milliways_bar
All of Matt Parkman's days are filled with sound.
He swims in it. Drowns in it. He can't shut it out but for the occasional shield. Thank god for those shields. They're his castle walls, flimsy though they might be.
His days are filled with sound, and his nights are silent.
It's a cool silence. He looks forward to sleep. Because he doesn't have to listen to thoughts or build walls with bricks made out of his mind. Bar's given him generic slippers to use while in his room. It's a home away from home.
In the corner he's got his uniform hung up all nice and neat, and in the bathroom he's got a hotel-style shaving kit and such. It's a nice little setup.
So he lays back against the sheets and hopes for a dream. Talking to Venkman had made him worry. As a kid he'd had dreams about space invaders, fighting alongside Luke Skywalker-
But since he'd heard little Molly. Since he'd heard her thoughts, his brain shut down each evening. He hadn't minded it. There were enough sounds during the day, but he missed the familiar comfort that dreams and nightmares had provided.
He drowned in them.
The minute his head hits the pillow however, there's no blissful white silence.
Don't you see? We're all just dolls to them! Just dolls!
He jerks upward, his hand fighting against the sheets for a moment. The resistence makes him twitch, legs kicking as he wakes up downstairs.
It's the bar.
Empty. Dead Empty.
No. Not empty.
The faces are blurred and out of focus. He knows them. He knows all of them. He's practically lived with them all this time.
Let’s take the time to find out what’s inside
There's even a singer. Matt does a doubletake when he sees that it's Janice.. In a long red dress with a diamond the size of a robin's egg perched on top of her chest. Damn!.
Away from all this wind and rain
Janice, who looks just as pretty as the day they met. Janice with eyes that sparkle, his beautiful wife who loved him no matter what. She said he was her hero, even if he'd always been the big dumb goof.
She plays to the crowd, tilting up one chin and caressing another cheek. He doesn't mind. She's faithful.. She loves him. And she's damn good at what she does. She never liked to sing in public, but if she hadn't gone to lawschool, matt was sure, she could have cut an album and he'd be married to a rockstar and playing husband instead of an insecure psychic cop at a bar at the end of the universe.
There are others around her, clapping as she sways her hips in time to the music, red dress twisting in his mind like a line of blood running from a wound.
It's too bright. It's too bright, and Janice wouldn't-she rarely did-this wasn't-
I don't care. He didn't care. His wife was here. He wouldn't be alone anymore, because whatever happened here these people were just strangers in the night and now she was here and it would be okay because she loved him.
His eyes grew moist, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand.
He opened his mouth to say something to her, to hail her, to cheer, to catcall (He loved to heckle her at things like this. That time they'd gone out with Bonnie and Victor to Satsuki's Karaoke bar and she'd stood up and sang rescue me? Classic.)
His mouth didn't make any noises.
We travel blind and feel along the walls
No one acknowledges him.
He opens his mouth to scream, waving his hands, but they just keep clapping. chatting amongst themselves. Nothing in the room had sound.. It was straight silence. Blindness. For someone as dependant on sound as you.
A child scampers past her silent laughter and slow motions very deliberate. There are kids in the bar, but this one with her long red hair and jeans and toy horse- Molly?
Molly Walker. The Girl who's life he saved.
And barely know from where we came/The paths divide the players from the rules/But we’re the ones who chose to play/The Game
She skips past him, singing nothing, her mouth open and eyes wide. She looks happy. Happier then he'd ever seen her.
His horror at the lack of sound is nothing compared to the figure who reaches out to pick little Molly Walker up off the floor.
He knows him and he doesn't.
He doesn't know him because he's the literal figure in his nightmares. Standing over him with the light from a thousand medical lamps glinting off his glasses.
And he knows him because nobody could ever really forget the smug bastard. I don't belong to an organization with initials. Fucking Dick.
This isn't right! Matt moves towards him, ready to kill the bastard bar-security be damned.
The man in glasses folds his arms across his chest, Smiling. Smiling! with his pet dark shadow behind him wearing that damn symbol around his neck.
Let’s take the time to find ourselves again/Away from daily stress and pain
Two days of my life-
No. This wasn't about revenge.
He's a cop. And he has to protect people.
How'd I forget it?. He even had his uniform. Matt raises his arms to fire-only to find them absent of a weapon. Janice was here. And the bar patrons. My responsibility.. He owed them for helping him. Had to do something. He couldn't be remiss in his duty. He'd been remiss in his duty half his life.
Where's my gun?
The silence rises to the rafters and fills the room with nothing but a static hiss. It hums, and Matt wants to scream.
No screaming. No fear. Anger. Use your anger this once. They talked about never acting in anger when you were dealing with suspects. You could only convict with facts. Logic. Truth.
He can't shoot them, he'll just hurt them. Badly.
"...Go deep. But not too deeply. His powers are growing faster then we anticipated."
The glasses man smiles again as his shadow moves off with Molly Walker kicking and screaming silently in his arms.
Matt growls, lunging at the glasses man and his friend-pushing them out into the snow. Sound- Sound! Thank god! returns to the dream!bar with a rush, like a record player starting up that hadn't been used in ages. Laughter and drinks.
"...You're under arrest."
Order was restored to the universe, and Matt Parkman was arresting a very obvious criminal.
Though we may find we’ll not come back the same
But his quarry is gone.
Matt jerked his head to the right and the left, the dense silence of the forest looming over him, the lake making gentle ripples on the water.
And there's blood in the snow.
The sound in the bar rises to a din, Janice's voice above the rest.
What’s that sound
Comin’ from the dresser on a night as black as pitch?
What’s that sound
Comin’ from the bureau, do I dare turn on the switch?
Them bones, them bones, them dry bones
All bleached and deathly white
I’ve got skeletons in my closet and
They’re rattlin’ tonight
He turns to go back into the bar only to find that his legs no longer move.
The simple movement of turning and trying to return to the bar sprayed more droplets. It looked kind of pretty.
...It's a turning pattern. That meant something. where's it coming from? he knew once, but he'd forgotten.
The cheat bone’s connected to deceit bones
And thereby connected to lies
I-love-yous said indiscriminately make the sockets for the eyes
The love bones knock against the hate bones
And fingers click in time
There won’t be sleep for the weary tonight
’Cause all those bones are mine
It's such a weird song.. Why was Janice singing it? She didn't like songs like this. She wanted happy songs.
Red snow starts falling. Thicker, running into his eyes. It's so thick he has to raise his hand to his forehead, smearing blood across his sleeve.
And Matt wonders why he's so tired. So exhausted-that all he wants to do is lie down in the flurries and nap. They look so comfortable..and so...soft..
There.
In the trees.
Hup, Hup, they’re in my closet now
Hup, Hup, Hup, I’m trying to forsake ’em
Hup, Hup, they’re in my dresser now
Hup Hup Hup, I wouldn’t wanna wake ’em
Janice's voice heralds the coming of a shadow.
A shadow in a baseball cap with a mind that Matt Parkman would know anywhere.
Hup, Hup, they’re in my closet now
Hup, Hup, Hup, I’m trying to forsake ’em
Hup, Hup, they’re in my dresser now
Hup Hup Hup, I wouldn’t wanna wake ’em
["...So who's this guy Sylar?"
"He killed a bunch of people out west." Audrey brushed hair out of her eyes as she led him along the walkway between buildings, "We've been tracking him across the country."]
The red snow gets thicker and Matt drops to his knees. He can't defend himself, and the bastard makes no sound. There's no gun, no nothing. Silence. Freefloating. It's space. He's David Bowman at the end of the Universe. He's primordial. Predator and Prey.
["In each case the victims were lifted up against the wall and pinned there by household objects."
"In some cases, the brains were removed."]
Janice's voice becomes alien and strange as Matt lies on his back in a halo of his own blood-trying to stop the cut through tissues and fat across his forehead. He'd like to get up and go away-but none of his muscles respond. Darn them!
Forty-eight years of livin’
An angel in disguise
Forty-eight years of lovin’
Smilin’ with my eyes
Forty-eight years of memories
Neatly tucked away
When daylight dies, I hear them rise
And dance upon their grave
All of Matt Parkman's days are filled with sound.
But it doesn't mean a goddamn thing, since he can't produce any of it at his end.
HE should scream. Cry. Call for help. Shout.
Forty-eight years of livin’
An angel in disguise
Forty-eight years of lovin’
Smilin’ with my eyes
Forty-eight years of memories
Neatly tucked away
When daylight dies, I hear them rise
And dance upon their grave
Because the shadow's here.
--------
Matt jerked upward, the sheets damp. His heart beat frantically against his ribcage, hands and feet shaking. The sudden movement forces tremors into Matt's lungs as he sits up and coughs into his fist, turning over the left side of his bed.
His throat's too dry.
His feet fumble at the sheets and blankets as he staggers out of bed, padding to the bathroom. He downs two paper cups full of the stuff, using the remains to splash his face and wash away the rest of the nightmare.
Something tickles at the edge of Matt's brain, and he ignores it. Seemingly refreshed-he examines his face from all angles-taking care to study his forehead.
Still normal.
He pads outside to check his uniform. His hand shake as they touch the sleeves.
Normal. Normal.
Something tickles at the back of Matt's mind again, and he tilts his head to the side, "...What?"
Another voice responds, this time about a completely different topic.
"Wait-slow down a second-I can't hear you-"
A third voice joins in. This one angry and confused and hurt
"Stop-Stop just for a second-"
The trio are joined by a quartet as the lively noises from down below reach Matt Parkman's overworked and tired brain.
Somewhere, something beyond his comprehension is smiling, You wanted sound..
"-Not like this." It's murmurs (Thank god) "Not like this."
He clamps his hands over his ears and clenches the side of his head, willing them all to just go away.
Matt Parkman's days are filled with sound.
Because sometimes the universe decides that some castle walls just have to come down.
For added OOMing experience, the mun recommends Skeletons in My Closet, and The Game from the 7th Guest soundtrack-which the mun was listening to when she wrote it.