Menagerie - A collection of Short Stories and Drabbles in the world of White Collar. (I don't own anything but I do like playing with the characters when I can.)

Drabbles #8 - "Ghost of a Chance"

(Halloween inspired, whump, supernatural)

oOoOoOo

Peter shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs as he came to. He was sore, body and head leaning forward weakly as he realized he was bound securely to a wooden chair. He tried to shift some but the ropes held him tight and the chair must have been bolted down as it didn't move. The agent gave a weak groan, the pain in the back of his head where someone had clocked him throbbing with a rhythm all its own.

I told you to watch out.

He turned his head at the sound of the faint voice, the room empty except for himself. Peter thought he must be hearing things, looking around the large dusty space. It looked to be an old bottling plant of some kind, a few large glass ewers floating around or shatter among the ruins of the buildings shell. He gave a muffled grunt, rags filling his mouth and tape pulled over his lips tightly.

Did you need help with those ropes, Peter?

The agent turned as someone spoke, someone familiar but it couldn't be. He was gone, the agent glancing at the figure lying still in the corner in a pool of blood. He felt something warm drip from his eyes and a cool wisp of air touched his cheek .

Are you crying, Peter?

Peter shook his head despite the oddness of the situation but the cool wisp of air continued around him, brushing at his wrists and slowly the ropes began to loosen although he was still trapped.

They always make this seem so easy in the movies. Give me a minute.

Peter pulled once more and felt his wrists freed, unraveling the ropes from around him. The voice spoke again, a kind of ache in his head as it did, a sick feeling coming over him. He moved quickly to an old bin and leaned over throwing up. He felt the hint of a hand on his back, cool air making him shiver.

You ok, Peter?

Peter shook his head, sliding down to the floor to sit. He felt dizzy, icy cold chills running up and down his spine. He closed his eyes and saw him standing there, at least in his mind's eye he did. Neal looked the same as he had before everything went wrong. The young man moved oddly, like a slow motion movie, the colors a little off.

"Neal? How..." He opened his eyes but there was nothing there. He felt a movement but it was subtle like sensing wind than a person.

How what? What's wrong with you? Peter?

He could hear the consultant's voice as if from far away but it was there. Neal was with him. Peter choked back a sob, unable to think what to say. What do you say to a dead man?

Peter... answer me. What's wrong?

The agent closed his eyes and looked up at the strangely sepia colored figure before him. It was like watching an old movie on a projector, Neal's movements in a strange kind of slow-motion at times.

"Neal... look behind you." He didn't know what else to say, watching the figure turn slowly as if the frames of the film were staggering. He heard the gasp first then saw the figure waver ever so slightly.

Peter... it's a trick. Tell me...

The voice faded mid-sentence, the figure gone as Peter opened his eyes and no longer sensed Neal's presence. The nausea, chills and headache suddenly vanished.

"Neal? Neal?" He called out, pushing himself weakly to his feet as he moved back towards the lifeless figure in the corner. Why had he let him see? Why didn't he protect him? He could have lied but it wouldn't have changed anything. The young man was dead. There was too much blood on the floor around him to prove anything else.

"I'm sorry, Neal. Forgive me..."

(TBC)