White Collar Fic: Into the Abyss
Title: Into the Abyss
Author: dennih23
Rating: G
Characters: Peter Burke
Word Count: 571
Beta: Sherylyn - thank you!
A/N: Inspired by Kanarek13's artwork Poltergeist. Also fills the Wild Card square on my H/C Bingo Card.
It had been a hectic week and Peter was glad to finally be heading home and enjoying a well-deserved extended weekend. Neal was just as exhausted and was currently sleeping in the passenger seat of the Taurus. They had been working a case where Neal had been undercover. Due to the situation, Neal had not been able to make direct contact with Peter and could only leave hints as to what Nathan Fuller wanted him to steal.
Neal left a series of clues for Peter and the Harvard Crew for three days before he stole a Picasso from a private collector. During that time, Peter stayed in the office, sleeping when he could on the small couch. He wanted to be there whenever information arrived. Neal’s pointers were brilliant, as usual, and they were able to arrest Fuller with the stolen artwork.
He dropped Neal off at June’s and high-tailed it to Brooklyn. The house was dark, but when he entered, Satchmo was excited to see him. The neighbors had been taking care of the dog for the last few days as El was in San Francisco on business. The house seemed cold and he shivered, rubbing his arms to ease the chill. He checked the thermostat, but it read that it was a warm seventy-two degrees.
Peter shrugged off his suit jacket, throwing it across the back of his old Lay-Z-Boy recliner. He walked into the kitchen and was happy to see that his wonderful wife had left him plenty of pre-made meals in the freezer. He threw one in the microwave and grabbed a Heisler from the refrigerator. He fed Satch and wandered back to the living room.
Flipping on the television, he set his dinner on the coffee table. He flopped down on his cushy sofa and took a swig of the refreshing brew. He watched the ballgame as he ate and finished off the beer. He leaned back and fell asleep.
He woke up freezing cold and feeling weak, and wondered if he was getting sick. He tried to get up but couldn’t move. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep. However, his sleep was filled with nightmares: he was frozen, he could see El and she was unhappy, but he couldn’t console her. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.
Satch’s low growl caused Peter to stir. He opened his eyes but was unable to stand. His body felt like lead and he was struggling to stay awake. His dog started to whine and Peter could feel another presence in the room. He finally managed to blink, but he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It wasn’t possible, Vincent Adler was looming over him. It didn’t make sense, Adler was dead. Peter tried to speak, but he had no voice.
Adler let out a low laugh. “You took my life from me, now it’s my turn to take yours.”
The ghost of the man Peter had shot reached out towards him. Peter watched as an eerily transparent hand touched his arm. It felt as if he’d been penetrated by ice. Peter’s blood ran cold and he began to tremble.
Peter felt himself falling into a dark abyss, disappearing into the blackness. He fought to regain control as he felt his life diminishing. Panic coursed through him as he gathered just enough strength to scream. He remembered no more as the shadows overtook him.
Crossposted at AO3
Author: dennih23
Rating: G
Characters: Peter Burke
Word Count: 571
Beta: Sherylyn - thank you!
A/N: Inspired by Kanarek13's artwork Poltergeist. Also fills the Wild Card square on my H/C Bingo Card.
It had been a hectic week and Peter was glad to finally be heading home and enjoying a well-deserved extended weekend. Neal was just as exhausted and was currently sleeping in the passenger seat of the Taurus. They had been working a case where Neal had been undercover. Due to the situation, Neal had not been able to make direct contact with Peter and could only leave hints as to what Nathan Fuller wanted him to steal.
Neal left a series of clues for Peter and the Harvard Crew for three days before he stole a Picasso from a private collector. During that time, Peter stayed in the office, sleeping when he could on the small couch. He wanted to be there whenever information arrived. Neal’s pointers were brilliant, as usual, and they were able to arrest Fuller with the stolen artwork.
He dropped Neal off at June’s and high-tailed it to Brooklyn. The house was dark, but when he entered, Satchmo was excited to see him. The neighbors had been taking care of the dog for the last few days as El was in San Francisco on business. The house seemed cold and he shivered, rubbing his arms to ease the chill. He checked the thermostat, but it read that it was a warm seventy-two degrees.
Peter shrugged off his suit jacket, throwing it across the back of his old Lay-Z-Boy recliner. He walked into the kitchen and was happy to see that his wonderful wife had left him plenty of pre-made meals in the freezer. He threw one in the microwave and grabbed a Heisler from the refrigerator. He fed Satch and wandered back to the living room.
Flipping on the television, he set his dinner on the coffee table. He flopped down on his cushy sofa and took a swig of the refreshing brew. He watched the ballgame as he ate and finished off the beer. He leaned back and fell asleep.
He woke up freezing cold and feeling weak, and wondered if he was getting sick. He tried to get up but couldn’t move. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep. However, his sleep was filled with nightmares: he was frozen, he could see El and she was unhappy, but he couldn’t console her. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.
Satch’s low growl caused Peter to stir. He opened his eyes but was unable to stand. His body felt like lead and he was struggling to stay awake. His dog started to whine and Peter could feel another presence in the room. He finally managed to blink, but he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It wasn’t possible, Vincent Adler was looming over him. It didn’t make sense, Adler was dead. Peter tried to speak, but he had no voice.
Adler let out a low laugh. “You took my life from me, now it’s my turn to take yours.”
The ghost of the man Peter had shot reached out towards him. Peter watched as an eerily transparent hand touched his arm. It felt as if he’d been penetrated by ice. Peter’s blood ran cold and he began to tremble.
Peter felt himself falling into a dark abyss, disappearing into the blackness. He fought to regain control as he felt his life diminishing. Panic coursed through him as he gathered just enough strength to scream. He remembered no more as the shadows overtook him.
Crossposted at AO3