying that the two men had been spotted in Saint Louis eariler this morning.” There was a picture of Jon, still wearing the hoodie, pumping gas into his car; Stephen was seen primping in the review mirror. They were going to have to change vehicles, he thought sadly. We’re almost there…“John Oliver, a friend and correspondent on TDS, told reporters today that it is just an elaborate plot for the show. Such things aren’t entirely unexpected from these men. However, a public statement from Tracey Stewart and Evelyn McGee-Colbert contradicted with his statements.”
The sight of his wife caused his vision to become blurry. She sat beside Evie, the vision of beauty that made his heart ache. “We don’t pretend that we understand, but we do want to hear from you. Please, Jon, come home.” Stephen’s wife tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear nervously, and also asked her husband to return. Jon felt like yelling when the screen cut back to the news set. Stephen, he noticed, looked away pointedly. “So is this just an elaborate publicity stunt or a something serious? We’ll tell you more when we find out.”
Her coanchor, a middle aged man with a youthful haircut appeared on screen. “Now, I’m sure you guys have seen the video that was leaked this morning, but in case you didn’t catch, here it is. Now before you watch this I want to ask you, is this really staged?”
Jon shifted his weight nervously. He’d seen part of it when it was filming, but that didn’t make it any less surreal. The set was almost suspiciously normal; there was the desk, the bright background, the garish and obnoxiously red and blue color scheme washing over everything. The only thing that would set it apart is the six foot flames, the screams from the audience, and Stephen, standing in the middle, laughing dementedly. Jon had seen enough; he grabbed the remote and shut the tv off.
Not-Stephen sat placidly, a smirk on his face. “That was so not staged! I’m a professional, after all. Can you believe that?”
Jon glared at him. “You know, if you were in almost any other body, I would punch you in the mouth.”
Uncomfortable silence spread between them. “You’re just jealous of my skills,” he finally responded.
Jon snapped. “Oh yes, I’m jealous. I’m jealous at how well you’ve destroyed Stephen’s life and career! I’m jealous how you so successfully ruined mine as well!” He rose to his feet, rage filling him. “Tell me, why? Why him? He didn’t do anything to you! He’s just some blowhard with a show, not a great world leader or anything. He’s just a guy! He has a wife and kids, for fuck’s sake!”
Stephen sat still, looking at Jon condescendingly. “Jon, Jon, please! Language,” Not-Stephen admonished. “Now, calm down.”
“I will NOT calm down!” he screamed, earning them a knock on the wall from their neighbors. “I want to know who the hell you think you are!”
Stephen stood up, fixing him with an icy look. Jon shut up immediately, feeling as though his insides were turning to jello. “That’s precisely who I am, Jon,” it said venomously. “I’m hell.”
Days had passed, and Jon was feeling every single year of his life, which lately had been reduced to stopping at a different hotel every night and driving every day until he started seeing children running across the street and UFO’s landing on his roof. By the time they pulled into the parking lot of that night’s dive both men appeared to be possessed, flashing between quiet melancholy and violent anger at a moment’s notice.
Like every stop, Not-Stephen rushed headlong into the bathroom. Jon trudged in, quickly doing all the little things to make sure everything was secure. He then flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about his family.
When Stephen finally stumbled out of the bathroom, Jon startled; he hadn’t realised he fell asleep. The younger man held his head and was breathing heavily. “This demon is such an A-hole,” he said without any enthusiasm, the familiar bluster gone. Jon looked at him sympathetically, relieved to have his friend back, even if just for a few minutes. He never had the courage to ask why visiting the restroom prompted the change. Stephen picked up the remote, hitting the power button. Jon tried not to tense when the tv didn’t turn on. “What, so this tv doesn’t work either?” Stephen whined.
“It doesn’t?” Jon asked, trying to sound convincing. “That’s weird.”
Stephen smacked the remote against his palm. “You know how to pick the hotels, none of them have had a working one yet.”
“How about that,” Jon said, mind racing to find a different topic. “It’ll just rot your mind, anyway. Kind of like Muslims.”
Stephen sighed, leaning forward to try the power button on the tv itself. “I’m too tired to get worked up about Muslims, Jon. I just want to know what is going on in the world, I feel so cut... off...” A grimace of pain crossed his face suddenly.
Jon didn’t notice. “Yeah, I know what you mean; ever since I saw that guy on the corner selling italian dogs, I’ve wanted one. And I can’t even eat them.”
Stephen clapped his hands. “That sounds excellent! Why can’t you go get us some?”
Jon looked at him. “...because they aren’t kosher?” He asked sarcastically.
“Well, their price shouldn’t make any difference, Jon,” Stephen reproached. “What kind of friend holds out on their possessed colleague when he ever so politely demands something?” Jon sighed, pressing his hands to his face. “Jon. Jon. Jon, look at me.” When he moved his hands, Stephen fixed him with a doe-eyed look. “Please, Jon? I promise, I will not leave the room. I’m fully in control right now, I won’t escape. If I feel like he’s coming back, then I’ll... I’ll... I’ll knock myself out with the ice bucket. Please, Jon?”
Jon sat up wearily. “Okay, okay! I’ll go, but I won’t be more than five minutes. And I’ll be able to see this door the whole time. So please,” he stood up, giving Stephen a meaningful look, “Please don’t leave. There’s no saying who’ll see you.”
Stephen nodded gratefully. Jon sighed and pulled the hood up on his sweatshirt, hoping to hide his face as much as possible. One last look at his charge and he stepped out of the door, making sure the door was locked behind him.
Stephen waited until his footsteps died away before he sprung into action. “Stupid human,” he growled under his breath and set to work.
&&&
“Stephen, they were out of Mustard, but I hope that you don’t mind, it’s still plenty American having just ketchup and relish-” Jon paused in the doorway, a bag in his hand forgotten. He looked at the man posed on the edge of the bed. “You aren’t Stephen anymore, are you?”
Stephen’s eyes turned toward him. “If you mean that I actually have the capacity to figure out why the television wasn’t working, then yes, I’m not Stephen anymore.” He returned his gaze to the news that was flashing on the screen. “How long did you think you could get away with the television being unplugged, anyway?”
Jon sat down on his bed, groaning. “Well, I knew that Stephen had no idea how they worked. He prefers to think of it like God, some kind of miracle. He has interns change the batteries in the remotes, after all.” Not-Stephen nodded his head. “It seemed a fairly good bet that you wouldn’t understand either. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“Now, come on Jon, don’t beat yourself up. And face it, you wanted to see the news as much as I did.” He waved his hand at the screen. “Especially when, for once, the news is about you!”
Jon dreaded it, but was drawn in. It was tuned into a local station, where a good looking blonde woman was talking. A picture of Stephen and and him gave him goosebumps. They are talking about us. “Unofficial reports have come in saying that the two men had been spotted in Saint Louis eariler this morning.” There was a picture of Jon, still wearing the hoodie, pumping gas into his car; Stephen was seen primping in the review mirror. They were going to have to change vehicles, he thought sadly. We’re almost there…“John Oliver, a friend and correspondent on TDS, told reporters today that it is just an elaborate plot for the show. Such things aren’t entirely unexpected from these men. However, a public statement from Tracey Stewart and Evelyn McGee-Colbert contradicted with his statements.”
The sight of his wife caused his vision to become blurry. She sat beside Evie, the vision of beauty that made his heart ache. “We don’t pretend that we understand, but we do want to hear from you. Please, Jon, come home.” Stephen’s wife tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear nervously, and also asked her husband to return. Jon felt like yelling when the screen cut back to the news set. Stephen, he noticed, looked away pointedly. “So is this just an elaborate publicity stunt or a something serious? We’ll tell you more when we find out.”
Her coanchor, a middle aged man with a youthful haircut appeared on screen. “Now, I’m sure you guys have seen the video that was leaked this morning, but in case you didn’t catch, here it is. Now before you watch this I want to ask you, is this really staged?”
Jon shifted his weight nervously. He’d seen part of it when it was filming, but that didn’t make it any less surreal. The set was almost suspiciously normal; there was the desk, the bright background, the garish and obnoxiously red and blue color scheme washing over everything. The only thing that would set it apart is the six foot flames, the screams from the audience, and Stephen, standing in the middle, laughing dementedly. Jon had seen enough; he grabbed the remote and shut the tv off.
Not-Stephen sat placidly, a smirk on his face. “That was so not staged! I’m a professional, after all. Can you believe that?”
Jon glared at him. “You know, if you were in almost any other body, I would punch you in the mouth.”
Uncomfortable silence spread between them. “You’re just jealous of my skills,” he finally responded.
Jon snapped. “Oh yes, I’m jealous. I’m jealous at how well you’ve destroyed Stephen’s life and career! I’m jealous how you so successfully ruined mine as well!” He rose to his feet, rage filling him. “Tell me, why? Why him? He didn’t do anything to you! He’s just some blowhard with a show, not a great world leader or anything. He’s just a guy! He has a wife and kids, for fuck’s sake!”
Stephen sat still, looking at Jon condescendingly. “Jon, Jon, please! Language,” Not-Stephen admonished. “Now, calm down.”
“I will NOT calm down!” he screamed, earning them a knock on the wall from their neighbors. “I want to know who the hell you think you are!”
Stephen stood up, fixing him with an icy look. Jon shut up immediately, feeling as though his insides were turning to jello. “That’s precisely who I am, Jon,” it said venomously. “I’m hell.”