Can't You Save Me?

•6•

Patrick woke up later that evening, around four forty-three or so. He had another dream about Vaughn, the man in his head that had just turned out to be him. But Patrick didn't like thinking of him as being a strange and demented interpretation of himself. He knew that he himself was nothing like that. This dream was different from the others he's had over the years, though. Everything was pitch black, nothing to go on but surrounding darkness (which is how it usually goes) and it was just the two of them standing together in the black space. They only talked and Vaughn didn't seem to be upset or angry with him for his outburst earlier, never even brings it up, but Patrick knows that he's aware he said it.

After waking up, Vaughn didn't make himself known. Patrick's head was finally quiet for a moment and was allowed to think freely for a while. He didn't think of anything except for any possible way to get rid of him. The crazy bastard had to go. If Patrick ever wanted to get out of this dangerous game that Vaughn demanded he play, he had to get him out of his head. Permanently.

There were many different things that Patrick had found on the internet, therapy and medication being the main options, but he didn't have money for that. Suicide? No. It didn't matter how bad he wanted Vaughn dead, he didn't have the heart to take his own life. He didn't know many people that could help, with his family...gone and the way he isolates himself from any other human contact more often than not. Then he thinks of something. It was desperate but it was all Patrick had right now.

Pete.

He's the only one that could, maybe, help Patrick with his situation. Yes, Patrick knows that he works for the police and is hot on his trail, but he had no other options. He didn't have a complete thought about how to play the plan out in reality, but he had an idea of how it should work out. He'd just have to make shit up as he went along. That's good enough right?

Patrick finds himself walking to the police station, spotting a space between two parked cars beside the building to duck down until he saw the guy from earlier. Pete, he reminded himself. From there he'd just try to follow Pete home or talk to him on the spot and all will be okay with the world. See, that was the plan he had thought of on his way to the station, but then he instantly had a better one.

One of the cars that he was crouching beside had something hanging from the rear view mirror; specially made guitar picks created to hang from thin leather strings like a necklace. 'PW' was written on one side of each pick and Patrick assumed it must have been someone's initials, maybe Pete's. He wasn't even one hundred percent sure that it was even Pete's car but he took the chance anyway.

Patrick checked the doors for any erect locks and, luckily, one of the back doors were unlocked. He carefully scanned the parking lot to see if anyone was watching then opens the door and quietly slips inside. And, honestly, the inside had looked like the tazmanian devil had twisted through it, well mainly the back seat. It was kind of gross but it would provide a great cover for Patrick to hide under.

After burying himself inside, all he had to do now was wait.

Time ticks by quickly, roughly an hour and a half passes before Pete shows up, (thank fuck Patrick picked the right car) unlocks the front door and gets behind the wheel. He's mumbling angrily to himself but it's hard to make out the words from where Patrick is.
So Patrick waits some more, watching the street lights fly by as Pete drove, presumably to his home. When the car finally jerks to a complete stop, followed by the front door opening and closing, Patrick knows that he must've made it. Well the first part of the plan worked out okay, now the hard part was convincing Pete to help. Then Patrick thinks some more. He can't just pop out of the car and follow him inside, he'd have to wait again, at least until Pete went to sleep or something. Whatever, Patrick's a relatively patient person, he can wait.

He ends up nodding off in the back seat for a few hours and when he opens his eyes, it's terribly dark outside, the only light being the dim streets lights. Patrick gets out of the car, glad he doesn't have to lay in Pete's junk anymore, and walks up to Pete's apartment door. He jiggled the handle; it's locked. Well duh it's fucking locked. The only other option was the window, which was also locked. Shit. Yeah, Patrick didn't think this far ahead and has to get desperate again.

His last thought being that he may have to break in.