~*Day 3*~
It was late out, probably around two in the morning and Joey was dreaming, which was odd. He hardly dreamed. He normally couldn�t get comfortable enough to fall asleep in foreign beds, which explained why he always went out clubbing most of the time. Even though they had been traveling for years and spent countless nights in nameless hotels Joey just couldn�t fall asleep unless it was nearing sunrise but in this house, in this room, in this bed he didn�t have a hard time falling asleep at all. It was refreshing and peculiar all at the same time. His legs were twisted in the sheets and his hands were balled into fists and his body just looked as if it were ready to pounce an attacker.
�What the fuck were you thinking?!� boomed a man. He was short in stature but big in size, probably all bulge and no muscle although the eyes could be deceiving.
Joey looked around curiously, taking in his surroundings. It seemed as if he were in the family room of the house they were staying in. Only it was decorated in a 70�s feel and had numerous paintings of Christ and Mary on the wall. A family Bible sat upon a small stand on top of the fireplace with a pair of Rosary beads sat in front of it.
The man in front of him continued to yell, obscenities falling from his lips. He gestured wildly with his hands, occasionally pointing at Joey and then flinging off to gesture around the room.
Joey half paid attention, more curious as to why he was dreaming about the house and it�s previous inhabitants. He looked behind him and saw a young girl in her late teens cowering behind the doorway and a middle aged woman sitting in a chair in the corner, head bowed, hands clasped in her lap.
Only when the man in front of him slapped him across the face and called him �Bruce� did Joey pay attention. His head snapped sideways and he glared at the man in front of him. He went to strike back but found he had no control over his limbs. He went to speak and found his voice useless.
�Boy, are you listening to me?� growled the man in front of him.
Joey nodded and said, �Yes, father.�
He didn�t even remember making a move to say anything yet he had heard himself speak. Only it wasn�t himself. It was a totally different person by the tone of voice, which was deeper than his own baritone. It was as if he was seeing a memory of some sort through Bruce�s body and wasn�t allowed to do anything but watch and listen, and learn.
The man in front of him snarled in the direction of the woman and quickly went over and slapped her across the cheek. Joey made no motion to move, knowing his efforts would be thwarted. His blood boiled and he could feel his heart beating, echoing in his ear. The man turned around and came back, yet again pointing at Joey and with one last back handed slap to his cheek the man left.
As soon as the man left Joey quickly walked over to the woman, inspecting her cheek before hugging her. The young woman at the door came in and hugged both of them as close to her as she could, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Thoughts not his own began to pour through Joey�s mind, thoughts of revenge, anger, power, viciousness. A plethora of emotions rushed through his body, his arms shaking and his jaw sore from grinding his teeth.
The next thing he knew he was up and walking briskly from the room and towards the kitchen to the door that led to the basement. Then it all faded�
�and he was awake. He sat straight up in bed, his tank top matted with sweat to his body and the sheets knotted around his legs. His fists hurt from being clenched so tightly, his jaw ached, and his left eye felt as if he had just gotten hit in the side of the face with a baseball thrown by a Yankee pitcher.
~*~
JC had come to the conclusion early that morning, around the same time Joey had been dreaming, that this vacation was turning into something he hadn�t expected. He had expected to watch Chris parole around the house in search of proving his teenage theories of haunted houses and ghosts and unsettled spirits, but he hadn�t actually thought that Chris would accomplish what he set forth to do. Only Chris didn�t know that his suspicions were correct so he had spent the majority of his time in front of the television, either watching tv or playing video games on the system he had packed.
JC was determined to find out who the women in his dream was. He suspected it was someone who either once lived in the house or a friend of a family member who had. Either way finding out who that mysterious woman was would answer his questions or so he hoped.
JC bounded down the stairs and grabbed the keys off of the hook that hung by the back door in the kitchen. He thought about asking Joey to come with him to town to do some investigating but judging by the black sunglasses that shaded his eyes and the way his shoulders slumped he decided against it. He also thought about asking Justin but he was busy working on that jigsaw puzzle. Lance came to mind as well but he had retreated to the dock with his art supplies and his Bible, softly singing some old church hymns under his breath.
His friends were changing in a way he couldn�t explain and that worried him. It worried him more than the ominous woman in his dreams. He figured that if he found out whom the woman was than that could be the key that unlocked the door that led to the reasons on why his friends had changed so rapidly in such a short time.
So JC made his way into the living room and pulled at Chris� sleeve and said, �C�mon.�
Chris looked blankly at him. �Where�re we goin�?�
JC snorted and smiled at his friend. �The only place we can go. Town.�
Chris looked at the tv and then back at JC. Finally he decided that tagging along with JC was far better than watching an old rerun of General Hospital.
~*~
Justin bounded down the stairs with his jigsaw puzzle box tucked firmly under his arm. His trademark curls, having gone ungelled or moussed that morning, bounced around his head and his smile spread from ear to ear. It was like he was six years old again as he skipped merrily into the kitchen and bounded over to the table at which Joey had occupied since that morning.
Justin fell down into the chair and grinned. �Hi hi hi!�
Joey narrowed at Justin behind his sunglasses and didn�t say a word.
Justin pouted slightly and poked Joey in the arm. �Aren�t you gonna say hi to me?�
�Hi,� replied Joey gruffly, hoping that the simple recognition would be enough to shut the kid up.
�Someone�s a grumpy pants today,� muttered Justin. He opened his box and tipped, the contents of puzzle pieces spilling onto the kitchen floor. He amused himself for a while by turning them all picture side up before cocking his head to the side and looking at Joey again.
�What the fuck are you staring at?�
�Why are you wearing glasses inside,� he asked innocently. He snickered and said, �That�s kinda silly, y�know.�
�I don�t recall asking your opinion,� grumbled Joey. His blood began to boil slightly and narrowed his eyes into slits. He wasn�t in the best of moods and Justin was starting to get on his nerves.
�You should take those off inside, my momma says it isn�t polite,� admonished Justin. He made a move to remove them himself when Joey neither answered no removed them himself and found his wrist caught between Joey�s fingers in a vice grip. Justin whimpered and tugged his hand back. �Ow, Joey.� He rubbed his wrist and whined, �God, you don�t have to be so mean.�
Joey glared and averted his eyes to the tv above, hoping that the local news would be enough to drown out the sound of Justin mumbling about �glasses aren�t meant to be worn inside and my momma said you should set a good example�.
A few minutes later when Joey finally relaxed, having thought that Justin would leave him alone, Justin�s hand shot out and grabbed the glasses. Joey shouted in annoyance and turned his head away, hoping he hadn�t seen his left side of his face, blindly grabbing for the glasses all the while yelling obscenities.
Justin giggled gleefully and got up and ran across the room. He placed the glasses on over his own eyes and began hopping from one foot to the other. �Haha! Who�s got your glasses now, dweeb?�
Joey growled and briskly walked over, cornering Justin, who grinned like the Cheshire cat despite the fact that Joey was glaring at him. He snatched the glasses and replaced them back over his eyes but not before Justin got a good look at his face.
Justin�s eyes widened. �Oh my god, Joey, what happened to your eye?�
�Nothin,� he growled, turning to walk out of the room.
Justin was quick on his feet and had longer legs so he promptly blocked Joey from exiting. �You�ve got a black eye, what happened? Who hit you?�
Joey backed up and walked back into the kitchen. �No one, leave it alone.�
Justin followed Joey close behind. �My momma says that you shouldn�t hit people.� Joey grunted, obviously not caring what the fuck Justin�s �momma� told him. �She also says that you should put a steak on a black eye.�
Joey rolled his eyes, wincing at the pain he felt on the left side of his face, and walked toward the back door. He yanked the door open and Justin pulled him back, on the verge of saying something. Joey quickly turned around and shoved Justin as hard as he could, causing him to fall to the ground and slide back until his head knocked into one of the cupboards.
Justin immediately began tearing up and he scrabbled to his feet, one hand clutching the top of his head. He looked at Joey one last time, his bottom lip trembling, and ran from the room, crying loudly.
Joey stared after him for a moment, before exiting the house; slamming the door behind him. Not feeling the least bit guilty for hurting one of the people he loved the most in the world.
~*~
When Chris and JC had arrived in town, JC informed Chris that he was going to go to the library for a while. Chris nodded and made his way to the music store.
JC had gone into the rustic looking building and promptly went to the information desk, asking where the news archives were. The librarian, recognizing that JC wasn�t a townsman, questioned why he wanted to go there. Shamefully, JC admitted that he wanted to look up the murders that happened at the Amityville house. The woman narrowed her eyes at him and decided she�d rather have him stuffed up in the basement rather than drilling her for information.
So that�s where JC was. He sat at a long table, going through the books that held past newspapers, a lone ray of light coming from the light bulb overhead, the musky smell of books and dust making him sneeze every so often. So far all he had come up with were marriage announcements, obituaries, old wanted ads, and odds and ends that happened in small towns.
He sighed and turned the page. His eyes widened and he sat straight up in his chair. There it was. November 13, 1974, the infamous day that the DaFoe�s were found dead, executed face down in their beds, shot with a .35-calliber Marlin rifle, military style. Quickly he scanned over the article, which mainly consisted of the estimated time of death, the style in which they were killed, and that Butch had been found dead in the basement, having shot himself through the mouth.
JC quickly turned the page and found himself face to face with the woman he had dreamt of the night before. She was pictured just as he saw her in a family portrait and was named as Louise Dafoe. JC quickly xeroxed the whole article, pictures included, before bounding up the stairs and out of the library to go find Chris.