Fiction: Lost in Reality - (Part 4)

[seedee]

Title: Lost in Reality - Part 4
Characters: George, Lee
Rating: PG-13 for this part
Word Count: ~3700
Summary: Reality is the state or quality of being real. But what is real? And more importantly, what is not real?

Many thanks to tania_sings for the beta work and ridicu_liz for cheering.

I'll be on holiday next week, therefore the next update will be in two weeks.


Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten

gone . three

Lee woke up with a stiff neck, frozen legs and a bloodless arm. He groaned as he moved and his limbs reported one by one their discomfort. The pain in his shoulders was the worst. He'd carried the heavy backpack in the afternoon the day before, and leaning against the tree for hours had done the rest. He carefully pulled his arm out from behind George who was still asleep. Lee got up groaning, moving himself, stretching, his joints popping. The sensation when blood rushed back into his arm made him grimace; it felt like an army of dwarfs torturing him with needles. He clenched his teeth and waited until it got better.

George was snoring softly; Lee watched him with a smile, remembering better times. He didn't have the heart to wake him up yet and instead went down to the gurgling stream, the sun barely above the horizon and the morning air still crisp. After a moment of hesitation, Lee pulled off his jumper and t-shirt, grimacing as the cold breeze hit his naked skin.

With both hands he scooped up icy water to wash his face and arms, gasping as it ran down his chest, causing goosebumps. Kneeling on the water's edge, he bent down as far as he could without toppling over and lowered his face into the stream, letting the water gush over his head. He came back up spluttering, fully awake and ready to face the day. He wrung out his hair until it stopped dripping, put his shirt and jumper back on and went back to their camp.

"You're going to catch a cold." George - awake and making breakfast - had spotted Lee and was now giving him a look that would have made his mother proud. He had a can in his hand and pointed at it with his wand.

Lee wasn't a morning person, and George's tone annoyed him. "A cold is the least of my problems," he said. He tried to dry his hair with a charm like he always did. But this time, there wasn't the pleasantly tingling sensation, followed by a wave of warmth that made his hair dry instantly. The breath of warmth that came from his wand was hardly noticeable. Lee retried twice, then gave up, even more annoyed because George had been right. Dreadlocks needed forever to dry without magic. Too late now, he reckoned.

George raised an eyebrow. "Don't complain when you get sick," he said.

Lee wanted to bite his tongue and let it rest. They'd never fought about petty things - they actually hadn't ever fought much. There was no coffee, though, not even tea and no breakfast that was worth mentioning. His shoulders hurt, his back hurt, his feet would hurt again soon, he was caught in a world he didn't belong in, and he didn't need this patronising tone. "I bloody well complain whenever I want to," he said, knowing better but not able to help himself. "It's not my fault that we're here. I didn't sign up for this trip."

The can George had been holding mad a dull sound as it hit the earthy ground. He straightened up, a deep crease on his forehead. "You didn't? You mean you didn't come into my shop unasked, drank a potion you weren't supposed to drink, followed me to where I didn't want you to follow me, then did something that caused Fred to disappear and leave us alone. Is that what you mean? Silly me; it sounds like it's exactly what you signed up for."

Lee gaped at him. "Are you saying this is my fault?" He was squeezing his dreads, trying to get as much water out of them as possible. "What am I supposed to do? Lean back and watch you kill yourself?"

"Oh, please. If I wanted to kill myself I'd have done it nine months ago. Look at me. I'm coping. I'm moving on. I'm even putting on weight."

"Yeah, right." Lee snorted. "Peachy as a peach. If we forget the drugs, that is."

"Where'd you get that holy attitude? That stick up your arse doesn't suit you, and your hypocrisy stinks worse than dung bombs."

Lee crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I can walk into your flat whenever I want to. It's up to me to deal with your shit because no one else can. You could have changed the wards long ago. Don't tell me you don't want me there. As long as you let me in, I don't believe it."

George made a growling sound that seemed to come from the very back of his throat and kicked the dirt. He looked like the very picture of frustration. "Don't make me, Lee. Don't make me." He abruptly turned around and walked down to the stream where Lee had just come from.

Lee watched him in confusion. "Make you what?" he asked but George either didn't hear it or chose not to answer. Lee sat down on a fallen tree, propped his elbows up on his knees and rubbed his palms up and down his face. He wanted to help. George still hurt in ways Lee couldn't even begin to understand, and Lee wanted to make it better. He didn't know how, though. George was pushing him away like everyone else. And that hurt, too.

He cursed and tugged on his wet hair, wishing he knew what to do and what to say. The only thing he could really count on was his stubbornness and refusal to let go of George. They'd been friends for too long; George was too important to even consider it.

There was a noise to his right, and Lee lifted his head, letting himself be pulled out of his thoughts. There was nothing, though, just trees and ground and bushes. He picked up a stone and flung it as hard as he could at nothing in particular.

When George came back, breakfast was ready. They ate canned meat and biscuits, talking only when it was necessary.

"How much food do we have?" George asked.

"There's hardly enough left for the rest of the day," Lee said. "Some chocolate as well. But that's it."

George nodded. He seemed reluctant to voice what was on his mind. Lee was glad; he didn't want to hear it.

*

After three hours of walking, the forest wasn't as thick any more; there was more space between the trees. It was still gloomy, though, still dim and the sounds were strangely muffled. Some of those noises worried Lee.

There were noises that didn't sound like the usual rustling of branches in the wind or the occasional patter of tiny feet scurrying along the ground - a branch snapping as if someone was following them, a bush being breached by something bigger than a doe, a thud behind them as if something heavy was setting its foot onto the padded forest ground. Lee pretended not to find it strange as it could very well be nothing at all. But when he heard the thud again, he stopped.

"Did you hear something?" he asked and looked back the way they'd come from.

George shook his head. "Nothing. What is it?"

"Dunno. Strange forest noises."

George frowned, looked back as well, then turned around again. "Looks like we'll reach the edge of the forest soon. I can already see the fields through the trees." He pointed.

Lee ran his fingers through his still clammy hair and lifted it off the back of his neck for a moment. "So let's just go on and reach the fields before the noises reach us?" Lee asked.

"You want to go back and look what it is?"

Lee didn't want to go back. He didn't even know if there was something to go back to that wasn't a rabbit, a doe or just the wind in the trees. "All right then," he said and started to walk again.

The agreement to walk faster was made silently. Lee didn't talk about the prickling at his neck, or that he would rather run than walk. He was almost sure now that they were being watched. The sensation was so strong that he'd gripped his wand firmly, ready to point it at any threat. George felt it, too; Lee saw it in the way he turned around every few paces.

The last trees were almost within reach when Lee heard the sound of snapping branches again, followed by a series of thumps. It was close now. "You heard that, right?" he asked, gripping the strap of the backpack hard with the hand that didn't hold the wand.

Rustling behind them.

George turned around again. "I can hear it. Can't spot it, though."

Another branch breaking.

"No thestrals; we'd see them," Lee mused, speeding up some more. They were almost there.

A sound, this time so close that Lee thought whatever caused it was near enough to touch him.

He looked back and stumbled over the root of a tree. George's hand shot out and closed around Lee's arm like a vice, keeping him from falling.

A loud cracking sound from the left side and a shrill shriek.

They started to run. George, who was faster without the backpack, was pulling Lee forward. "Come on, Jordan," he shouted.

The minute it took them to finally break through he last line of trees into the open, sun flooded field seemed like an eternity. They kept running once they'd made it, the ghost of the noise still haunting them.

"Stop," Lee finally said, breathing hard, allowing himself to slow down.

"Where is it?" George was panting next to him but had stopped as well. "What was that?"

Lee shook his head; he didn't know. "Why the fuck did it stop at the edge of the forest?"

"Did it?" George looked around. "We didn't see it back there, what makes you think we'd see it here?"

"We'd see the grass move. We'd hear it. Fuck Merlin, I don't know." Lee didn't like the sound of his own voice.

"What if it flew-"

As if on cue, a flock of large birds erupted from the trees and soared high up into the air. They were the size and shape of buzzards, but their wings were darker. The birds changed direction, flew back over the forest and disappeared one by one behind the canopy, uttering cries that sounded like snickering.

Lee laughed nervously. "You don't think it was them? Birds?"

George glanced at him, but as soon as their eyes met, he looked away. "What else?" he asked.

"It was close. And you heard it stomp, too, yeah? Come on, George, that wasn't birds."

"Let's keep our eyes open."

*

Walking was easier on the brighter side of the forest. The shadows were gone and replaced by sunlight. The air was less humid, and even Lee's hair - still heavy and cold on his head - was less uncomfortable. The sensation of being watched was still there, but it was less prevalent now that they were out in the open. It diminished with the growing distance between them and the trees.

It was around noon when Lee saw them. At first, he thought he imagined it. He so desperately wanted to see signs of other people's existence in this world that he wouldn't have been surprised about his mind playing a neat trick. If what he saw was real, it would mean that there was at least a slight chance that they could reach London - that there even was a London somewhere ahead. Lee still didn't think that trying to find Fred and convince him to send them back home made sense, but what else was there?

When a minute later the sight hadn't changed, he stopped. "I see houses," he said.

"What?" George looked up sharply. He squinted into the direction Lee indicated, then nodded. "Yeah, I see them." He looked again and frowned. "Definitely there. I should have seen them earlier."

"You should have paid attention," Lee said with a grin.

"I did!" George protested but then seemed to reconsider. "Whatever. Not like it matters."

*

They made only one short break, hardly long enough to eat their ration that consisted of two apples and a bar of chocolate. It was a drop in the bucket after hours of walking. Lee was hoping for shelter and maybe even a warm meal. The houses were close now.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached the road that led to the small cluster of houses. So far they'd seen no people, no cars, no smoke rising from the chimneys, no cattle or any other movement. They stopped at an open gate, looking into a wild garden that surrounded a bright red building.

"That's not a Muggle house," George said.

Lee nodded. "I can see that." There were magical plants growing in the garden, signs of a gnome population, and the angle of the upper level suggested that it was held in place by more than stone and mortar.

"It could explain why the road's deserted." There was doubt in George's voice.

"Doesn't explain why everything else looks deserted."

It wasn't just the lack of movement. With the exception of the houses, there was not a single sign of people living there. Lee heard no voices, no sound of machines, no wireless playing, not even the bark of a faithful dog. He didn't smell smoke or cooking or the stench of dung bombs thrown by an aspiring prankster. The place felt empty.

"Hello?" George shouted. "Is anyone here?"

There was no answer.

Lee was unsure of how to proceed. The feeling that this place couldn't be trusted was strong. He tried to spot anything that would help to put him at ease - to no avail. The doormat was aligned in a way that looked as if no one had ever stepped on it, and it was spotless despite its light cream colour. The red paint was immaculate without any scrapes or patches or peeled off plaster. The window glass sparkled in the late afternoon sun, clear and clean.

"Look at those," George said, pointing to where gardening tools were leaning against the left side of the front wall.

Lee had already seen them but hadn't found it strange at first. Now he looked closer. Like everything else they looked eerily clean; their metal parts gleamed in the sunlight.

"I don't like it," Lee said. "Something's off."

"Way off," George agreed.

"What do you think?"

George shrugged. "I'm hungry and tired and don't want to spend the night without a roof over my head."

"But..." Lee gestured at the house instead of trying to explain why he didn't want to knock on the door, let alone stay the night.

"I'll go and have a look," George decided. He went through the gate and onto the path that lead to the door. Lee followed, doubting that this was a good idea.

George stopped in front of the door and raised his hand. He didn't have to knock. With a creaking sound that was far too loud, the door swung open.

"Hello?" George called again; and again there was no answer.

Lee wanted to ask him not to go inside. But they were hungry, and they were tired, and there really was no good reason not to at least have a look. George must have come to the same conclusion as he was already through the door before there was a chance to argue. Lee followed him.

The house was empty. Lee didn't need to go through each room to see it. It felt empty; it smelled empty; it looked empty. Everything was tidy, clean, nothing out of place. They went through a narrow hall and into a medium-sized living room. It was nice, Lee supposed, even though it didn't feel cosy. It was too pristine. He briefly looked at the grey couch, the dark red carpet and the white walls. It was nothing out of the ordinary on first glance.

"Come here," George yelled from what turned out to be the kitchen.

Lee went through the open door and found George with his head inside the cooling cupboard. "Food?" Lee asked.

"Lots," was George's short answer. He'd already begun to take out the treasures. There was fruit, soup, something that looked like a ready made casserole, canned food, cheese and another packet of biscuits.

Lee forgot his doubts when he saw and smelled what was going to be their dinner.

"Ale!" George cried triumphantly and took out two bottles. "I don't care why there are no people," he said. "We can eat something, stay for the night, and we can use the bloody loo."

Lee opened a drawer and found silverware. "How far is it to Diagon Alley? What do you think?" he asked.

George shrugged. He'd unwrapped the casserole and sniffed at it. The resulting grin gave away the verdict. "Been walking for two days. Through the forest we were a bit slower. I reckon we made around twenty five, maybe even thirty miles a day."

"Thirty miles?" Lee thought that was a very optimistic guess, but kept his doubts to himself. "That means at least another two or three days."

George nodded. "In theory."

The rest was left unsaid. The distance was only a guess; the whole endeavour was based on a guess; this whole world was only a guess. Lee's head started to buzz as he thought about it, so he took the first thing he saw - a banana - peeled it and bit into it. The sugar sweet, mushy taste brought him back and helped to focus on the small joys of the moment instead of the glaring insanity of the big picture.

They ate mostly in silence. Then, each with a bottle of ale in one hand and a wand in the other, they climbed the stairs to search through the upper level of the house. They found nothing out of the ordinary. There was a master bedroom, a room that obviously belonged to a little boy, a bathroom and a guest room. All of those rooms looked as if they had never been used; the closets were empty.

"We're going to sleep in the same room," Lee decided.

"Why, Jordan, how suave." There was a hint of something in George's voice that Lee hadn't heard in a long time.

*

The shower was overdue - it was bad once one started to notice one's own smell - and the sensation of warm water washing away dirt and sweat had never been this good before. Lee was careful not to get his hair wet again. It was still not completely dry, and there was a cottony feel to his head, a dull throbbing behind his temples that made him regret the impromptu bath in the stream.

He looked at the dirty pile of clothes in the corner of the room, wrinkled his nose and grabbed a towel to dry himself. Then he sat down on the edge of the tub, tending to his feet, trying to charm away the blisters that had come back during the day. The charm was weak and didn't bring much relief. Lee rubbed his eyes and felt sorry for himself.

It was long minutes later when he left the bathroom, carrying his filthy clothes, the towel slung low around his hips.

George whistled when Lee entered the master bedroom. "You smell like vanilla pudding," he said.

"Don't complain; I know for a fact that you like vanilla pudding."

"I haven't said it wasn't an improvement." George was looking at him from behind the open door of the closet, frowning. "There are clothes."

"No, there aren't," Lee said and plopped down on the bed.

George rolled his eyes, grabbed something and threw it at Lee. It was a clean t-shirt.

Lee stared at it. "That closet was empty not half an hour ago."

George shrugged and threw more at him - boxers, socks, a pair of jeans, a warm, hooded jumper. "It's not empty now."

Lee took each item in hand, trying to make sure that it was actually there. "How convenient." His voice was laced with sarcasm.

"Convenient?" George asked him.

Lee got back up, dropped the towel and started to dress. "Don't you think it's just a tad strange that we came to an empty house where we found food and clothes, a nice shower, a soft bed? What the fuck is happening here?" He pulled up the boxers angrily, wincing when his balls suffered from the excess force.

He looked over at George who was biting his lip in a gesture Lee knew well. "Don't you dare laugh," Lee snapped at him. "There's nothing remotely funny about this." He stepped into the jeans and yanked them up over his hips. "Where's Fred? Is he lurking somewhere in a corner, watching us? What's happening at home? It's been more than two days. Will we even notice if we die? When we die?" Lee's voice was higher than usual. "What are we going to do if we don't find him? For all we know he could be in Australia, surfing with sharks." He struggled with the t-shirt until it surrendered and he could pull it over his head; it fit snugly. "Oh wait. There's no Australia; there are no sharks; there's no Fred. How can he be in London when we're here? How can he make up a whole world without even existing? How does he know what we need?" The whole concept was so complex and impossible that it made Lee's head spin whenever he tried to think it through. "Come on George, say something. What are we going to do?"

George looked at him for a long time, then shook his head once. "Firewhiskey?" he asked.

Lee buried his face in his hands, then ran them over his head, growled in frustration and cursed. He thought about the bottle of cheap booze they'd carried in the backpack all the way from the hut. He nodded and said, "Firewhiskey."

* * *

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten

Thank you for reading. Feedback is love.

Comments

[tree00faery.livejournal.com]

Eeee! So intense and suspenseful! And amazing! Yay! I can't wait for the next chapter!

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Thank you! So glad you like it. ♥