Volume 3

Volume 3.

It was in late December when George Bannerman drove up the driveway, next to his Deputy Frank Dodd.
"This is a waste of time, Sheriff." Frank insisted, as they parked and both stared at the little farm house before them. George's blue eyes scanned the area before he shrugged,
"It's worth a try, Frank.. Worth a try."
Boot steps sounded on the wooden porch, pulling Herb out of his daze on trying to decorate the tree. He quickly looked out of the window, before he answered the door.
"Mr. Smith?" the policeman's voice filled his ears, though he was growing hard of hearing over the past few years.
"Yes, I'm Herb Smith."
The Sheriff held out his hand, which Herb replied to with a firm shake. "George Bannerman, Castle Rock. May I come in?"
"Sure, sure." Herb moved aside, watching the man curiously.
"Little nippy out there." Bannerman said quietly, though it was a bit under his breath. Conversation with people as a cop was always awkward. "That's a nice tree you got there,"
"Thanks" Herb said quickly, as if wanting to get right to it. "Can I do something for you, Sheriff?"
Johnny heard the strange voice from the kitchen, though just as he heard it Dawn moved to look, craning her neck to try and see whom had entreated entrance. She sighed in annoyance, "I can't see.."
Johnny held a hand on her arm when she started for the doorway, and he whispered quietly to her. The word Sheriff rang in his mind, and suddenly he felt extremely uneasy "Stop, I'll be right back. Stay here,"
He hobbled ahead of her, leaning in the doorway and staring out at where Herb and the policeman stood. George looked at him almost instantly, "Well um, actually is this is your son I came to see him. You're John?"
John nodded, only to have George's hand held out to him, "George Bannerman,"
Herb chimed in after him, "Castle Rock,"
Johnny narrowed his eyes at his father, before he looked back at the man before him whom looked about just as uneasy as he felt.
"Well John, I guess I've come with a.. Proposal, you could say. It has to do with the murders that have been happening in Castle Rock, the Castle Rock Killer. I'm sure you've heard..?"
Johnny nodded, "Sure." get on with it, Sheriff, I haven't got all night.
Bannerman reached up and scratched his head nervously, looking away. "Well, I don't know if it's true or not.. John.. About these um, psychic powers."
Johnny looked at him before he scoffed in disgust, rolling his eyes before he moved away from him to stand by the fire-- staring into the dancing flames.
"If it is true, John, I could use your help."
Johnny kept silent, only out of the annoyance he felt.
Who was this big jerk, coming into my household and asking this.. This bullshit? What could I even do for--
"John maybe you should give him a--" Herb said, but Johnny glared over at him, and the look was enough to hush him before Johnny stared back into the glowing embers-- under the flames that danced about each other. Bannerman began on a rant, but John didn't listen.
What does he want me to do? Stand around like a schmuck, and think of the guy's name out of nothing? He probably doesn't even have any evidence. Nothing was ever said about any evidence -- how am I supposed to find this guy when I have no way of knowing.. If I don't get it right, he'll just talk to the papers about how much of a "damn fake" I am, and the mail will start again. The press will start again, and they'll get pictures of me when I'm with him. I can see it now,
LOCAL CASTLE ROCK SHERIFF HIRES PSYCHIC JOHN SMITH TO INVESTIGATE IN CASTLE ROCK KILLER.
No. This is no good.
John looked over at the man, eyes narrowed still. "You've made a mistake."
Bannerman didn't enjoy hearing a no from this man. Not when he could be so helpful, "Alright." He wandered over to the cards, scanning them briefly. "I'm sorry about your mother's death, John, Mr Smith. I heard she was a good woman.. Very religious."
He looked at the two men, almost smirking. Johnny narrowed his eyes at him and just watched, almost in disbelief at how pathetic he looked.
"I'm not a religious man myself, I'm sorry to say." His cold blue eyes were on Johnny now, "But I will say this -- if God has seem fit, to bless you with this gift, John, you should use it."

Johnny merely stared at him, mouth agape and eyes narrowed in disgusted glare. "..Bless me? You know what God did for me? He threw an eighteen-wheel truck at me! Bounced me into no where, for five years!"
He was raising his voice now, and his eyes had narrowed in a deathly glare that burned like fire into the soul of the man it rested on. It made George Bannerman more uneasy on the inside than he could have explained in words-- something about that glare, how Johnny Smith's blue eyes seemed to grow so cold and dark in such a short period of time. His eyes were hard, and his lips almost snarled.
"When I woke up my, my, my girl was gone my -- job was gone, my legs are just about useless.. Bless me?"
Dawn appeared in the doorway from the kitchen, watching Johnny with wide eyes. Her eyes held fear, and concern, and sympathy. While Bannerman grew uneasier and uneasier with Johnny's cold eyes, she saw him vulnerable.
"God's been a real sport to me," Johnny nodded, only to glare dead at Bannerman again for a moment afterwards before he glanced over at Dawn and turned away. His eyes hadn't softened as they usually did when he looked at her -- his mind had blurred, and gone fuzzy with the rage he had felt explode out of him. Suddenly everyone in the room was his enemy. He stood in front of the TV, but he wasn't watching it. Only staring down at it in silence. Dawn whispered a shocked little oh Johnny under her breath, but he didn't hear her. He only heard as Bannerman left -- but he didn't look at him rather than sulked in front of the television, broiling with his own annoyance.
My girl is gone. She married another man, she made love to him and had a son. That should be my son. I should be her husband, she should be with me. I should still be a teacher. I hobble instead of walk -- I can never drive a car, or ride a horse away with my beautiful bride after our perfect wedding. I'll never have a wedding. My mother's dead, and it was all because of me. This s**t-brain of a cop comes in here and tells me I'm blessed.
John scoffed, shaking his head at the voices inside his mind. Bless me. Yeah, I'm blessed. Blessed with a curse and a cane.
His mother's voice whispered in his head, and it echoed in a spirit-like manner -- such a manner that it left him with a shiver.
God has a plan for you, my son. Don't hide away in a cave, he knows what he's doing Johnny. Don't hide from God, his plan for you is big.
A hand was on his shoulder, a tender hand, but he shrugged it off and whipped around to face his opponent as if ready to fight, only to find a wide-eyed Dawn standing before him. Concern was clear in her pools, but they didn't speak. He pushed past her and into the kitchen to take pills, the ones that calmed him down. As much as he hated pills, these were by far his favorites. If he took enough of them, he'd be high as a kite for about a week straight.
Herb wandered into the kitchen without Dawn, he had insisted that she stay back until John calmed. She did so without argument, though her eyes never left the doorway. By then, her bruises and cuts were gone, though she had a few scars. She practically lived with Johnny and Herbert, though it made Herb uneasy that his son and the girl had gotten so close, he kept to himself about it.
He looked at his son, looked at how his face had grown so thin and tired. He remembered when he wished that his boy died.
It was only when the mention of his mother had come in, somewhere in his father's little speech that Johnny started to listen to him, and he looked over at his father with wide blue eyes.
"I wish to God she was here now, so she could talk to you about this thing.. I'm, not much help to you am I?"
John's eyes finally softened, and he was brought down to Earth. He walked over to his father and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him to him gently.
"Sure you are, daddy."
Herb sighed quietly, before he looked back up at John who had released him now, "You wanna talk about it?"
John smiled, though only slightly to try and lighten the mood. "Not that much to say.." He trailed off, but Herb caught up with him.
"It sure don't bring you much happiness, does it son?"
"When it happens.. When the spells come, it feels like --" He trailed off again, and swallowed. "I dunno, it feels like.. I'm dying. Inside." John looked at his father briefly, before he turned around and moved to the window, where it was cool, and he could look outside.
"No snow," He mumbled, under his breath while loud enough for Herb to hear him. "It should snow for Christmas." he declared, nodding of to his words before looking down at his cane. He left Herb at that, and moved out to the living room where he saw Dawn curled up on the couch -- he sat next to her, almost guiltily. She smiled at him slightly, putting a hand on his arm and looking up at him nervously.
"Are you um.. Are you okay, Johnny?"
Her voice was quiet, gentle. He looked down at her hand, only to grab hold of it and cradle it within his own gently with a nod.
"I'm okay."
She nodded and smiled slightly, looking down at their hands before she squeezed gently and pulled his over to hold in in her lap. His hand was warm against her's, and it held onto her firmly. "I'm sorry." She whispered, so quiet that it sounded like a breath.
At first, he was confused by this. Then he understood.
"It's not your fault,"
"I know.. I know that, but I'm sorry."
That was the first time Johnny Smith felt completely and truly attached to Dawn Edwards.

II.

It wasn't very many days later that Sarah Hazlett showed up on Johnny's doorstep with her baby boy. Herb was out, and Dawn was working.
They played with the baby for a while before he fell asleep, and they had each other to make up for all the years that have prevented them from being together. It didn't happen only once, but several times. When they were done, Sarah asked if they had made up for the time, Johnny had replied in saying "We did the best that we could, Sarah.", Then they kissed passionately before settling with just holding one another.
The night was their's. That night, Sarah was his wife, Denny was his son, and they were a family. There was no Walt between them, separating them.
He didn't think about Dawn. How could he? Not with his beloved here, not when she was finally his, if not for a few hours.
Then she left. He watched her leave, snow falling down into where his shirt was unbuttoned to melt against his warm chest. Tears welled pathetically in his eyes, but none spilled out beyond his control. Sarah was gone. Gone again -- taken from him. Reality once again slapped him in the face, but instead of his cheek it was his heart that stung. He whispered a goodbye, unheard by another soul as he watched the headlights of her maroon automobile pull out of the driveway and disappear down the road.
"Goodbye, Sarah."
Dawn returned later that night, and by the look in his eyes she knew just about everything. By the toys on the floor, and by the mention of Sarah's name from Herb. Johnny only looked at her, and he would have said something.. An apology, perhaps, but she merely had to nod her head to show her understanding. She wasn't angry with him, nor hurt. She curled up on the couch next to him just as usual, and watched the news with him until the news of another victim that had been taken by the Castle Rock Killer was reported.
That's when the headache came. It was worse than any of the other's; it pounded and pounded in his head as he stared at Bannerman on the screen, guilt oozing into his system to claim and control it.
Still the headache raged on, even had he pressed his hand against it. Dawn touched his arm gently, concern flowing by the tenderness of her hand. He didn't move away nor lean into it, only stared at the television until suddenly the headache disappeared. A conclusion was made in his head, what did he have to live for anyway? What could possibly happen? Nothing. Gotta help him -- catch the killer.
Johnny whispered, breathed the words aloud. "I'm gonna help him."
Herb looked over at Johnny, and even Dawn, whom was sitting right next to him, leaned closer to him and made a gentle hmm? noise. Though Herb was the one who spoke,
"What did you say, son?"
Johnny looked around, quickly before looking back blankly at the television.
My girl's gone.
"That Sheriff, that came here.... Bannerman.. I'm gonna help him."
Dawn's hand was on his arm again, and it traced up and down against his shoulder as she rubbed him reassuringly. Her voice whispered to him, "You're doing the right thing, Johnny."
His gaze shifted over to her, and he paused before he nodded, "I know," wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close with a gentle smile, and another brief nod as he stared back at the television. "I know." he repeated.
His conscience whispered, quietly and tenderly to him.
The girl's gone.
Then his mother's voice replaced it, echoing in his mind. Don't hide away from God, Johnny. Don't cower in a cave from him.

III.

Dawn stood before him in front of the door, buttoning up his coat for him gently before she stared up at him, smiling. It was getting dark now, the sun was going down. Bannerman's police car awaited him in the drive way -- the exhaust puffing from the pipe in a steady stream of fog from the cold. It was a cold night, and he had gotten a nervous stir in his stomach only minutes ago. Slowly, the girl ran a hand up and down his chest, which was covered under the soft yet wooly black pea coat and the sweaters layered under it. His neck was covered by the collar, which he had pulled up almost defensively. The collar looked akin to the drawn wings of a raven.
She smiled slightly before looking at him. Suddenly, she got the impression that this wasn't a good idea -- police work was dangerous.
No.. Johnny can do this. He can end this.
"Be careful, Johnny." She said quietly, smiling up at him before she stood up on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek tenderly. Her mind whispered, but she refrained from speaking. I love you.
He smiled, reassuringly not only for her, but for himself. He nodded, before he pulled away from her hands and closed the front door behind him.

IV.

Johnny Smith followed close to Bannerman, his feet sinking into the cold, sloshed snow within the dark tunnel. He gasped quietly, inconspicuously as he cane slipped and he almost fell to his knees. Luckily, the two officers didn't notice.
"He hid around the corner, just out the end of the tunnel. There,"
Bannerman motioned his flashlight to the place he mentioned.
"When the poor girl came through, the b*****d was waiting for her.. I tell the kids not to come through but d****t uh-- they like to use this, you know, for a shortcut to school."
They walked in front of the wall, the wall that kid the Killer. Johnny looked around, fear still creeping up and down the back of his neck.
"He stood right here, we found a few cigarette butts same brand-- 8 or nine, you know. Dose this help you any?"
Johnny sighed, "I dunno.. Have you got something he might have um, touched? Or worn?"
Bannerman looked at Dodd, motioning to him, "Hey Frank, gimmie that package."
The little plastic bag was passed between the two men, and Bannerman opened it up revealing it's contents. An empty pack of cigarettes, and several smoked butts. Johnny grimaced slightly, and almost gagged. Slowly he removed one of his black leather gloves before looking around,
"It's the only real evidence we have.. Found it in a bush, same brand as the butts we found on the ground. Here,"
The empty pack was pushed into John's hand, and slowly his fingers curled around it until his knuckles were white.
Slowly, his eyes began to grow hard. A feeling came, a feeling that made him edgy -- a haze-like feeling. Slowly Johnny turned around, looked around.
I'm so slick.. They can't get away, those nasty-fuckers. I--
The feeling blew past him, gone now. Gone just like that. He looked around, left with nothing. Nothing but the empty cigarette pack still crumpled in his fist. Johnny sniffed gently, the breaths coming from his mouth flowing out in small, little cold clouds of fog.
He looked at Bannerman, feeling like a fool.
"Nothing... I thought I, I might have felt something but--"
"It's okay, can't say we didn't try right?"
Johnny shrugged, handing over the pack to the Deputy, feeling defeated. While all the while feeling somehow relieved.. He could go home now.
Bannerman's radio interrupted his thoughts, "Dispatcher, Sheriff Bannerman."
George picked up his radio, holding to his mouth. "Yeah? This is Bannerman."
The voice replied, "We got another body here, Sheriff."
The man's face grew grim, and slowly he lowered his radio. "Oh-- D****t.." he grumbled, disgust easy in his voice.

Dawn sat, huddled up in one of John's blankets on the couch. A cup of coffee was held between her two hands, as she watched the television with wide eyes as the report went through. Another body was found -- The Castle Rock Killer has struck again. Her eyes scanned the screen, and slowly she pulled her feet closer to her, huddling closer into herself with uneasiness. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, with the chill that was sent through her bones.
Oh Johnny..

VI.

Johnny lead forward, into the massive crowd of camera's and shouting voices.
What's the word, George? What's the word on the Castle Rock Killer?
Hey Sheriff? Sheriff?
Johnny kept walking, facing forward -- Don't look back. Don't look around. Keep moving.
Hey, isn't that John Smith?
That's psychic, that's Smith isn't it?
Other police had formed now, and they were mushing the people away.
Give us a break!
We're trying to do our job, here.
Would you stand back please? Give us a chance.
Give us a break, would ya?

Johnny's boots echoed on the wood of the gazebo steps, crunched against the snow. His eyes rested on the red blanket, which still gave the form of the girl's body who lie beneath it. George followed him, and after him, Frank Dodd. All three of which were grim, but John was the most uneasy.
George sighed, "Anyone know who she is? Dodd?"
Frank moved over to the blanket, before he pulled down the blanket slowly to uncover the girl's face. Her skin was blue, and she was in a peaceful position -- as if she were in a slumber. Johnny felt a shiver run up and down his spine.
Dodd looked her over, "Yeah, I know this girl.." He looked at George, calmly. "Name's Alma Frechette, she works at the uh-- Coffee Pot Cafe across the way there."
George nodded, and slowly a man from the press cautiously walked up behind them, "You're idea, George, to have a psychic solve the case?"
The Sheriff motioned towards the people, "Dodd, get these people out of here."
Dodd obeyed, walking over to crowd them away with his arms, backing them away while the Sheriff yelled at them -- going off on a rant,
"Move em' back! Get the people back! No! No cameras! No more cameras! No more! Dodd,"
"Yeah?"
"Nobody comes up here."
"You got it, Sheriff." Dodd faced away from the two men, staring out into the crowd with his hat covering his face. A guard dog, he thought, I'm a damn guard dog.
Bannerman looked over at Johnny, motioning towards the dead girl. "You wanna.. Try it?"
John looked at him, at first not really registering. He wants me to.. To what? Touch her? Touch a dead body? He wants--
He swallowed it back, pulling off his glove again before going over to kneel before the girl. Slowly, he pulled away her glove and wrapped his hand around her's. It was cold -- at first he recoiled, then he shook his head and held tightly. All at once he began to flinch, and convulse. Visions came now.. Visions..

The killer waited. Waited on the bandstand, his collar pulled to cover his face. He narrowed his eyes, pulling a cigarette out from his mouth and tossing it off the side, he watched as Alma walked nearer and nearer..
That nasty-f****r, he thought. Alma was one of them. One of those nasty-fuckers. He would do away with her, he would teacher her a lesson.
"Hey, Alma! Hi."
She looked over, almost startled before she eased up. "Hi, what are you doing up there?"
"Well, I'm waiting for you! How about a smile?"
Johnny mumbled, "She knows him.."
Bannerman stared at him, "What?"
John's eyes drifted, into oblivion. There was something about him, something that sent a chill down George Bannerman's spine. They were cold, hard -- his blue irises had grown dark, almost violet. "She knows him."

Alma looked up at him, innocently. "Why should I waste a smile on you?"
The killer sneered, eyes narrowing. He chuckled, "Hey, you wanna see something? It's the god-damnedest thing."
"What?"
"Come on up here, in the gazebo!" He beckoned, slyly with a smile on his face.
Johnny watched, eyes wide. "She knows him," He stood now, backing away from the girl. "Not scared, she knows him."

I'll teach her a lesson. I'll show her just how slick I am.
"Alright.." She was near him now, looking around curiously.
She was next to him, "Well? What did you wanna show me?" she was trying to catch his eyes, but her own were far too curious. He sniffled, smirking to himself. "Ga-zee-bo. You like that word, Alma?" He held out his arm, and she came into it. "Come here.."
He pulled back his coat, exposing the barber scissors that gleamed in the light. Glittered they did -- so beautiful. She began to pull away, he didn't like it when they struggled. No, only when they acted like a good little girl. None of them ever acted like a good little girl.
Rage began to rise in him, like a flame. He grabbed her, as she tried to pull away, he grabbed her. She mumbled something, but his fist met with her cheek and he felt something crack and she fainted. He smirked. That's what you get for being bad, for struggling and making a fuss. He threw her down into the snow before he climbed atop her, ripping free her shirt and bra. The sound of clothing ripping free from her flesh echoed in his mind.
His thing was standing up. "You nasty-f****r, this is what happens. This is what happens,"
He grunted, pulling up her little waitress dress and ripping away her panties with a loud tearing sound. It was so easy. Quickly he looked around, and just as quickly, he drew his barber scissors.
Johnny watched in horror, "No no, wait!"
Too late. He plunged them into her chest and blood sprayed forward, against his coat. He snarled, "You b***h! Bled all over my coat, look at this!" His hands were around her throat now, and he was squeezing. Squeezing, squeezing until he felt it. Her neck, shattered. The bone snapped like a twig under his powerful hands. He had never felt so powerful.
They always struggled, they scratched and they whined, but they scratched and they failed. Because he was slick, too slick for them. Quickly he filled her with himself, gigantic and throbbing for her. She still warm.. So warm. The killer sneered, under a gentle moan. "This is what happens,"
Forcefully, he raped her lifeless body while he grabbed at her hair, and ripped it from her scalp. Once or twice, he grabbed her head and would slam it against the wood of the gazebo, splattering blood among the white of the snow. When he was finished, blood and semen ran down her legs, but he covered and soaked it away with snow. They'd never catch him. He was too slick.
Johnny was thrown out of the vision, with his attempt to stop Frank Dodd and lunged himself forward to try and stop him. He was powerless, his legs crumpled beneath him and he was falling into the snow. George Bannerman grabbed his arm, "You okay?" pulling him back up as Johnny shot upward again, eyes wide and disturbed.
"I saw him, I was there I saw him.. I stood there, I saw his face." He looked at George, eyes wide like a doe in front of headlights. They weren't cold anymore, just frightened.
George was confused, his head spun, "Wait, who? Who?"
Johnny went on, on a rant. "I did nothing.. I stood there, I saw his face. Dodd." He pulled away from Bannerman,
"Wait a minute.. What are you saying?" The wild man was backing up against the gazebo wall now, panic glowing in his eyes.
George just stared, eyebrows narrowed in confusion, "What the hell are you talking about?" He stood up, just stared. But John continued on, frightened.
"I stood there and watched him, kill that girl.. Dodd. I did nothing.. I saw his face."
George kept his eyes on John, though he called out for Dodd. No answer.
"Dodd, get up here." Another officer walked up to the stairs, eyes just as confused as George's. "He just uh, took off in your car, Sheriff."
John quirked an eyebrow upward, looking at George who was still in a state of disbelief. Not Frank Dodd.. "I saw his face," said Johnny, insisting. "I saw his face."

VII.

They were in another car, a police car. Johnny settled in the passenger side, staring ahead of him with wide, concentrated eyes. He knew he was right. The ride was silent, and quick as they pulled up to Dodd's house. When they got out, Bannerman pointed a stern finger at Johnny as if scolding a child. "I want you to stay there." but Johnny obeyed, keeping his mouth shut. It wasn't his particular intention to get involved this way anyway -- he looked up, and the man was in the window. The killer. Johnny's heart fluctuated, the Sheriff didn't see him. Quick enough, Dodd disappeared into a room unknown and Johnny went hobbling after Bannerman, "Sheriff,"
A knock against the glass of the door; Bannerman looked at John. "I thought I told you to stay by the car," Johnny's eyes flickered to the window when a woman's face appeared there.
"What do you want?" she demanded, her eyes narrow and green. She looked like a dragon -- like a monster. Johnny stared at her with wide, nervous eyes.
"Sheriff Bannerman, I need to talk to your son, Mrs. Dodd." She opened the door a crack,
"..He ain't here." Bannerman glanced at Dodd's car before he smirked,
"Well, his patrol car's out here."
"Well his.. car is here, but he ain't."
Johnny interrupted, "He's here. I saw him, in the window."
Mrs. Dodd almost snarled, "I'm telling you, he ain't home!"
Bannerman sighed, "I'm coming in Mrs. Dodd,"
She protested loudly, but the Sheriff barged past her and made his way up the stairs powerfully as she tried to grab onto him, but slipped. Johnny followed, but she grabbed his coat and held strong as she glared at him with her dark, angry eyes. "You leave my boy alone!"
John grabbed her hand,
She knew. She knew what her boy did, that he killed those nasty-fuckers. And she was proud of him for it, get rid of them before they rot the Earth with their disgusting ways! She would protect her boy, help him rid the Earth of the nuisance.
"You knew.. Didn't you? ..You knew!" Johnny said, eyes wide.
Suddenly she was afraid, and a breath whooshed out of her chest in shock. "You.." She muttered, gasping. "You're the devil.. Sent from hell!"
Johnny grimaced slightly, before he released his grip on her to watching her stumbling backwards in horror, and followed after the Sheriff. Up the stairs, carefully up the stairs he climbed. George came from a doorway and frightened him, but only briefly until the two men entered Dodd's room. The sight was frightening in itself.
What kind of man is this? Johnny thought, eyes wide and disturbed. The wallpaper consisted of cowboys and Indians -- there were flashcards with the alphabet, toys, things of a child in the room of a grown man. This all rubbed him the complete wrong way, and a chill ran up his spine as he looked around with curious, narrowed eyes at the piles of board games the children's books, the toys. The plastic guns, the fake snakes, scattered across the carpet. He even caught a glimpse of the head of a Barbie.
Suddenly, a noise sounded from the bathroom -- George and Johnny exchanged glances. The sound of struggle, and of rubber.. When the door was opened, Dodd lie in the bathtub wrapped in a rubber trench-coat. The barber scissors he used, to kill his victims were jammed up into the roof of his mouth, where they must have punctured his brain. Blood was splattered about him, in the sort of way you only saw in horror movies. The room reeked, of dirt that gathered around over the past god-knows-how-long -- the smell of sickness, grime, and blood. Dodd's blood. Around him, a sign.
I'M GUILTY.
Bannerman stared, eyes wide in shock. His stomach stirred, it rolled and rolled and he broke a cold sweat -- he swore he was going to be sick. Dodd's eyes were rolled up in his head, and his mouth hung open as he twitched once, twice.
Johnny made an exit, for his own stomach had begun to churn. The stench of blood, it worked it's way up from his nose and into his mind. He stumbled out of the room backward, and as he started for the stairs footsteps sounded -- he only had time to look up before the gunshot was fired, and he felt a sledgehammer thrown through his side. He let out a startled, pained grunt as he fell on his side, fortunately not fumbling the whole way down the staircase. Somewhere behind him, George fired, and she fired again twice before she was on the floor, staring at Johnny with wide, dead eyes, a hand stretched out towards him like she beckoned him towards death's black cloak. Johnny blacked out in the ambulance. He was going to the hospital again.