Amnesia and Star Child

Two days on deep in the night, Chester bolted upright, sobbing, sweating as though he had been on stage performing, his heart racing at a million miles an hour.
He whimpered and put his head in his hands, trying to steady his labored breathing and stop the tears.
“Honey...? What’s wrong?” Samantha sat up, peering into the gloom.
Chester shook his head, slapping his hand into the quilt in frustration with himself - his thoughts and memories.
His ‘what if’s’...
“Just a dream.” He muttered, even as Samantha’s hands began to snake their way around his shoulders.
“Oh... Honey... Do you want to talk about it?” She asked softly, gently playing with his sweat matted hair.
“No, it... It’s okay. Just a stupid dream.” Chester lay back down, staring into nothingness.
“Okay. Try and get to sleep honey, tomorrow’s a new day.” Samantha kissed him on the cheek and lay back down as well, putting her arm over his waist as she fell back to sleep.
Chester lay awake, afraid to close his eyes.
He had been dreaming he was being chased, by figures in white hoods and cloaks, they said he was a half blood and had to die.
They had a monster chained up on a bed of nails surrounded by white flame, and a shadowy person chained to a wall in another room, that figure too, surrounded by a huge ring of white flames, and Chester knew the monster and the shadow were his friends and he had to save them.
The white hoods wanted to kill him, and he was trying to get away, trying to reach the shadow beyond the flames.
Mike’s voice was in the air, screaming and crying for help, but Chester couldn’t find him, no matter how much he shouted, no sound came out and Mike remained screaming.
“It’s hurting! It’s hurting! They’re hurting me!” He was crying.
Chester had been shouting noiselessly, desperately trying to find the emcee, running from room to room in the building labyrinth, the white hoods always close, the shadow always in the room to his right, always too far away, the monster, struggling too, always in the room to his left - it too was always too far away.
And Mike’s voice... It was constantly screaming, begging them to stop.
He kept seeing a wooden gate with a white cross painted on it.
Chester then had turned and ran down another endless corridor, but stopped dead - watching in horror as a group of three white hoods came towards him and forced him to walk back - into the clutches of the white hoods behind him. Mike’s voice became louder.
“No! NO!!! Stop! Stop! They’re hurting me!” He was crying.
The white hoods grabbed Chester and shoved him to the ground and suddenly his clothes were gone - and they raped him.
Mike’s crying became louder and louder, there was pain flooding Chester who was screaming noiselessly too.
“Stop them Chester! It’s hurting!”
Then Chester had woken up.
Now he couldn’t close his eyes for fear of reliving the nightmare.
He could still hear Mike’s strained voice, shouting, pleading - crying.
“It’s hurting! They’re hurting me! Stop them Chester! Help me!” The voice repeating over and over...
Chester caressed Samantha’s hand and sighed, unable to stop a few tears of frustration rolling down his cheeks.
“Mike... For fucks sake be okay...” Chester whispered. “Don’t let this gut feeling be right...”
“Help me!” Mike’s voice continued to echo in his mind.
Chester removed Samantha’s arm and sat up, tearily walking out to the kitchen, then back, wandering aimlessly around the house until he came to Draven’s nursery room.
The tattooed singer crept silently up to Draven’s cot and looked down at the tiny inanimate form sleeping there, feeling a wave of calm and love overcoming him.
He smiled and leant down into the cot, gently kissing Draven’s cheek and standing back up, remaining there for over two hours, simply watching over his son.
The subconscious was close to his conscious, and he was almost aware that he was guarding, to protect the little three year old from the voices Chester was still hearing.
Mike was still crying out, but the sound was slowly fading away.
Finally Chester slumped on the chair next to the cot out of utter exhaustion, and there he remained, on guard, his friend’s voice still there, slowly fading.
By morning, the cries for help had gone.

Chester was unaware however, that at the exact moment he had awoken from the nightmare, four others had too - and from the exact same dream.