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Chapter 7: Sons and Fathers
Leslie looked down from above with pride. "You're damn right it is! WAY TO GO, FITZ! YEAH!" She cheered much harder for the candy millionaire than she ever thought she would. Something about Tracy getting her just desserts from Fitz of all people warmed her heart. If there was hope for him to rise up against injustice, there was hope for all of them.
"God, I knew that was a good investment," she took some time to pride herself. "Figured I'd be the one using it but hey, I guess Fitz has a better eye for targets than me...sorry, that was ablest of me." Clearing her throat, she called down to Fitz and Drew, "You come to us! It is...comparably safe up here."
***
"Of course you'd think that," Emma snarled. "Everybody thinks that because everybody wants to make me a victim and the killer some unstoppable force when really, they're nothing but a deranged sociopath with too much free time and a grudge against me. I'm done being scared, putting myself down in fear of some stupid mouth-breather in a Party City costume! They may think it's their trap but really it's mine!" Abruptly, she rounded another corner, jerking Ted with her.
***
"And lo! An escape!" Dave's celebration was brief, though, as he gazed down the stairs into the darkness. "An escape deeper into the belly of the beast." He turned to Zach, curious. "This is your last chance to come back the way I came. Somewhere in this darkness, my, er...associate...Mr. Sanchez...should be here. Maybe you can find him and escort yourself to safety while I finish the search..."
Knowing the brashness of the young men, Dave expected what answer he could receive but could not dredge putting the life of a student in further danger.
-Leslie, Emma and Dave
"Maybe Troy James couldn't read," said Brooke casually, "It wouldn't be the worst family secret."
"Well, you know about video games and the Internet, and that's…" she looked back at the pipes, "Related. I don't know, alright? And remind me to tell Kellerman I didn't appreciate that tone, like I was supposed to know how toilets work. You know, if we see her again."
Clearing her throat, she tried the latch, "Orange it is, then. I mean, what's the worst that's gonna happen if it's the wrong…ooh!"
She turned the lever, releasing a jet of shockingly cold water, right into her face, from a faucet-like opening to the side of the pipe, like where one might attach a hose.
"This is…" she sputtered, working to suppress a nervous giggle, "Not funny. So we're clear."
***
"Indeed, yes. I'm ablest, after all," Fitz nodded, "I knew I could be, if only I got around my preoccupations. Evans helped me to see that, you know. He's in the basement, now, with the fire, looking for…"
"What did you call me?" Carl asked Drew.
"You wish you had the balls to shoot up a school!" Tracy called over the gulf.
"This is just the thing I don't understand!" Fitz interrupted, "Wasn't the Hudson woman supposed to be watching you? Really, for all the ballyhooing, I may as well have been left in charge. I wouldn't let the likes of Tracy to run things, I daresay…" he paused, reflecting this was patently untrue and meekly adding, "Anymore. As of today."
Finding Drew too heavy to continue supporting this way, Fitz gracelessly set him upright, "No, no, we can't go up there, girl, are you daft? Listen, now, this smoke is coming from a fire!"
"…where else would it be coming from?" asked Carl.
"There are people downstairs, and the fire was set down there, that's what I was saying! The blond girl…what's her name, the screamer, with no shoes…Alex…she got out and Hendricks took her to safety, but the men…excepting me, because I was delivering this message here, and a good thing too…went down. Teague is there, and Kellerman, and some of the others…the Henderson boy…"
"Zach?"
"And so on. Anyway, the point is, obviously, we can't stay here for any number of reasons, and the fire's just the most obvious. Get down, get down, whichever of you are there, and Hudson too, I suppose, if she's alive…"
***
"But that's it, Emma!" said Ted, "You want to prove you're not scared? Don't play the game! What is Ghostface supposed to want, right? You separated from your friends? You've done that for him! Alone in a strange place? Got that too! Making your whole life about him? Check! You're acting like this is going t-to free you, or save you or whatever, but you're just letting him call the shots! No matter what you do now, you've already lost. You've hurt your friends, you've probably broken a couple of laws, and you've even managed to make me upset!"
He stopped, "Which is pretty hard to do. Because I want to give you the benefit of the doubt…not just because of you and me…not that you and me were ever even a thing to begin with, but…because I wanted to do good by you. Because my family's caused you enough trouble, and we've both been lied to enough times. But here you are, in the basement of my Dad's secret pig factory, blindly marching off just in case the killer's hiding around the next corner, so you can pull out your latest meat shield, so maybe you don't need my help. That's fine. I could've done us both a favor figuring that out sooner, but better late than never. You're not going to drop this anytime soon, and there's nothing Brooke or Audrey or Noah or definitely not me can do about that so, as Yogi Berra once said, 'When you come to a fork in the road…take it!"
At the bend in the passage, he threw himself against the wall, wrenching forcibly away from Emma, and earning a shallow, but present cut on the side of his neck for his trouble. Still, the insane maneuver was enough to get Emma off of him.
"Good luck with your game, Emma," he told her, bracing himself against the wall, "But I forfeit."
He bolted back the way they'd come, not looking back to see what Emma was doing.
It was high time he stopped caring so much.
***
"No," Zach decided, "No, we should go together. If that door is open, people have already left. We may be alone, or we may not, but we'll know better once we're out there."
He hesitated, looking Evans over. He didn't want to add that he thought it might be better in general for Evans to get as far from here as possible.
But who was he, to get all sanctimonious, telling someone what they could do?
"Come on," he nodded to the stairs, "Before they…collapse or something."
With one arm gingerly around Evans's shoulders, Zach continued to the exit, wondering if he was doing the right thing. They'd made enough noise by now that if anyone was able to hear, they would've.
Teague was a hardened Marine…he could take care of himself. VPK was no-nonsense despite her frumpiness, and Ryan…
Ryan would do anything to protect himself. The best thing about him was he was honest about that.
And Zach would be pretty upset if Ryan chose to stay behind and look for him, putting himself in danger, so what were the odds…
Something moved, off to the right. A shadow in the flames.
"Wait…" Zach slowed, "Wait, I think…I think someone…"
He narrowed his eyes, wondering if that was merely an illusion of the heat, or another trick of his apparently over-deceptive brain. Before he could fully take in whether it was real or imagined, another shadow spread out across the floor, long and thin, from the base of the burnt-out stairs.
Zach turned back, his breath catching in his lungs.
"Oh no."
They weren't alone after all. The cloaked figure cocked its head to the side, the flames reflected in the grimy sheen of its mask.
-Brooke, Fitz, Carl, Tracy, Ted, and Zach
"A fire?" Leslie pinched the bridge of her nose, as one piece of bullshit quickly accumulated on the other. "Oh, the school is going to get one hell of a class-action lawsuit at the end of this..."
***
Emma cursed as Ted broke free from her grasp, double-taking between the blood on her knife to him in disbelief. "Get back here!" She chased after him, shouting, "You can't forfeit shit, you son of a bitch, and make yourself useful!" Breaking into a full sprint, Emma was about to see how good of a baserunner Ted was.
***
Dave cocked his head, peering deeper into the blaze. "My God..." He muttered, feeling his blood boil and his muscles grow tense. There, he beheld the evil that haunted them so. The visage in the tree, staring blankly back at Dave, screaming at him--no...mocking. This was the villain who had killed Phyllis's boy, who had slain Howard on the ill-advised crusade to the bus...who had killed Sawyer.
"You..." His voice did not feel like his own, overcome with rage. The smoke was no longer affecting him, or at least, he no longer cared. "You!" Dave stepped forward, instinctively placing his arm before Zach. "IT'S YOU!"
-Leslie, Emma and Dave
"We should live so long!" Fitz called up, "Which is the idea. Now won't you get down, for mercy's sake, before something else happens!"
"Good idea!" said Carl, turning back to Leslie, "Wait, do you really think we can sue the school? And win? My parents were lawsuit crazy. Once, my Mom melted a bag of ice cubs on the floor at Gulp 'N Go for three hours so she could trip. They caught her on the tapes, though, and she got laughed out of the room."
He left out the part where his mother had tried to claim the crafty Indian at the register had deliberately doctored the video, using special software exclusive to 'his people'. Probably Leslie could fill in the blanks anyway.
"But that ain't important. We've got to drop down there and we've got to do something about..."
He turned around, eyes widening, "Where'd she go?"
Tina Hudson wasn't in the sprawled out heap Tracy had put her in. She was, in fact, nowhere they could see.
***
Zach winced at Evans's protective motion.
"W-wait," he whispered, "Wait, Mr. Evans, we've gotta..." his mouth had gotten very dry. Fractured memories kept floating to the front of his mind. Finding the front door of his house with the lock broken, hearing the sounds of a struggle from upstairs, telling himself if he was fast enough, he may yet save her... The thundering of his feet on the stairs, slipping in fresh blood on the landing...
It's not the same.
Maybe not. But close enough.
"We've gotta think about this."
-Fitz, Carl, and Zach
Leslie stood agape at the now apparent absence of Tina Hudson. "Oh for fuck's sake!" She howled in frustration. "Can't people stay still in this place for one fucking second?! Shit!"
***
Dave took another step forward, paying no mind to Zach's pleading. "I know you! From beyond this wretched hell you've inflicted upon us these last hours!" His voice was laced with venomous contempt, something he had primarily reserved for himself and for the few enemies he had garnered in his lifetime.
This was one such enemy. The most foul of them all.
"I've seen the horrid visage of yours! Those features...blank...unfeeling...cold..." He bit into every word as he stepped closer, his eyes fixed on that mask. Devoid of anything human, of anything that might evoke feeling or sensation...death! It was death!
"You are the cruelty that lies in the hearts of men!" Dave raised his finger, climbing another step. "I've seen you before! On the street, in the newspapers, in office, in the mirror! I KNOW YOU!"
Another step. The killer had not budged an inch, looking down upon Dave, perhaps with curiosity. What Ghostface couldn't see was Dave using his left hand to signal Zach to follow closely, as the teacher's broad frame filled up much of the stairwell. For what good was any lecture if there wasn't a lesson plan to hold it together.
Gently, he kicked a loose board, mostly unsinged by the fire, back to Zach as he took his next step.
-Leslie and Dave
"What's happened?" Fitz called, picking up on Purple Girl and Cottonseed's distress, "Oh, what is it now?"
"She's gone!" said Carl, "Tracy had her knocked out. She must've come to when we were fighting…"
"Off without so much as a 'by your leave'. Must be taking a leaf from the old baby daddy's book, I daresay…"
Carl turned to Leslie, "She had to have gown downstairs. Maybe to find Eli…"
"And what was he doing down there?'
"They all went down there! Emma showed up and a bunch of 'em decided to deal with her, in a group…"
"Well, that makes you lot the sensible ones for staying put. Really, the almost rodent compulsion you all have for running off at the tiniest stimulation, it truly boggles the mind. That masked marauder could be standing at the end of the hall playing knives like musical teaspoons, and you'd go like moths to a flame," he sighed aggrievedly, "Well, I don't know. My duty is to get you out of here alright, and I've got those of you who could be got, and at a certain point, a fellow must begin thinking of acceptable losses. So, come on, get down while the getting's good."
***
Zach wasn't sure at first whether to applaud or pull Evans away, but he got the idea quick enough. His fingers closed around the scorched plank, his scalded skin protesting at the rough texture.
He was tall enough not to be hidden by Evans's frame, so there was no fooling Ghostface that way. Still, Evans had this weird ability to make himself seem bigger just by speaking. Zach could believe he was invisible as long as he was behind him.
Somehow, that felt weirdly emboldening.
-Fitz, Carl, and Zach
"Jesus, so how many is that missing..." Leslie tried to rack up a count in her head. "Emma, Audrey, Ted, Noah, Brooke, Kieran...wait a minute, where the hell is Kieran in all of this? And Stavo? And the doctor, therapist, psychologist...the one who sings...what the fuck was his name?"
***
"And I've heard you!" Dave continued, his voice lowering but the hatred for this wicked foe remaining constant. "Oh, you hide behind a stony silence but you call to us all, like a siren, luring the weak-hearted to their own self-destruction! I have heard your song, wretch..." He spat at Ghostface's feet on the word. "...and I too was almost dashed against the rocks, tempted to forsake my humanity, lose myself in the hatred and anger you spur in others..."
One more step closer, Dave's eyes lit up and a smile crept onto his face. "...and I have lived to tell the tale. I know you, demon! I know you and I have bested you and I shall do it again! You murder children and cower behind that mask, believing yourself safe in anonymity! But you are not safe!"
A final step; Dave was merely a foot away from the killer. A dangerous proximity.
"You are in hell, cretin!" He hissed, before exclaiming, "A hell of your own making...enjoy your inferno, fool...I hope it was worth the bloodshed."
The killer unveiled a knife from his cloak, its glimmer barely catching Dave's eye.
Hark! It was time! "Tally-ho, Henderson!" Dave called, having finished his monologue (Quite the thespian, he was. Perhaps he was truly destined for the theatre...) and ducking, giving Zach a clear shot at Ghostface.
-Leslie and Dave
Zach didn't need to be told twice. Baseball was never his game, but he had a pretty good swing, all things considered, helped by the pretty honking big target. The plank struck Ghostface clear across the hooded head. Zach craned his neck opportunistically, hoping he may have knocked the mask loose, but no luck. Ghostface staggered, momentarily knocked off balance, but the plank splintered at once on contact, little chunks scattering every which way.
"Get it, you son of a bitch!" he taunted with unexpected exuberance before he remembered who he was with, "Uh, sorry, Mr. Evans, that…watch it!"
Ghostface took advantage of their hobbled position to lash, slashing a wide arc with their knife, missing Zach's chest by inches.
"Hey, nice try, man," Zach nodded breathlessly, "Or…girl. Dude. Nice try. Good recovery. You ever thought about trying sports? It's got its problems, but it's a good outlet for…hey!"
Ghostface jabbed, which Zach had been half-hoping for (the other half, obviously, was the half that hoped Ghostface would turn and run away, saving them all the trouble). Thinking quickly, he shifted to the right at the same time as he grabbed for the left…
Catching Ghostface by the wrist, and probably coming seconds short of losing a couple of fingers.
Worth it, though. Ghostface was strong, but Zach had the dawning suspicion he was stronger. There was a roaring in his ears, and a sweeping, surprising fullness somewhere in his chest. It felt like competition, like exercise…like winning.
It felt like he had a chance.
"Drop the knife," he told the killer, "Please."
-Zach
The killer cocked their head, as if perturbed by Zach's very suggestion. They brought the knife closer to Zach's neck...
"HYAH!!!" Dave was far from a subtle fellow in many regards, with this encounter being no exclusion. He charged and tackled Ghostface, hurling all parties through a nearby door and into what might have been an office of some kind, with the remnants of a desk, some defunct machinery in the corner, and a bird cage with the remnants of what Dave could only figure was once a canary.
A canary in the pig farm. Oh, the songs it would have for us if it still lived! Bah!
Dave had stumbled past Ghostface and Zach and into a shelf, knocking all manner of magazines from their place and onto him. He only needed to spare them a quick glance to see they were phonographic in nature.
"Some library..." He muttered, throwing the contraband aside, to see Ghostface struggling back to their feet and preparing to lunge at Zach. "HENDERSON!" Dave called out, slow to get up due to the searing pain in his back (His age, damn him!). "LOOK OUT!"
Zach barely had time to get his bearings as Evans charged into the adjacent room. His first instinct was to rapidly study the floor around him for Ghostface's knife, but he must've had a better grip than most football players.
"Too much to hope for," he muttered, turning back toward the office, "Mr. Evans! Are you…" just in time for Evans's warning cry. Zach whirled around, and made to sidestep toward the steps…
"Ach!"
Not fast enough. The knife cut through his side…a graze. If he'd been a hair slower, there might be more trouble. Still, he could feel fresh blood on his skin which, after all the burns to the hands, feet, and lower legs, was almost refreshing.
Ghostface rounded on him, sort of lopsided, but pretty spry for all that.
"Look…" he began, "You can be honest. Is this about me?"
Ghostface had no input.
"Because of what I saw, back then? I remembered, by the way. I don't think that was part of your plan, unless that's why you rigged the bridge to go out which would be a pretty ballsy plan anyway since so many things had to happen to get me there. But I did remember. Everything I did or…didn't do. If that's important to you. Like…part of your motive or whatever."
His blood glistened on the tip of the knife, seeming almost to glow in the light from the flames.
"What I'm getting at is it would make sense if you wanted to kill me. So you can try me," he nodded, "Just me. Leave everyone else out of it," he took a careful, grudging step forward, "Maybe try respecting your elders while you're at it."
-Zach
Finally getting to his feet, Dave grimaced in pain, observing Zach engage himself in a war of words with the silent sentinel, with little to no luck. Back, my boy! He thought but hadn't the energy to shout past the soreness that coursed through his entire body. Back! You are talking with the cold agent of Thanatos! It is no use!
Ghostface made to swing their blade again, but Dave would not allow that! Thinking quickly, he reached up for the fluorescent overhead light that dangled from the office ceiling, dislodged it from its leftmost moorings and swung it towards the killer.
POW!
A successful hit! "Ha ha!" Dave cheered. "Take that, you swine! That will teach you to..."
Some dust fell from above onto Dave's head. The English teacher peered up, to find his little trick had done the office's ceiling no favors. "Good heavens..." Thinking quickly, he shouted out a warning to Zach, "GET DOWN!" He dove for his student.
Much of the ceiling gave way, lifting an impenetrable cloud of dust. For a time, all was quiet.
Zach braced himself as a cascade of dust and plaster rained down around him, choking the already smoky air with white, chalky dust. No bricks, though…by now he had a pretty good idea what the ceiling was made of. This wasn't enough to crush anyone.
Grunting softly, he shifted, watching chunks of masonry skitter to the floor around him. He could hear Evans's breathing above him and suppressed a sigh of relief.
His vision focused on the open doorway back into the meat locker. The way was unblocked by rubble. They could make it in a quick dash and have room to move…
A hooded figure rose to block the way. The raincoat stained gray in places with dust, but otherwise intact. Ghostface gripped onto the door frame with one hand, the other closing around the hilt of the knife.
-Zach
Dave peered up from the rubble to see what Zach saw: a maniac who had yet see them but blocked their only exit. Slowly, the killer began to search their surroundings for any signs of life, carefully not to stray too far from the doorway.
They were trapped. Trapped like rats.
"Oh dear..." Dave muttered lowering himself back behind the rubble, imploring Zach to do the same. "Quite a predicament we've found ourselves in, eh, Henderson?" He stifled another cough, as the adrenaline from before was seeming to be overcome with a mounting concern as to how they were going to get out of this situation. "We gave the fiend a run for his money," he continued to whisper, as Ghostface toppled over half of the now broken desk in their search for Zach and Dave. "Not long until he finds us out. We must think carefully..."
"Thinking, right," Zach muttered, "Fair warning, my thinking's why the room's on fire."
He considered a running tackle, but Ghostface was quick and the end result would probably just be the both of them tangoing in the doorway, at no benefit to anyone, and with no consideration to Evans, who wasn't exactly in any position to take advantage.
The thought hit him with a cold weight.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, "Mr. Evans, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't lost it before, if I hadn't gotten that crazy idea about making up for what I'd done by taking myself out…if I'd stopped thinking of myself for a second, it wouldn't be this bad, we wouldn't be cornered like this, we'd have a chance…"
And, underlying all of this…
"I'm sorry you came for me. Thank you…thank you so much, and you never should've had to, but I'm sorry I got you into this. I don't know how to get us out."
-Zach
"That's enough apologizing, my boy!" Dave kept his voice low but stern. "That's the problem with good men like you. So quick to help, yet so quick to put yourself down. And then, give or take a couple of decades, you become me, a man so wracked with guilt he can barely live his own life!"
You can barely be a husband to your wife, a father to your daughter, a man who has something to live for...
He placed his hand on Zach's shoulder. "You're a good man, Zach. Young as you are with plenty to learn, you are good. Miss Martaine can attest to this better than I..." His face lit up, as Ghostface turned over another piece of rubble in their search. "...and so will Ryan Keller and Ed Teague." Gripping Zach by both shoulders now, Dave implored, "We can only dance with this foe for so long. It's not about killing the killer, Henderson...it's about saving those in need! And you can do that!" Dave glanced from above the rubble, finding the killer was still combing the area, arriving closer to where they were. They were running out of time. "You can help them...and I'll continue to dance. Yes...that's...that's a good plan indeed."
Dave released a shaky breath, as if finally coming to terms with the weight of what he was proposing.
Noah the James family expert as he was, was half tempted to correct Brooke, but decided against it when Brooke took an unexpected blast to the face. A second to note she wasn't melting from some acid booby trap and Noah had the urge to laugh, though that was quickly shot down by his blonde compatriot. His eyes widening as he spotted something that must've shot out with the water.
"I erm...Don't freak out."
Noah reached for her hair and pulled what seemed to be a loose rat's foot in a clump of dark brown fur from the side of her head. A small retch as he threw it to the ground, really wishing he had some purell right about now.
***
Drew couldn't help the sense of dread that filled his stomach at Eli being missing, sure he was annoying and useless like everyone else here, but he was the least annoying and useless out of everyone.
"Dad...Just know I hate myself for saying this, but I wanna go look for Eli."
-Noah, Drew
"What?" Brooke asked quickly, "What do you mean? Why am I freaking out? It's just some wa…ohshittinchrist!" she reeled back at the sight of the little rodent appendage, "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, Jesus fuck that's gross…"
She deliberately looked away, nodding rapidly several times, "Oh God, do you think it had rabies? Do dead things have rabies? Can they still catch? Oh my God, I…"
She let out a shaky breath, reminding herself that the building was on fire, at least one maniac was on the loose, and anywhere from 1 - 4 friends were currently in life threatening danger.
"It's fine," she declared pointedly, "It is a perfectly human reaction to scream when something fucked up and gross happens. As a woman unafraid of stigma, I proudly empty my lungs whenever nasty shit flies into my face. One small step for liberation."
Fanning herself rapidly with one hand, she added, "Thank you. For the…maintenance," turning back to the knobs, she sighed, "Well, um…I would say the blue one, because water is blue, but also all the pipes have water, so…forget that, dismiss it as a hysterical notion."
The tiny green wheel was attached to a spigot suspiciously similar to the one that just spewed all over her face and bosom, so it was on notice. Which left…
"What about that big mama-jama?" she indicated the big wheel, "It's red, which means fire, which sprinklers put out," she looked at Noah, "Ergo," wondering if 'Ergo' was supposed to be the beginning of the sentence, not the end and deciding who cares.
***
Fitz slowly, deliberately, looked down the bridge of his nose at Drew. On the one hand, 'Dad' did not seem to be sarcastic, sardonic, or a curse, and he didn't know what to make of that and would probably need to sit in a meadow somewhere contemplating the dandelions until his spirit reached accord.
On the other hand…
"Boy, begging your pardon, and with all due respect, but have you gone mentally stupid?"
***
"But…" Zach began, but swallowed the word. Evans wasn't going to have any protests and, at a certain point, insisting he wasn't worth it, was less than, wasn't smart enough or strong enough or fast enough or good enough was nothing less than self-serving crap, performatively putting himself down because he didn't have the will to pick himself up, even in the face of so many people who'd offered helping hands.
He thought of them: lined up like the tiny toy football players he'd had as a kid: a lockstep legion of faithful protectors ready to do whatever they can to help the QB, no matter who he is or what he does or if he's even got it in him. They believe that he does…that he must…so they do the best they can and expect the same from him.
He thought of Aleks, first, the most recent and the most uncertain. He didn't understand what exactly she was trying to come clean about before, but then again, he wasn't sure if he was very easy to understand coming clean himself. She cared about him, that was clear enough, or she wanted to. Zach could sympathize with that. Knowing you want someone just as much as you know they don't deserve you. Feeling that you're lying, that you never will be good enough, and knowing you have to atone for a mistake you can't ever hope to name aloud.
Aleks claimed she'd used him, and maybe she had. Maybe she'd manipulated their relationship and put him in danger for who knew what reasons, but he'd be lying if he claimed he'd been 100% used.
Aleks was sweet and kind, sometimes funny. She laughed at his stupid jokes…maybe she only laughed because she expected that was what he wanted, though he was so used to people thinking he was corny.
She was an actress, but a good one. A good enough actress that she'd begun to believe her own script. If Zach couldn't understand that, who could?
Then Ryan. His best friend by accident. Just another accident in a long list, but by far the happiest one that had ever happened to him. Zach figured it wasn't a coincidence they got along so well, being so addicted to beating themselves up as they were. Ryan acted like Zach was the only guy on Earth who believed in him. Zach couldn't believe that was entirely true, but it was probably fair Ryan just had fewer people in his corner than he ever had, which wasn't fair.
Ryan, at least, never tried to fool anyone about who he was. He was angry and bitter, with a chip in his shoulder a mile deep, but he cared deeply about the few things he saw fit to care about, and he had never once stepped out of Zach's corner, since Zach had stepped into his.
He wouldn't expect any favors, but Zach owed him more than Ryan would ever ask for.
Brooke deserved more from him too. The truth, obviously, but friendship too, uncompromised by the sad little torch he'd been carrying since he first laid eyes on her and feel deeply, sickly, pathetically in love.
No matter what happened and who she lost, Brooke was able to be there, no questions asked. To open her home and offer a shoulder and sit by his side in sad commiseration. She was one of the strongest people he knew, and he owed it to her to be at least as strong.
There were others too, who'd helped him and weren't alive for him to thank. Riley, who'd always been kind to him…with time, experience, and his fair share of mistakes, Zach could concede she'd probably wanted to be more than kind, if he'd only bothered to notice, if he'd only stopped thinking of himself for long enough to pay her any mind.
Nobody ever mentioned it, probably because everyone…Brooke, Noah, Emma…had their own reasons to blame themselves, but Zach was supposed to stick with Riley the night she died.
There were a lot of people who'd been there for him, that he hadn't been there for in return.
Jake, who'd let him unravel in the locker room after the Belmont fire. Macho, bold, wisecracking Jake who'd just lost his best friend in the whole world, and had no way of knowing that Zach had been there, just days ago, right at the scene of the crime, and had done nothing, said nothing.
Jake had held him and let him cry his eyes out. He hadn't judged, he hadn't demeaned, he hadn't asked questions, though he had every right and every reason and Zach ought to have told him…
(He remembered, then. There'd been nothing stopping him then. That day, and the whole six months that Jake was alive after. There were no excuses…)
Jake, who'd rushed to his aid when his Mom died, and been killed because of it. Zach never got to thank him, at least not when he was sure Jake could hear.
Will, deceptively squeaky clean farmboy with anger he didn't know what to do with. Zach had almost admired the anger, the way he admired Ryan's now. Will had every reason to be angry and, knowing him, Zach could concede he had the same right.
Will, sick of dodging his father's fists and going to sleep with his mother's sobs in his ears, who wanted to make his lot better, and got in over his head to do it.
He deserved that chance, and maybe Zach couldn't give it to him, but he could honor him by making a go for it himself.
And then, at the end of the line, first and foremost…his mother. His biggest defender since before he could remember, and the person he'd failed most.
(If he'd just kept it quiet, at least to her…if he'd told someone, anyone else, if he'd recorded a confession or gone to the stupid cops instead of running to his Mommy to fix things for him like he was still five years old and crying over backyard scrapes…)
"Oh no…" she'd told him, seeing him in the kitchen doorway, "You've got your serious face on."
She hadn't made 24 hours.
A small army of people whose lives had gotten worse to make his better. Dave Evans was just the latest. He might be the last.
One way or another, Zach had to honor his choice and do good by it. Evans believed in him, as his mother did, and Jake and Will and Riley and his friends still out there now, living and able to accept or reject his explanations and apologies.
There weren't many people who were given as many chances as him.
He had to stop wasting them.
"Okay," he told Evans, heaving a sigh, "Okay. I'll…I'll run for it and you…" his eyes burn, from the smoke and uncried tears, "You'll dance. Give him hell in the pocket and I'll…" he patted the older man on the arm, "I'll do my job."
-Brooke, Fitz, and Zach
"That's the way!" Dave smiled warmly, but the moment was short-lived as Ghostface overturned another piece of rubble. Remembering what was at stake, he took Zach by the shoulders as he did the night previously and urged him, "Godspeed, Mr. Henderson. Godspeed…"
And with that, he emerged from their hiding spot and called out to the killer, "Salutations, wraith!"
The killer perked up and turned to see Dave hamming it up yet again, though his performance was hindered by the severe pain he was in.
What kind of plan was this, really? It was damn near delusional, worthy of Yvain himself (Dave wondered what the daft doctor was doing at this moment…)...and yet it felt like the only option, especially with other lives at stake.
"You thought you'd seen the last of me?" Feebly, Dave raised his fists. "I don't surrender so easily." He kept his eyes on Zach, whose way to the door was still blocked by the killer.
Which meant it was time to dance.
"En garde!" Dave charged swinging, his right hook flying over Ghostface's head. The killer had ducked and swiftly slashed at the teacher's stomach.
Dave cried in pain as he reeled back, his hands covering the now open wound on his stomach. Already, his palms were stained red with blood. He barely had time to register as the killer charged Dave, slashing again. The stocky English teacher was far from nimble, and he quickly remembered why for much of his life, he professed to be a lover and not a fighter. He tried to side-step the attack but was not fast enough, as the serrated blade tore into his left shoulder. For a moment, all Dave could see was white, as he fell back into what remained of the desk. Through the searing pain, Dave saw Ghostface's silhouette as he raised the dagger to make the killing blow.
But Dave stood his ground in the nick of time holding the villain's blade back with both hands. This was the moment! This was Zach's opportunity to escape! Dave simply needed to hold out just a bit longer…
And yet the killer was persistent, looking to make quick work of Dave. With one hand on the knife, Ghostface stuck his fingers into the cut on Dave shoulder, digging deep into his flesh.
"ARRRRRRRRGH!" Dave screamed, his suffering excruciating, the worst he'd ever experienced. But he had to hold out! Many times, Dave had bent the knee out of fear, shame and guilt! But no more! No more!
Zach shut his mind off. Not hard to do, and almost reassuring, to just make let his body do the work.
The moment Evans cried out, Zach moved. The benefit of their cramped confines was it created shadows: dark, fusty pockets in and around the rubble, where the glow of the flames couldn't touch.
Not much room to move, but enough to stay out of sight, as long as someone was there to divert attention.
It was almost like football, except slow and (he feverishly hoped) the other guy's mask had a worse sight line than a visor.
"You thought you'd seen the last of me?" Evans's challenge: bold and defiant. Zach could see the grimy mask, backlit by flames, and felt a brief impulse to charge in, to fight, to come between one and the other, so the unarmed Evans would have some advantage.
But that wasn't the play. If he wanted to do the right thing, to do his job, to help…
He had to let Evans play his part.
There was a blast of hot, dry air on his back as he moved closer to the doorway. Just a few steps, and then he'd be clear…
(To jump Ghostface from behind? If he took advantage of the surprise, he might even disarm him…)
Evans cried out. Zach could almost hear the slice of the knife through fabric and then flesh. He tensed, coming flush with the doorway.
-Zach
Through the blinding white, Dave was able to parse out a figure silhouetted in the doorway. In the sea of tortuous pain he found himself drowning in now, as the killer continued to dig their fingers into his open wound, he couldn't help but smile at the sight.
Ghostface had noticed this too, and turned to see Zach in the doorway, about to make his escape.
"Heh...heh..." Dave spat some blood, staining the killer's mask.
A gesture the killer by no means appreciated.
Ghostface slashed Dave across the chest, causing him to cry out in pain and fall to his hands and knees. The English teacher was close to death; he wasn't important. Not with Zach close to escaping. The killer turned to pursue their new target.
Left heaving in pain, Dave's breaths were labored and heavy, his vision blacking in and out. Certain sounds faded out, others accentuated. The roaring of the flames had died down, but the crackling of the burning wood was ever-present; the dripping of his own blood puddling beneath him was clear as day and yet he couldn't hear his own broken breathing.
This must be what it's like, Dave pondered to himself, capable of only so much cognizant thought now. To be in between worlds...to have one foot in the living and the other in the grave. Was this the feeling he had pursued all those years, wallowing in the bottle? The feeling of being present and floating on the edge of the ethereal?
And yet...as it was common for him...Dave found himself again in the past, lingering on a familiar memory.
"I can't carry you, Kat! You're just too grown up!"
Nine. She was nine years old. He was considerably younger.
"Aw, Pop! What happened to 'STORMING THE ENEMY? THE LAST VALIANT CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE'?!"
Tennyson. He read her Tennyson. Among many others. Every night before she went to bed.
"Ah, the witch uses my own words against me! How cruel of you to use a man's love of Tennyson for EVIL!"
He had not known evil. Not yet.
"Dad..."
He had known good, but he had squandered it. He was blind then.
"Alright, then. I'll try..."
Dave raised his eyes. The killer striding towards Zach, evil marching towards good, and the old man watching it all transpire.
All as it was before.
"I'll try."
"'Half a league...'" Dave rasped at last, feeling present once more as for a moment, his vision became clear and the sounds around him had returned.
Ghostface stopped in their tracks.
"'...half a league onward...'" He clenched his fists, spitting more blood.
The killer turned, curious, surprised that the old fool was still alive.
"'All in the Valley of Death...'" Dave lifted his gaze to match the killer's. "...'Rode the six hundred.'"
Time had slowed down, allowing Dave one more glimpse into the past. As clear as the day he heard it, he heard his daughter cheer.
"'FORWARD, THE LIGHT BRIGADE!'"
With a primal scream, Dave mustered all his strength and charged the killer. The fiend braced for the attack but was taken aback by the teacher's speed and power as, like a bull, he rammed himself into the villain's stomach and grabbed their back, forcing them forward. The duo moved past Zach and into an adjacent room, with only Dave's willpower propelling them.
Ghostface was far from defeated and, even being taken on this ride deeper into the inferno, still attacked, stabbing Dave again and again in the back in the hopes that the he would remember the feeling of pain and would buckle down to it, slowing down and finally giving up.
But Dave resisted! For every time the demon's blade pierced his flesh, he remembered his reasons left to keep on fighting! Ed Teague and Theodora Kellerman were among them, the people who had hired him and unknowingly gave him his second chance at life, who he had ventured down here to save! Zach Henderson, the boy he warned to escape this foul place, who could still save Ed and Theodora if he let Dave partake in this brave fool's charge! Zach had much more life to live! He should not--could not--die and find himself to be another victim of this devilish monster!
Dave had seen too much death! He remembered Howard as he helped carry away poor Micah's body ("We were seven!" he recited to Howard. "We were seven!"), how he sacrificed his life for those of his comrades. A flawed man but a friend, nonetheless. And Phyllis! By God, one of the few people he knew who could understand the pain of losing a child! How alike were they really, though? A strong and intelligent woman, she had as much to teach Dave as he had to her. He lamented that they would not speak again but somehow, he felt as if they would meet again. Perhaps his spirit would be carried by the West Wind...
The West Wind! Fitz! The man who had saved him from the abyss! He had lost a child too but he was given a second chance in Drew! Dave wished he could see Fitz become the father he knew he could be, and that they could reunite to talk of their dreams and follies! There was so much more to share! So much more to sing!
But alas, Dave was to become one with the wind now. He could feel himself losing weight with this world more and more with every thrust of Ghostface's blade. Sawyer's face flashed before him, smiling and optimistic as it was before. Perhaps he'd have more poetry to teach her soon. He recalled Betty as well, though he did not know if she was dead. He imagined he was dead to her, and could only speculate the blessed life she had gone on to live without being plagued by his dreams and fancies. He'd awoken now, he knew that much. Maybe she would be proud.
And finally...Dave saw Kathy. Not as he had often remembered her in his later years, recalling her final moments and how he had ruined her life. No...Dave was in their living room again, taking young Kathy onto his back and charging into battle, laughing freely, unburdened by any fears or demons.
He was free. Dave was finally free.
Dave didn't feel the collision of the killer against the stone wall, just as he hadn't felt the dozen stabs in the back Ghostface had inflicted upon him as he embarked upon his charge. Unable to plow forward any further and with his adrenaline finally depleted, Dave fell to his knees and leaned his back against the wall, a bleeding mess. The killer was not satisfied and made doubly sure to end the old man this time, stabbing him again and again.
But Dave had grown numb to it. He had endured so much that he resisted every gratuitous stab of hatred and contempt with ease. His vision was fading again; he was fading again.
The killer ceased their barrage. They had been distracted enough. They had to find Zach.
But...he was gone. He'd escaped.
As Ghostface fled into the inferno to continue the search for their next victim, Dave was left bleeding out. The only sound he could hear was his breathing; the only thing he could see was that memory of Kathy. They had finally ended their charge as he took her into his arms and smiled with a love he had taken for granted and thought he had lost forever.
With that same love, recovered after all these years, Dave smiled. The sounds of his own hoarse breathing had faded as he felt himself lost in the mesmerizing symphony of the West Wind, where at long last, Dave had found peace.
-RIP Dave Evans
Noah was impressed, had this been the first, maybe even the second round of killings, Brooke may have been put off for several minutes at the very least by the mere thought of dead rat parts anywhere near her. But now, my God was she impressive.
He looked to the big red wheel, and silently nodded in agreement. He placed his hands on one side waiting for her to join him.
"What do we have to lose right? Not much choice either unless we mean to all burn."
***
Drew brushed his hair from his face with his fingers, looking at his dad with honesty in his eyes for maybe the first time.
"He's the only reason I'm still alive, plus who says you get to be the only one who grows from this shit show right?"
The thought of Eli trapped by the fires sent a chill down his spine and turned his blood cold. Nobody deserves to die that way, well..At least not him. Drew didn't feel a lot of things, but he felt something for Eli, of course it could have just been the blood loss.
- Noah, Drew.
"That's the spirit!" Brooke declared with a forceful brightness, "Okay," she grabbed the other side, her hands at about 9 and 6 o'clock to Noah's 12 and and 3. A few strands of hair insisted on hanging stubbornly before her vision, but she'd had considerably worse handicaps.
"This is kind of like one of your video games!" she said absently, flicking away some rust particles from the join where the dial met the rest of the piping, "You know, the parts where they'll make you press a button a bunch of times so something happens?" she paused, "And yanno if there's one thing we're both great at, it's pressing buttons."
With that, Brooke took a big breath for fortitude, and pushed.
***
Zach fell against the wall as Evans tackle Ghostface, momentarily stunned, but quick to shake himself back into the presence.
You can't choke. There is something you can do, and he's doing everything you can to help you do it.
He bolted, Evans's last, ragged scream resounding in his ears.
There's another one dying for you, he thought, blinking smoke from his eyes and feeling fresh tears on his lashes, Make sure it's worth it.
***
The wheel budged, just an inch to start, groaning in protest as who knew how many years of corrosion began to chip away.
Brooke let out a little puff of breath, looking over to Noah, "I think 'elbow grease' is just a euphemism for 'pig water and sweat'."
***
"Well, I didn't..." Fitz protested, "I hardly..."
Folding his arms, he looked around, as if for recourse, "You can grow all you like, but you might find that perishing in an industrial disaster might prove a bit of a growth stunter! Anyway, it's entirely moot, thanks to your little dance with Kitten..."
"Fuck you!"
Fitz made a dismissive gesture in Tracy's direction, "There's no way back up for you to go down to go after him, so really the entire thing is much ado about..."
"What about that trapdoor?"
Fitz gritted his teeth, "I thank you, Cottonseed, not to interfere in my fathering."
Carl was right, though, even from his higher perch. There was a trapdoor hanging open in the floor behind them. Fitz couldn't imagine who'd opened it, but he suspected if they meant harm, he'd have noticed by now.
Then again, if it had been Evans with his rescued charges, he surely would've announced himself.
"Well, I...I only...the fact is..."
***
The wheel gave again, producing another, louder squeak of protest. Brooke's grunt turned into a hopeful laugh, "If history's any proof, if it's causing this much trouble, it's got to be the right one."
***
Ted rounded another corner in the passage, aware of Emma's footsteps pattering in quick pursuit, as it occurred to him, with an odd sense of calm, that she really wanted to kill him.
Semantics aside, that's what she wanted. He was 'bait', sure, and she could dress up what that meant and how she'd go about it and what the greater goal was but, really, all of that was a lot of words to obscure a simple fact: she wanted him dead. There was no plan to swoop in and catch the killer before the bait was properly baited. Emma may have some grand fantasy of tousling with the murderer, and she probably saw herself doing a pretty good job, but there was no thought in her mind about her bait being anything other than bait.
Of Ted being little more than a means to an end.
And, somehow, that super dehumanizing thought was comforting, because it removed lots of baggage. Emma had no feelings for him, positive or negative, and any attempt he could make to convince himself otherwise was wasting his time. Once he got over the hurt, it was weirdly freeing.
There really, after all, was no reason he should want anything for Emma, except maybe the bare minimum best, and even then maybe not, since her bare minimum seemed to involve more dead people.
He might have a few things...a few lies...to feel guilty about, but...on the greater scale of things there was nothing to be ashamed of.
Imagine that.
***
Another squeak, as the wheel continued to turn, sharply now. Brooke briefly lost her footing, but caught herself before she could fall into Noah, and this time without a big bath tub to catch them.
Catching her breath, she smiled awkwardly to cover her misstep, "Almost there."
***
One of the racks had fallen from the ceiling, maybe as a reaction to the same collapse that had befallen Zach and Evans in the little office. Pig carcasses, by now mostly reduced to charred bones, with the barest bits of singed, moldy flesh clinging to them, lay scattered across the floor for Zach to step around and over.
But it wasn't these minor obstacles that caught his attention.
"No," he breathed, "No, no, no...Ryan!"
There was a figure pinned beneath the collapsed metal rack, right against the far wall. Through the smoke, Zach could still make out a pair of shoulders, and an arm, sprawled out over the floor, ash-stained fingers splayed.
In his mind's eye, he saw a hand pressed to the window of a burning farmhouse, a handprint seared into scorching glass.
"Ryan," Zach dropped to his knees, "Ryan, don't worry, I'm here..."
Pushing down the rising tide of dread in his throat, he grabbed his friend's outstretched hand, and found it still and stiff.
Time stopped.
"No..." he shook his head, "No, Ryan, you can't..."
Not you too. Not after everything. Not...
Not if he could do anything about it.
He grabbed onto the rack, intending to shove it off. The metal burned white hot, but he expected that by now, and didn't let go, even as his skin scorched in protest.
"It's okay..." he told Ryan or himself, pushing, "It's okay...I'm here."
***
Another notch. Brooke's hand (still at 9:00), slipped to meet Noah's. She withdrew her fingers, hearing a soft rumbling from somewhere close.
***
Fitz struggled to pull himself back together, "Really, it's hardly fair of you to torment me this way! After all the trouble I went through to get to you, and you don't even want to be helped. Stubborn as a mule, as a..."
As his brother. As Fitz himself, he supposed, once upon a time, though perhaps on the whole more effectively. Fitz was a mule, alright (a jackass, one might suggest, to cheap applause from the ha'penny choristers that constituted their present company) that had been well broken in past the point of any stubborn bucking.
Certainly, he was in his right to go back for his son...at great personal cost, he might add...but if his son didn't want to be gotten, who was Fitz to stop him?
"Well," he stepped away, pointedly looking across the room, "Since you insist on being such a gallant, there is nothing I can do but, I suppose, send advance word to the memorial people to have your image cast in bronze."
Yes, that will do it fine, a tiny, petulant voice in the back of his mind, A bit of shame, a bit of embarrassment and he may well have second thoughts. And if not...
If not, he had tried.
***
The wheel turned more easily now, and Brooke knew she wasn't imagining that rumble, that rush from deep in the works.
"Noah..." she began tentatively.
***
The smoke was only getting thicker the farther Ted went. That couldn't be good. Then again, by now the fire had probably spread so far that going any direction would bring him closer.
He ducked through a side room into an adjacent passage, almost calling out a jokey "Sorry, Emma!" by way of parting but, even as a joke, the sentiment had lost its punch. There were people to apologize too, sure, and conversations to have, and understandings to reach, and maybe Emma could find her way into them someday.
But he owed her no more apologies.
***
It happened at last, and all at once. The wheel turned the rest of the way, as easily as if it had never been gummed up at all. Brooke let out a short cry of surprise as, with another monstrous, beautiful roar, the pipes came to life, and the sky opened above them: sprinklers in the ceiling activating with little, metallic squeaks as tepid, lukewarm, pretty gross water showered down onto them.
"Oh!" she squealed at the sudden coolness, shock turning into relief as giddy laughter erupted from her lungs, "It worked. We did it!"
***
The water came as a cold shock. Sprinklers all along the ceiling of the meat locker came to life and, owing to ruptured pipe Zach and Aleks had used to reach the hatch, burst out in a violent geyser, deluging the blaze all around in an unceasing torrent.
Zach flinched at the first wetness against his skin, shuddering at the unexpected relief as the temperature around him rapidly began to cool, the flames beginning to tamp down at once, the suffused red glow to finally dim, and the searing metal in his hands to cool.
"Thank you," Zach thanked...whatever, whoever was responsible, presuming somebody was, and, pushing the pain to the back of his mind, gave one last, forceful shove to the whole bent, twisted slag of scorched metal. It fell back with an extraordinary clangor, nearly drowning out Zach's cry of pain...
But there was Ryan.
He'd been caught about the middle, and he had the marks to prove it. Two thick red rectangular slabs seared into the skin of his bare back. Zach felt his heart catch, but only briefly, as he hurried to his friend's side, gingerly putting his hands beneath him, against his chest, to ease him off the floor, turning Ryan's body toward him, so the water could hit his face.
"Ryan..." he pleaded, "Ryan, come on, man...it's me, it's Zach, I..." his voice broke, "I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry, Ryan and..."
But he thought of Dave Evans: he was past the time for apologizing. There were better things to do. So, he lowered his head to Ryan's chest and listened to the soft, but present beat his best friend's heart, and felt a beautiful, blissful relief overwhelm him from head to toe.
"What..." Ryan's voice, faint as a whisper, and nearly drowned out by the waterworks. Zach lifted his head, meeting Ryan's bleary, blinking eyes, "R-Ryan?"
The muscles of Ryan's throat were working, "What's the score now?"
Zach hesitated, "Score? N-no, dude, this...this isn't a game, I...there was...there was this whole..."
Ryan shook his head, "The score. Or are you gonna tell me just didn't just save me again?"
And he laughed, "Oh, shut up," throwing his arms around him, careful of his scars, in an embrace, "Shut up, shut up..." as his laughter turned to sobs, "God...God, Ryan, I..."
"Yeah," Ryan spoke into his shoulder, barely audibly, "Yeah, Zach. Me too."
***
"We did it, we did it!" Brooke cheered again, pressing her hands to her mouth, "Oh, finally, something worked!"
***
Fitz let out a perhaps undignified yelping sound as the sprinklers opened overhead, proceeding to deluge the porcine valley, not that any of the pigs remained to enjoy the much needed bath.
"Well, shit," observed Carl, "Somebody had a good idea."
"A good idea!" Fitz protested, "Yes, of course, let's all give each other typhus from generation-old sewer water! Don't look now, but I expect our faces will begin sloughing off any moment...oh what new depravity..."
"Mr. Smith, the building's on fire," Carl pointed out, "Remember?"
"Oh," he paused, "Right, and..." he looked back up at the sprinklers, "Well, look at that! Everything's fine, and you," he turned back to Drew, "Didn't need to do a thing!"
He nodded, as if to affirm this to himself, "That's an important lesson, really. Sometimes, and especially when you're all wound up worrying about something, someone else will swoop in and do it in half the time. Now, mind you...not always the most reliable solution, but it does have its merits..."
Remembering himself, he cleared his throat, "But, of course, if you want to go and look for the Hudson boy, now that there's no fire...well, by all means."
***
Careful not to slip on their suddenly more precarious perch, Brooke pulled Noah into a hug, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before reminding herself that A.) she was supposed to be upset with him and B.) there were plenty of other reasons this was a bad idea.
But for now, she was relieved and vindicated and may have just done her part to save the day, and all because...
"Thank you," she said finally, quietly, "For, um...for the help."
***
Ted yelped when the sprinklers started, quickly staining the moldering papers in the office he'd darted into. A shame, he supposed, but he figured if his father had cared about this place, he'd have made sure to clean it out before leaving it to rot...whenever he had.
Anyway, the more important thing at present was that the office had one other exit, which was locked.
"Dangit!" Ted cursed under his breath, aware of Emma's footsteps gaining in the passage outside. He wasn't about to plant his feet for a fight, if he could help it. For one thing, he didn't want to hurt Emma if he could help it and, for another...well, she had a big sword, so it wasn't even a guarantee he could hurt her.
Bolting it was.
Turning on his heel, he raced out on the quickly slickening floor, hurrying into the hallway just in time to see Emma rapidly gaining on him. Adrenaline running high, Ted turned to dash down the passage...
And felt a knife stick in his gut.
The air left his throat in a single, choked gasp, more surprised than pained, though he probably should be in pain. His eyes went up to the stark white face of the mask...his uncle's stupid, ugly mask that his stupid, ignorant family had clapped his face in out of the stupid, misconceived belief it would make him acceptable to the world and had only become a stupid, overblown symbol of his uncle's stupid, unnecessary, bloody crime spree.
The knife left him as quickly as it had entered, red and slick with his blood. The water from the sprinklers diluted it: little red droplets splattering down to the concrete floor. Ghostface stepped back as Ted's legs gave way beneath him, bringing him to his knees, and Ted realized he wasn't looking at him...at least, the black hollows of the mask weren't.
He was looking behind him...at Emma.
The plan worked.
And Ted laughed. Blood dribbling from some punctured organ, water mixing with the tears on his face, he laughed, as the world around him began to blur, to fade...
Only ever a means to an end.
Maybe it would be worth it, though. Maybe Emma would take advantage and beat Ghostface at his own game...get revenge for her mother and Audrey's father and Eli's cousin and all the rest. Eli...his brother. His brother and his friend.
No, then, Ted decided as the life ebbed out of him onto the wet floor of this damp, unlit basement. It wouldn't be worth it at all, and nothing Emma could or could not do would make it so. She could catch Ghostface now and kill him and it would mean nothing because Ted would still be dead, and he'd never see his mother again, or demand an explanation from his father, or sit with his brother and talk about the lives they'd had apart and how different things would've been if they'd known about each other from when they were little.
Emma could inflict any kind of violent vengeances on Ghostface, and none of it would mean more than another day to live.
He wished he could tell her that...he wished he could make her listen.
He wished he'd believed it more, earlier, himself.
He wished...
A drop hit him square in the opened eye.
Ted didn't blink.
-Brooke, Zach, Fitz, Tracy, Carl, Ted, Ryan, and Ghostface
Noah's focus was on the task at hand, getting this damn thing to turn and activate the sprinklers. And every time they got it to loosen just a bit, he could almost feel the relief of the water that was hopefully to come. He hated quick time button mashing in video games, but he wouldn't interject with that tidbit. His arms were getting more of a workout than they had had in his whole life.
"Definitely sweat." He agreed with her sentiment about elbow grease, as it started to loosen; the grime and rust breaking up as they continued their hard work.
He started to believe it too, that this may in fact be the right one, that they hadn't been conned by the fates into thinking they could save everyone. He looked at her, at her determined face, sweat dripping from her brow and being the embodiment of strength. He was never surprised at how often she continued to impress him. Their fingers touching only for a moment, but it felt like an eternity. And then it was turning, quick and fast and water began to rain over them.
Suddenly her arms were around him, and her lips were on his cheek. She pulled back, staring at him with that hugely optimistic smile, one that she would be well within her rights to have retired long ago, but persisted, nevertheless. He didn't even hear the words come out of her mouth, his body acting on its own accord as he pulled her in by the waist and kissed her.
***
Drew had almost asked his father along, wanting for some odd reason not to leave him either in this time of danger, but as the fires began to cease with water soaking them from above, he looked back to the trapdoor and again to his father.
"I'll come back; I promise." He said, before heading down in search of the only boy who had ever piqued his interest, the only boy he needed to know was safe.
Noah, Drew
Brooke let out a short squeal of surprise, quickly swallowed up by Noah's lips on hers.
He's kissing you, she thought, or some voice thought that sounded very much like her 12-year-old self, who really shouldn't be subjected to this nasty place, He's kissing you and he's holding you, and…
And he was warm. The water was rushing down and through her hair, pressing her clothes to her skin, alternating between tepid and cool, and Noah was so warm against her, his cheeks flushed as hers must be with their exertions, and their closeness, and relief.
You don't get to be surprised, she told herself again, as she had with Audrey over the notebooks, before they'd set out, a few hours and an eternity ago, You knew he liked you, you don't get to be extra or dramatic or to protest or to shove or to bitch or to gripe. You knew it, the whole time, and a part of you liked it, you can admit that now, you're a big girl.
You do like it.
She pulled back, with a gasp, the heel of her foot just over the edge of the platform. Not that she was in any danger of falling, at least not without taking Noah with her.
She looked at him, slick hair pressed down to his brow, and wanted to grab him again, to push him and shove him, curse him, kiss him again. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking and blame him for thinking it. She wanted to make it his fault, that she was looking at him like this, right now, while Zach and Ted, Eli and Audrey, and fucking Ryan for all she knew were all in danger somewhere.
She wanted to hate herself for wanting him.
"There you go again," she muttered, aware she had begun to shake, her words nearly drowned out by the rush of the water above them, "Pushing my buttons."
-Brooke
As the sprinklers came on and the flames surrounding them were gradually doused, Leslie felt this rare sense of calm overcome her. She knew it wouldn't last; the killer was far from defeated. Then again, they had survived; every moment they were alive felt like a small triumph against what seemed like an inevitable death march. She supposed she should admire Drew for wanting to challenge those odds again in a rare flash of selflessness.
However, she couldn't savor this victory for long, as her eyes remained on Carl's troubled expression. Something was bothering him; she noticed it after he was first pushed off of Tracy--something was wrong. Leslie held off on asking, which seemed uncharacteristic for her but oddly enough, Leslie felt like she owed it to him. They'd come through for each other several times in the last hour. She knew better than to pry immediately after tensions began to cool.
Nevertheless, observing Carl from afar, Leslie knew something wasn't right, preventing her from being completely at peace.
Which she supposed was for the better. None of them could let their guard down now. This killer's reign of terror was far from over.
***
"Son of a bitch!" Emma yelled after Ted, sprinting after her former captive as she began to round a corner. "I swear to God, Ted, you're making this so much harder than..." She trailed off, freezing in her tracks, stunned by the sight before her.
Just as the sprinklers came on, she saw the monster. Ghostface stood over Ted's body, their knife stained with blood that was already getting washed off the steel by the water that was raining on them. It had worked: Ghostface had come for Ted; now they would stay for Emma.
She felt a pang in her heart, some guilt nagging at her that Ted had died. Maybe if he just stayed with her, she could have prevented Ghostface from killing him...Emma couldn't feel responsible. She felt responsible for enough, more than she had to. This was what she wanted: a full view of the murderer who killed her mother.
The killer slowly raised their head, as if just noticing Emma. They cleaned off the rest of their blade with their thumb and index finger, ready to wield it yet again. Emma's grip tightened on her machete, more ready than ever to put it into action.
This was her chance. It ended here.
With a cry of primal rage, Emma charged the killer, who charged back in turn, perhaps delighting in a challenge. Ghostface was elusive, dodging Emma's strikes with ease; they didn't have much luck either, their smaller blade unable to predict Emma's erratic movements. Her frenzied state played both to her advantage and disadvantage, a flurry of emotion clouding her mind, preventing her from thinking clearly, making her unpredictable and uncoordinated. For all her fantasizing of this moment, even back from before her mother died when she felt bad about such violent daydreaming, Emma was not prepared for this altercation.
Emma missed on a downward thrust of her machete, as the killer quickly back-stepped and lunged with their dagger. Thinking quickly, she dodged the attack and kicked Ghostface in the stomach, sending them back to the other side of the corridor. Emma didn't relent, hoping to skewer the bastard against the wall and finally end this nightmare.
Just recovering themselves, the killer sidestepped the attack, causing Emma's machete to be lodged in a pipe running alongside the wall. She was stuck! Emma tried desperately to wedge it free before Ghostface took advantage of this brief pause in the fight.
She did it! Emma freed the machete from the pipe, causing a bellow of scalding steam to be released, sending Ghostface staggering back yet preventing Emma from lunging after them immediately. So the two waited, biding their time for the steam to clear, staring each other down with evident contempt. Either one of them could have left but chose not to. They wanted each other dead, simple as that.
The hissing of the steam had died down and the path had cleared. The two charged again.
However, things did not go so well for Emma. Ted's blood and the water from the sprinklers pooled beneath her, causing her to slip in the mud. She didn't have much time to curse herself, though, as she had to quickly roll out of the way of a downward plunge of Ghostface's knife. Still on her knees, Emma gave a horizontal slash of the machete, which the killer deftly jumped back to dodge, but not deftly enough, the edge of her blade just barely grazing their stomach.
Emma couldn't help but smile at that.
The killer wasn't as pleased. They dove towards her, pinning her against the wall with their knee, causing her to drop her weapon and hold back their dagger as it drew closer and closer to her face. Ghostface was strong, even as she used both hands to hold them back.
And soon enough, the killer began to draw blood.
She cried in pain as the dagger pierced her cheek and slowly carved its way from her eye socket down to her chin. That damned mask watched her shout in agony, those gaping empty holes staring back at her with apathy.
Suddenly, footsteps could be heard from afar. Ghostface perked up and stopped at the sound.
Emma took advantage of this brief pause and punched the killer in the face, just hard enough that their mask came loose. Their back was turned to her but not for long. She'd find who this monster was and finally put an end to this torture. Ghostface picked their mask up from the ground and made to flee but Emma grabbed her machete and stabbed at her cloak, pinning the bastard down and causing them to slip again.
"You..." She rasped, fighting through the searing pain on her face, quivering with unbridled rage, crawling closer to Ghostface to see who was behind the mask this time. "You're going to pay. You're going to..."
The cloak ripped as the killer broke free and ran away, leaving Emma with nothing but her machete and a piece of a black fabric, with Ted's corpse blankly spectating all of it.
It was for nothing. He had died for nothing.
A wave of emotions overcame her, all of them calling her a failure, deafening every other thought, making it hard for her to think or even breathe.
The sound of ever-nearing footsteps brought her back to reality. Emma had to continue her pursuit of Ghostface, as hurt as she was. And yet, so overcome with shame, she began to question if it was even possible. After she had tried her damnedest to kill the monster, she still failed.
Humiliated and defeated, the freshly scarred Emma fled into the labyrinthine darkness, clutching onto that lone piece of cloth Ghostface had left behind, feeling at her absolute lowest, and left questioning what worth there was in going on.
***
Stavo awoke from his nap, rubbing at his eyes and finally coming to. After that exhausting circle game they had all done like a million years ago, he really needed to shut out the world for an hour and two and just be left with his thoughts.
Not that his dreams did him much good. He saw flashes of his mother, Sawyer, Brooke--all stuck in limbo. It was the limbo he saw in paintings as a kid, with the weird distorted environments characteristic of surrealist art. He remembered asking his parents what the difference between limbo and hell was. His father didn't have much of an answer at the time but his mother, being the better Catholic between the two adults, said that in limbo there was a chance of redemption. There was just lots of waiting for that chance.
To Stavo, that felt worse than hell. Being teased with a morsel of hope and endlessly waiting for it felt much more torturous than the blatant suffering hell promised. It was why in his dream, he pitied the people he saw in this purgatory. They were just sitting there, waiting. But for what? For him? To do what?
Wake up. That was the voice Stavo heard. His own, in fact. It was as if his self-conscious was just lucid enough to want to bail out, leaving the limbo of his dream...
...for the limbo of reality. There was nobody else here in the common hall. It was completely abandoned.
"What the..." Stavo got to his feet and looked around, not seeing a single other student or teacher or terribly underqualified chaperone. He was the only one there.
Well, maybe not the only one.
"If I had a hammerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr/I'd hammer in the morrrrrrrrning..."
Stavo rolled his eyes, following the sound of the plucky guitar to the closet they were keeping Kieran locked up in not too long ago. "Hey."
There was Nicodemus, playing his guitar and singing with his feet propped up on the table, oblivious to Stavo's entrance and likely everything else around him.
"Hey!" Stavo repeated louder, spooking the hippie psychiatrist.
"Sweet honey!" Nicodemus clutched his chest, his heart aflutter. "You scared me! What's the matter, chile? Was I off-key? I was probably off-key. I sing better after 20 minutes o' meddy-tay-shun but the aura here is just so brown, man! Like a muddy brown! It's..."
"I'll tell you why, Sergeant Pepper," Stavo gestured to the empty common hall behind him. "There's nobody here! Everybody's gone."
"What? Nooooo..." Nicodemus shook his head in doubt and got up to look himself. Stavo gestured for the doctor to get up for himself and look outside. So he did, his head peering out of the closet. His eyes widened with surprise. "Jumpin' cats! You're right!"
"Yeah. I know." Stavo threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "There were like eight other people here. You didn't notice any of them leave?"
"Huh. I guess not." Nicodemus paused, curious. "Did you?"
"I...I was asleep."
"You fell asleep? With this aura? Man, you gotta tell me your secret because I got nothin' but neg-o-tive energy cloggin' up my chakras..."
"How the hell are you certified to do anything?"
"Take it easy, maaaaaaaan," Nicodemus implored. "We'll find 'em. They couldn'ta gone too far. You just gotta chill. The answers will come after that."
"I gotta chill? Is that it?" Stavo scoffed. "I don't know how much of your incense you've been huffing but there's a killer on the loose..."
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh, I get it." Nicodemus smiled and leaned forward. "This is about that chickadee o' yours, right? The blonde one?"
"I..." Stavo bit his tongue, telling himself not to engage with this quack. "So what if it is? Are you going to psychoanalyze me now? Now, when you've let half a dozen minors escape into the wilderness with a maniac on the loose? Under your watch?"
Nicodemus blinked. "Huh. Now that's a bad aura."
"So can we go?"
"Soon," before Stavo could roll his eyes, Nicodemus explained, "Lemme just finish this song. Have to get my mind right before we do anythang. You ought to clear your head too, man. Your energy feels pretty muddled."
"I hear that a lot." Stavo sighed. "I'll be in the bathroom. You better be ready when I come back."
"Sure thang, man!" Nicodemus saluted the boy as he left to relieve himself of his bladderly burden, leaving him back to his song.
Clearing his throat, he began again, "If I had a hammerrrrrrrrrrrrr...Nah, nah, that ain't right. Ahem...If I had a hammmmmmmmmmerrrrrrrrrrrrr..."
"Doc."
Nicodemus yelped in fright at this new voice, hoarse and worn as it sounded. His eyes widened at the tall and broad shouldered figure in the doorway. The doctor couldn't believe it. "Kieran! It's you!"
So it was, and he looked like a mess. Drenched in sweat and bleary-eyed, Kieran was standing there, appearing as weary as ever.
"I was wonderin' what happened to ya!" Nicodemus rejoiced, putting his guitar aside and getting to his feet. "Everybody else thought you ran away but I knew you would come back! I knew it!" Kieran remained in stony silence, piquing the doctor's concern. "What's wrong, Kieran? You look...troubled."
Kieran closed his eyes, releasing one shaky exhale. "I screwed up, Doc. I..." He shuddered, feeling tears come on. "I failed."
"Failed? Come on, chile! Speak sense! How did ya fail?"
"I..." Kieran whimpered, trying his best to hide his face, the tears streaming freely down his cheeks. He sat himself down on a nearby chair, trying to regain his composure.
"Oh, Kieran..." Nicodemus pulled his chair closer and placed a hand on his patient's shoulder, trying to console this troubled mind. "You can speak with me! I've always been on your side. You know that, dig?"
"My..." Kieran took a breath to steady himself. "My sister. She's dead."
"Oh." Nicodemus took a mournful pause. "Kieran, I'm sorry..."
"I watched her, Doc," Kieran continued, his whole body trembling with grief. "I watched her because I put her in that situation. She wanted to be like me and I told her she shouldn't be she wouldn't listen...I saw her kill Smoke..."
"Not Smoke!" Nicodemus cried in grief, for, as he preached, any loss of human life was a tragedy.
"Yeah...Smoke..." Kieran continued his story. "And she...she called out to me and...she asked if she did OK..." He buried his face in his hands, viscerally reliving those last moments of his sister's life. "I didn't say anything because...because..."
"Why, Kieran?" Nicodemus asked, fulfilling his role as therapist to this conflicted soul. "Why?"
"Because I was disgusted!" Kieran cried out, his tears flowing freely now. "I hated her and I hated myself because I let this happen! I ruined all of our lives! All I do is destroy and destroy and destroy! I've never put anything good into this world! I'm a mistake! A-a monster!"
"Oh, Kieran..."
"And I prayed...in that moment, I prayed for some sort of karmic moment where she'd just pay for what she'd done and that somebody would put her out of her misery. Maybe then I wouldn't be so disgusted with myself." Kieran grew silent, sniffling as he continued to reminisce. "And then...somebody did."
"You..." Nicodemus leaned forward, trying to read his patient's expression. "You saw the killer?"
"I...I didn't actually want it, Doc..." Kieran whimpered, looking into space, as if witnessing the tragedy all over again. "I didn't want it to happen...it's just one of those thoughts you have. Like a...a bad impulse. I've acted on those before but... I wouldn't hurt her, Doc. Not her. You have to believe me. You have to..." He broke down into sobs, weeping freely.
Nicodemus got to his feet and embraced Kieran, who continued to break down in tears, his head resting against the doctor's lap. "I do, Kieran. I do."
In an unexpected turn, Kieran hesitantly embraced the doctor back, breaking down even more. It felt as if years of pent-up anguish and guilt were finally being unburdened, the weight finally crushing him.
"I'm..." Kieran spoke in between sobs. "I'm a terrible person, Doc. I'm..."
"No," Nicodemus assured him gently. "You're a good man, Kieran Wilcox! In spite o' your best efforts...you're a good man."
"I...I want to change. I don't want to be a monster anymore."
Nicodemus smiled warmly. "Nobody stays one thing forever, man. You'll change." He lifted Kieran's face so his eyes could meet his own. "And I'll be there to help you. All the way."
Kieran continued to weep and Nicodemus continued to console his patient, having finally achieved the breakthrough the doctor had been working towards for months. Through the open doorway, Stavo watched with crossed arms, unsure of what to make of the sight before him. It honestly fascinated him, seeing Kieran break down the way he had. Maybe Stavo thought it was cathartic, but he didn't feel satisfied. It irked him to admit it but really, Stavo had some pity for the killer. The idea of watching a loved one suffer, helpless...
...like watching them linger in limbo, in endless wait, wasting away.
With more resolve than ever, Stavo swore they'd find the others, that he'd make things right with Brooke before he would no longer have the chance, and that above all, he would escape the limbo he'd condemned himself to ever since he let Sawyer die.
Stavo had finally woken up. About damn time, too.
-Leslie, Emma, Stavo, Nicodemus and Kieran