Immaculate Misconceptions Motionless In White

Nightmare of the missing

"What do you mean he never made it to the precinct?!" Josh nearly flew across the room to sit next to the manager.

Ryan seemed to lurch forward, "Where the fuck is he then?!"

The manager, formally introduced as Greg, opened his mouth to say something but didn't. He wiped his face, "I- I don't know."

"The hell you mean 'you don't know'?!" Ryan's temper was showing.

"I don't know! Ok! The officers that arrested him never showed up to check him in and-"

"So what's with all this bullshit about suing and holding cells!" Kuza stepped up this time, Chris had become like family to him ever since he welcomed him into his life.

"I don't know! They called and they can't find them!" Greg wiped the sweat off his palms.

"Who's 'them'?" Ricky was calmer, all he wanted to do was find out what's going on so they could plan their next move...

"The two officers that were sent to the scene and Chris. The police vehicle never returned to the precinct either and the GPS' within the car were shut off. They're beginning a search party and opening an investigation."

"Why are they telling us this now? Chris was arrested like 3 days ago..." Devin would look around, confused.

"That's what I asked... Someone tampered with the system and for those three days their records showed that Christopher Cerulli was checked in. But when they went to transfer him he wasn't in the holding cell his records said he was in and security cameras had no evidence of him even entering the building."

"So where is he?!" Kuza demanded. Ricky threw himself on the couch, staring off into the distance in shock.

"I don't know! I don't know ok! If I did I wouldn't be telling you guys this shit right now!"

"Can't they track his phone?" Devin added thoughtfully.

The manager would shake his head slowly, "It's off."

The band stood quiet, sometimes they looked at each other as if trying to find an answer within one of the member's faces.

But they found none.

~~

Chris' head snapped up as he looked around frantically. He had a nightmare.

To be honest, he'd much rather be living that nightmare than awakening in those damn dim lights that did poorly to illuminate the room.

In his nightmare, he'd be standing on stage. His band surrounded him as he sang into the mic. His fans were adorned in merch, many had smiles on their faces as they whipped their hair around, pumping their devil horns in the air, cheered, and sang with him. Throughout this bliss, there would be a commotion somewhere in the back. A loud banging on the venue doors. They would eventually burst open and the crowd would cry out in shock as they all spun around. Chris would then leave his band on the stage and jump down into the crowd, pushing through kids and moving through them until he came to the very back of the venue where security couldn't fight off the mob.

The same mob that greeted Motionless in front of Webster Hall with their signs and sneers.

Kids would grab at Chris in fear, looking between him and the crowd. Their eyes would just read, "What do we do?" "Help us..." He would guess that some of these people were their parents...

He'd push them all behind him, becoming their shield. In his heart he knew he'd never let any harm come to these kids, his fans. He'd stand in front of his army, covered in his body paint and standing tall amongst the group as the mob lurched forward. The man who spat in his face that unfortunate day approached him and began to yell the same words he yelled before but this time he targeted the fans behind him. There was no way Chris was gonna stand back to that. Chris let out the strongest growl he's ever let out and shot his foot out, nailing the man in the gut and sending him flying back into his own mob. But the rest of the mob would lurch forward and grab and scratch at him. He'd turn to his fans but suddenly they grabbed at him too until he fell to the floor. They spat and kicked at him and eventually Chris felt like he was falling and falling. Within the darkness he could see something. A giant skull with fangs and red eyes... Something he would normally think to be absolutely epic, terrified him. He'd let out a scream as it's mouth opened to consume him but he jolted awake instead.

He was thankful that the numb feeling had left him and the swelling in his eye had went down slightly but the electric shock still left scars. D muscle in his neck twitched and he felt himself develop a tick for 5 good minutes. He dug his nails into the dirt underneath him. On the bright side, his shoulders weren't as sore and his legs not as strained. He looked down at them, they were covered in welts, bruises, lumps, and scabbed over. The only thing holding his jeans together was the material that covered the back of his legs. His feet were black with dirt also... and they were slightly cut. The chains rattled as he lifted his hands to inspect them, they too were covered in scratches and partially bruised but overall they were just covered in dirt and dried blood. Underneath the cuffs though, his wrists were badly sliced in some areas and the skin was peeled off. Most of the area would be scabbed over with dried blood but as he moved they would crack and beads of blood would begin to drip again.

He let out a deep sigh, holding his breath as he laid himself out slightly and lifted his torn and dirty shirt; his abdomen was covered in large lumps and deep purple and yellow bruises that stood out against his pale skin. It was disturbing and automatically made Chris yank his shirt down with a shaky breath. He didn't want to think about his condition or even lift the shirt any higher. For the most part, he wanted to stand up. The days were blurred and he wouldn't even have the slightest clue as to what time it was. He started by bringing his knees towards his chest, the action caused him great pain but he only grunted. He planted his hands firmly on either side of him and pushed himself against the rough wall as he lifted himself from the ground.

In about 3minutes of getting up and falling back down due to lack of strength, Chris was on his feet but his breathing had become labored. The effort took a lot out of him. He looked down, there was a lot of chain pooled on the floor from when that man treated his dislocated arm. He paused to listen to his surrounding before he bravely took a step forward causing his knee to ache. He locked his jaw and simply kept pushing himself. He distracted himself from the pain by recited the lyrics to "Keep From Getting Burned" in his head. He didn't know where he was going and what he was doing exactly but being able to move was sweet bliss to him... He wanted to test his limits and walked towards the staircase that was just in his field of vision... His walk was much like a zombie's, his shoulders were hunched over slightly because his hands were weighed down by the shackles and the chains he dragged. He would've chuckled at the reference because the sound the chains were making only added more to the effect but this wasn't the time. Beyond the time.

Chris had to pause, rubbing his shoulder but his eye caught a rectangle laying on the floor. Was that his cell phone? He would've thought that they'd clean it up but there it was. He could see in the dim lighting that the screen was badly cracked and the phone was overall falling apart. But...

A thought crossed Chris' mind. What if he could get out these shackles? By what he remembers, the outside is just a quick run up the stairs and out the "door." Of course there'd still be running down that dirt road in search of civilization but he was sure that if he took a short cut he'd be by a highway in no time. If he could just wave down someone or somehow get his phone on...

Chris went to take another step towards the phone and reached for it but his shackles didn't let him that far. The sound of a door opening caused him to jump and he kicked the phone to a corner in front of the staircase before standing still.

There was a symphony of footsteps. There had to be at least 6 men walking towards him, he thought. As they came into view they proved to be 8 not including the priest. Amongst them was the man with the glasses who tended to his wounds and controlled the electric chair along with the man with the light blue jeans that first spoke to Chris. The man with the glasses rolled a cart which had a box of gloves, some sort of spatula, and a container that did little to reveal the contents inside it... The only sound now was Chris' heavy breathing as he gripped onto the chains hanging from his shackles, hair damp and hanging in front of his face as he glared at them. He was ready to fight.

The priest made the first move, he opened his bible and turned to a page. The men stood behind him in a perfect row, everyone except the man who rolled the cart had their hands behind their back.

The priest spoke, his words were sad and slow as if the knowledge of what would happen to Chris next caused him sorrow.

He looked up at Chris with old eyes, his droopy face reminding him of an old bloodhound,

"Leviticus. Nineteen. Twenty-Eight. Thou shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead..." He paused and looked at Chris again,

Chris straightened himself and stared down at the man with a hard look and a raised chin,

"Nor tattoo any mark upon thy flesh. For I am the Lord."