The Island of the Slaughtered | TDI AU

Rule #4 Don't Look At His Face

"Chris."

"Chris."

"Chris, can you see me?"

"Can you see me... Chris?"

"Chris."

"Sh."

I'm so sick of these dreams. The past couple of nights have been about Lindsay and now they're about something new, again. I can't keep doing this.

I might actually go insane!

Now I'm staring at a strange painting.

There's the muscles of a face, missing hair and eye lids. The eyes are wide. Blood softly trickled down parts of the face.

I sighed... is this all they got?

I turned to leave, but saw the painting move out of the corner of my eye.

I looked back, and moved my face to the side. Was this a mirror? It follows my actions, blood continuing to spill from the face as it did, though the skin on the rest of its body was perfectly intact. Perfect, even. My face shifted closer to the mirror, as did the face on the other side. Veins pulsed from under the rotting flesh. It beat to the rhythm of a heart beat.

Bum-bum...

Bum-bum...

I scoffed before walking away.

I was in my mansion this time. I wasn't surrounded by tree's or greenery, just the comfort of my own home...

Which, in a way, made the dream more eerie.

As I walked, my reflection shone on the glass that overlooked the city. From ceiling to floor, the wall was nothing but glass. The sunset views were to die for. It was night. There were no colors to compliment the scene. Just blues, blacks, and my reflection.

With every step, was another taken from my reflection. It became annoying. I snapped my head over to look at it again, the grotesque face staring back. I'm getting used to the gory details of these dead bodies.

But then, it tilted its head... though I hadn't done that. I blinked and it smiled at me. It waved at me.

"Hello, Chris." The smile grew wider, allowing a pair of lips to grow from the uncovered flesh, "Glad we can finally talk."

"Huh?" The face frowned, eyes popping into place and a forehead formed above, creating a furrowed set of eyebrows... my eyebrows.

"Have you been curious about the dreams, Chris?"

"What are you?"

"I'm you, Chris." It smiled again, its nose grew, allowing the cheeks to become identical to mine.

"You're like... my subconscious?" It laughed at me.

"If that's what'll bring you back." The face smirked as the phone on my coffee table rang. I stared at it. The noise echoed through the empty apartment. I glanced back at my look alike, who had taken the call, "Chris speaking?"

"I don't even talk like that dude, what are you even-" I ran up to the window and started banging on the glass.

"Not now, I'm on the phone."

"Hello?"

"Chris?" I heard Chef whisper, waking me up from my nap. It's been nine days now.

"I'm still getting those weird dreams, man."

"You really need to work through them then. If they're reoccurring, there's a reason." I furrowed my eyebrows at this.

"I'm never returning to that island, Chef. Not in a million years." Chef sighed before walking away. To get my mind off things, I booked the crew a 2 week cruise...

By the crew I mean Chef and I...

And by that I mean me with Chef being there if I needed anything.

"And why not?"

"Clearly there's some psycho killer after me, or something!"

"Just because it killed a camper doesn't mean he wants to kill you too. Plus, that doesn't excuse keeping the kids there."

"Trust me, Chef. You don't know Hollywood like I do, once the 8 weeks are up, we'll send a boat for the survivors if we have enough footage to hand in to the network. If not, we'll wait until we do. Now, go buy me a cocktail."