Hidden In The Attic: An AJR Fanfiction

Chapter Fourteen

↤↤↤↤↤ Ryan ↦↦↦↦↦

This is getting out of control.
"What the actual fuck is going on? Are they collectively having the same stroke?" I stare at Hanna and Kib, who look dumbfounded at their friends losing it in the corner. They're yelling something about spiders and they won't let me help them. What the fuck?
"I don't kn-" Hanna starts to speak but she suddenly seems to disappear in some strange fog that I can't find the source of. Her voice and the screams of the others are crushed by the heavy silence.
"What? Hanna? Kib? Hello?" My voice echoes and it makes the hairs on my neck stand on end. I turn around and see both of my brothers having a conversation on the couch. Oh my God, they're alright. Is this the same thing happening to Jay and Julie? Are we having the same hallucination, or something? Where are they?
"Jack? Why are you down here? You should be in bed, resting." He doesn't reply, so I turn to look at my older brother. "Adam, why is he up?" I start to walk towards them and Jack notices me.
"Woah! Ry- Ryan. What are you doing with that?" They raise their hands in defense and put a halt in their conversation, staring at me in terror and confusion.
"What?"
Jack stares at my hand and I look down at it as well. It's a knife. Where did I get this?
My legs start moving on their own and I advance towards my brothers with a malicious intent. No, I don't want to do anything malicious. Why does my brain seem to think that I do? Stop! I can't stop walking. Why can't I stop walking? I try to drop the knife, but my hands remained clenched, refusing to listen to my own commands. It's like my body is disconnected from my brain; it's not my own. My stomach sinks in fear.
"Guys? I-I'm not doing this. I'm scared. Guys-" my voice chokes up when I look towards Jack, who is cowering.
His body tenses, studying me with suspicion and fear. What can he see on my face? Do I look like I want this? Please, God, don't make me hurt them. His fearful voice pierces my ears, making my heart pound. "Ryan, get the fuck away from me! Get away from me!"
They can't hear me. They can't hear me! They don't know that I'm not me, they don't know that I'm not me. I inch closer and closer, turning towards Adam.
"Ryan, please! Stop! Don't touch me! Get away from me!" Adam's voice cracks as he raises it. His yell is filled with pure terror. Dread douses me and slides down my shoulders like a bucket of cold water. He starts struggling to move backwards, but can't leave the couch as I'm already too close.
"Adam..." my arm reaches out, but instead for comfort, my hand grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him right into my knife. He stumbles, letting out a strangled cry before choking and falling quiet. His head lands on my shoulder and I can hear him wheezing in pain as his hands loosely grasp at my arms. I let out a shriek of surprise and try to pull away from him.
I feel the blade rip through his stomach, the hot blood running over my tightly clenched hand, the knife sinking deeper with each breath he takes. My eyes burn and tears run down my face.
After what feels like years, the knife is suddenly relieved from his body. But I'm not the one doing it. They think I am, though. Adam looks up at me with wide eyes, blood running down the side of his mouth, trying to pull himself away from me.
"Please.." he whispers, revealing his blood-stained teeth. I try to push him farther away from me; I want him away from me! But I move the wrong hand, forcing the knife back in. I feel his body slump against my shoulder again. "Ryan..." he says feebly. I want to close my eyes but I can't even control that. Over and over I pull the knife out only to shove it back in each time with more growing force as he rests on my shoulder in something that almost feels like a hug. I almost laugh at the thought of comparing this to a nice, loving gesture. I wish he could hug me.
Adam's racing heartbeat comes to a staggering stop against my shoulder. His hand, previously clenched desperately around my forearm, relaxes and drops to his side, his fingers sliding down mine and picking some of his own blood from my hand. I let him go, letting him slide down my chest and leave a trail of blood across my clothed. He drops to the floor and I watch as the horror drains from his eyes and is replaced with absolute nothing.
I feel like myself again. I feel in control of my body. My hand drops the knife and my knees hit the floor with an empty thud.
I shake violently as my sobbing grows. I can still feel Adam's weight and heartbeat on my right shoulder. As if he's still there, still here.
"Oh, my God. What the fuck, Ryan? Why would you do that? RYAN!" Jack yells, his voice unrecognizable from the sobbing and overwhelming dismay.
My head snaps up and once again I feel nothing. I'm not in control any longer.
"I DIDN'T! IT WASN'T ME!" I want to yell back. But my mouth won't cooperate with my mind. He remains staring at me like I'm his worst nightmare. "Please," I want to cry, "it wasn't me.."
I start to slowly reach for the knife again, internally screaming no, no, no!
Jack stares at me, holding a hand up in defense while the other is gripping a pillow from the couch. "Ry, Ry, please don't. Ry, please."
My soul hurts as he calls me Ry.
But in a rush that I can't stop, I'm on my feet and I'm holding Jack by his neck, his face inches from mine. What does he see in my eyes? He can't be seeing what's really there. He's struggling, kicking at me and trying to speak. He hits me weakly with the pillow before giving up and throwing it away.
How is this happening? I'm not strong enough to be doing this. But I guess whatever's controlling me now is.
"Ryan, p-please. Ryan, please. You're my big brother. I looked up to you. I loved you. I love you, Ryan, please, please, please--" His voice is hoarse and strained, and it falters as he begs. I want, more than anything, to throw the knife to the ground and hug my little brother like he's the most important thing in the world. He is.
He starts kicking and pulling and crying harder, slapping at my arms and begging me to let go. He's promising not to call the police, as long as I let him live. He's telling me to think about mom and dad and all of our friends and everyone who we love. But I can barely hear it. My heart breaks. And yet I feel nothing at the same time.
I let go of him, and he collapses on the floor, breathing heavily. Holding his neck, he looks up at me. Faster than a heartbeat, my arm whips back and throws the knife forward. It sticks into Jack's neck with a disgusting spurt of blood as he takes his hand away.
He falls back from the force and his body crumples lifelessly beneath my feet, blood pouring heavily from his throat.
What? I'm not that strong! What the fuck is controlling me? Who is controlling me? 
Realization hits me so fast I stumble forward. I look around me and see my brothers, bleeding out, unmoving.
I fall to my knees and rush to Adam, putting my arms around him. I see my hands in front of me and all air leaves my lungs.
They're drenched in blood. Blood I shared. My hands begin to shake. The sticky red liquid coats my arms and streaks down my shirt and pants.
You did this.
NO I DIDN'T! PLEASE, IT WASN'T ME!
My knees drag towards Jack. His lifeless, half-closed eyes run with blood instead of tears. I begin to pound his chest, heaving sobs, clutching his shirt until my knuckles turn white.
"Please I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt either of you! Please come back. Please come back to me."
Then, just as fast as they had appeared in front of me, Jack's body disappears from under mine. My arms hit the cold ground, still shaking with sobs, and I stare around in frantic confusion.. I look up to see them on the couch again, holding a normal conversation. Seeing them alive and smiling after I had just murdered them in cold blood crushes my heart and I let out a wrenching wail, putting my head near my knees and holding it down with my hands. My glasses are blood-stained and cracked and my vision is blurry from crying.
With a shaky, pathetic attempt, I stand up and drag my feet near them, each step regaining new hope. I see them look up at me with horrified faces and I feel my body sag from terror. Don't tell me I'm going to hurt them again.
"Ryan-" Jack's smile slides off his face and his skin goes white. I look down and see the knife in my hand and feel myself beginning to cry. I don't want to do this. I don't want to see it. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to feel it. I try with every inch of might I have to stop myself. I use all of my willpower to keep me in place, to keep my arm at my side. I close my eyes in concentration.
"Ryan?" I feel a hand on my shoulder.
I open my eyes to see Jack. His concerned eyes search mine and for a moment I believe all is right. I let my body relax to the gentle touch, thinking I had beaten whatever was taking over me. I see the side of his mouth twitch as if to smile but he never gets the chance. His body tenses and all emotion in his face drops to horror as he slumps against my chest. I feel the eerily pleasing warmth of his blood flow over my hand once more as I realize that my knife is in his stomach. I didn't put it there. I feel his arms wrap around me and his hands clutch the back of my shirt with the strength only a dying man has before his final breath. He falls at my feet and I do nothing.
Then I turn to Adam.
I see the muscles in his jaw flex as he clenches and unclenches with fear, his mind racing a mile a minute for a way out. But there is none.
"'Please, stop doing this. Ryan, please." Adam begs holding his hands in front of him in self defense. "Stop, stop, stop." His voice cracks into a harsh and desperate whisper.
I speak without control, and with a quivering whisper I warn, "I don't think I can."