Shadows' Lullaby
By Ang D.

A/N: Thanks and blame to: Alicia, Sparky, Doth, and everyone else who reads these things. Big shoutout, as always, to the Vital Signs community.

The song in this fic ... is not actually a song with words. Those of you who own or have downloaded the Spiderman score by the wonderful Danny Elfman, look for a track called "Spectre of the Goblin". Exactly one minute and ten seconds into the track, you will hear the melody for the lullaby - the Goblin's theme. For some reason, this gem of a craptastic idea came to me and I had to give it three different sets of words ... enjoy and bask in the NormanTorture.

Connesseurs of fine music anywhere in the world will tell you that to fully enjoy the composition of a melody, you must close your eyes, be still, and let it wash around you. In this state, some of them say, the music will become a part of you, and you will pick up on nuances you would never catch with your eyes opened.

For him, there was one song, more than any other, that merited this sort of total listening.

He sat in his armchair, in the darker corner of his office, his head leant back against the worn upholstery, his hands clasped in his lap over the folds of the silk paisley robe. From the stereo in the opposite corner, the tune drifted out through the dark room, its phrases and measures wrapping around him like ribbon, a delicate waltz played softly, flutes and softer woodwinds, with a quiet strain of muted trumpet weaving throughout. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift back to the first time he had ever heard the song. Only one instrument had played it, then ....

~*~*~*~*~

"Come on, now, you have to go to bed ..."

"I don't want to," the young boy whimpered petulantly, his eyes quivering, on the verge of tears. "I can't sleep, not with them here."

"TELL THAT SNIVELING LITTLE BRAT THAT THERE ARE NO MONSTERS UNDER HIS BED!" A voice thundered from the living room, followed by the sound of something crashing to the ground.

"..... Please, sweetheart....." The mother's voice seemed a little more desperate, these days. "Please go to sleep..."

He lifted his eyes from the carpet to the bedroom door. There was more light out in the hallway ... but then ... "I'm scared, Mommy."

"I know, dear, I know." Frowning, she closed the door, then sat on the side of his bed, pulling down the dark green covers. "Maybe if I stay here until you fall asleep?"

A sniffle, then a reluctant nod as he climbed into bed between the pale yellow sheets. ".... Okay. ..... Sing me the lullaby?"

"Of course." She nodded, then closed her eyes, nodding her head from side to side slowly to set the tempo. Quietly, she began to sing as she pulled the blankets up over her son's shoulders and smoothed his hair.

"Come, my child, there's nothing to fear, now
Always there at your side, you'll find me
Come, my child, your dreams you can follow... "

A few verses progressed, but they eventually went unheard as the sound of soft, slow, steady breathing came from the pillows. Smiling gently, the mother leant forward, kissing her boy on the forehead before padding out of the bedroom and closing the door behind her.

~*~*~*~*~

The volume of the waltz increased, for just a moment, then dropped down, quietly, barely detectable, even in total darkness.

Total darkness?

But wait ... no, there it was. Now he heard it.

~*~*~*~*~

The foyer of the enormous old mansion was black as pitch. As he landed roughly on his face, skidding slightly against the cold, hard marble, he sobbed, then lay still, not daring to move a muscle until the pain subsided.

Outside, he heard footsteps among the heavy raindrops, then the slam of a car door and the thrum of an engine, receding slowly.

More than anything, the young boy wanted to clamber to his feet, to stumble to the door and pound against it, to scream for his father to come back and let him out, take him home to his bed.

Instead, he muttered to the foyer floor in between sputtering sobs.

"I'll face the darkness there at home dad I swear I promise I'll be a man just like you want me to I'll be a man I will just please please please get me out of here I don't want to be alone I don't want to be afraid I don't want the ghosts to come and kill me and I want my mother I want my mother I want to be home and I want to be safe and I want the light oh God I want the light please God...."

Then, then it spoke.... Whatever it was in the endless darkness spoke.

"God?" A soft chuckle. "You're asking for God."

A whimper as he lifted his head from the marble, sniffling only magnifying the pain in his nose and jaw from the rough landing.

"Yes." It had understood all his mumbling? He was too surprised to be quiet. "I want to go home.... oh God...."

"God." The sarcasm was heavier than the rain. "Tell me. How many times have you heard your mother praying for God? How many times did you try and help her do it, to ask Him for help? ... When her face was all purple and you helped her put the ice on her face while she wiped the blood off her nose and her shirt? When she had to wear long sleeved shirts in August to cover up the bruises on her arms? What did God do for you then? .... Did God keep Daddy from dragging you over here?"

"I ..."

"Well, did He?"

More sad than anything else. Disappointed. "No."

"Uh huh." The voice seemed closer now. "So tell me, kid. Who're you gonna pray for now?"

"You."

"Why ask me?"

"You ... you're not hurting me." He realized slowly, stiffly moving into a sitting position on the floor. "You ... you're smart. You know how to get me out of here, don't you."

"Of course I do...." The voice was soft, encouraging, and the boy almost smiled, the glimmer of hope in his eyes swallowed by the darkness.

"Tell me."

"Simple. ..... Stay the night."

"I can't ... I'm too scared."

"There's no need to be afraid .... not of me, kiddo. Not of me, and I'm all there is."

"Who are you?"

"I'm your new best friend."

The little boy stopped to think about that. ".... Will you come back with me?"

"I'll always be with you ... but most of all in the darkness. When you need me."

He thought about that a little more. Yes, it would be good to have someone else there in the darkness, someone who knew things. His mother always left, too, left him to wake in the middle of the night, in the darkest hours, alone. "That's good. ......My head hurts," he adjoined. "And .... I'm tired.... and ..."

"Now, now, that won't do to whine. The pain in your head will go away. Why don't you just lie down and rest?"

"Can't sleep without -- " A cavernous yawn. "--- the song."

"The song? ... Hum it for me."

He managed to eke out a few bars, the notes wavering in places, turning minor keys. The voice chuckled, rewarded.

"That's very nice. Let's see what I can do with that, for you... "

The boy yawned again, his eyelids already dropping as the voice came sibilant and gentle in his ear, persuasive.

"Here in darkness, follow my judgment
I will guide you if you just listen
Here in darkness, you can be content
Follow ... follow ... follow ... follow me ..."

It was the first of many nights spend in the darkness, in the invisible arms of the one who would come to be his closest confidante.

Over time, he developed a face in the boy's mind. Something that followed the most ancient principle - if you want to keep from being frightened, frighten the bad things away yourself. The face was almost always jeering, laughing the shadows in his room away, or scowling at anything that dared to impede upon the boy's happiness.

Imaginary friends are often the strongest bonds a child has... until a certain age. Or, in some cases, until their presence is leaked out by accident, at a dinner table.

Combine this with the pressure to grow up far too soon, and a child's imaginary friend can vanish quite quickly. But never forever ...

~*~*~*~*~

The song was winding down, now, on the last legs of the phrases. The young boy - now an older man, weathered more by circumstance than by time, opened his eyes and padded out of his room, down the hall toward another bedroom.

The room was empty now, but he could clearly picture the one who slept in it on occasion.

Moving to the bedside, the man reached down and touched the pillow, singing quietly in a tone that varied from note to note.

"Come, my son, and follow your father
Down the halls toward your destiny...
Where there's darkness, follow my judgment...

Follow ... follow ..."

~*~*~*~*~

Across the city, in a spacious apartment, in a rumpled bed, a young man turned in his sleep and found himself dreaming of his father.