[Disclaimer: I own nothing. If I did, trust me canon would be different. Title courtesy of Adele's beautiful song of the same title. Inspiration from Tumblr's red-is-the-new-blackington. Dedicated to Megan Boone and all the life she brings to this show and hopefully will continue to bring in the future.]
I know you haven't made your mind up yet, I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue, The storms are raging on the rolling sea
But I will never do you wrong.
I've known it from the moment that we met,
No doubt in my mind where you belong.
I'd go crawling down the avenue.
No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love.
And on the highway of regret.
The winds of change are blowing wild and free,
You ain't seen nothing like me yet.
"Go someplace happy, dearie," Mr. Kaplan had said in a whisper, depressing the plunger on the syringe. Liz's heart battered against her chest furiously as she watched the liquid snake down the thin, curling tube. This was it. It was too late to turn back now. "You'll feel like you're breathing, but it's the bag vent. If he's doing it right, it will feel seamless. They're going to need to shock you to keep your heart beating, but just a few times. It will hurt but it's over quickly," she said. "I'll see you on the other side. You don't have long." She'd have long enough to say goodbye. That was enough.
"The beach," Liz said, warmth sliding over her like sunrise.
"What do you mean?" Mr. Kaplan asked, brow furrowed tight as she snapped off her gloves.
"Someplace happy," Liz said in a near-goofy sing-song, feeling her grip begin to falter. She labored to move her mouth. Time was slowing down. "I think I'll go to the beach."
She hadn't been able to get the words out before the edges of her vision began to twinkle and fade, a darkness enveloping her, womb-like and deep.
God, she could nearly feel it. Soft, golden sand under her back, in her hair. The breeze thick with salt and its clean tang anointing her skin – a dreamy baptismal greeting. She moves to curl her fingers into the sand, to feel its grit under her nails… but she can't move. Her limbs are leaden. Her body is sunken into the sand's binding embrace. The waves lap at her toes and creep higher and higher. Over and over. Further and further. Creeping up the backs of her knees, over her hands. The tide tickles the back of her neck, cold and thrilling. The gorgeous, gleaming sunlight still bathing her face.
I do love you. The waves break in time like a symphony, every shimmering crest swelling with the words. I love you. Raymond. I love you. The rising tide sneaks up her sides but she isn't afraid. There's no reason to be. Instead she listens to the waves. I love you. I love you. I love you. Her stomach, still swollen and tender, tickles from the foam as it creeps over her skin. A gull warbles above her, soaring into her line of sight just before the water sneaks past her ears, before the music of the ocean becomes soft and dampened, in Sam's voice, it calls to her. You'll be back soon, Butterball. There's work left to do. Her lips curl into a smile as she feels herself slip under the waves. Cool, buoyant and serene. The warmth of the sun and its glistening light slip ever so slowly from view.
There are still voices, echoing around her. She strains to listen to them, hoping to hear one in particular. A deep, rumbling, viscous rasp like crystalized honey poured over a craggy beach. Come to me, Red. I need to hear your voice. Tendrils of sound reach her from far away. It is as though they are speaking from the very bottom of a seashell. Water whooshes in her ears, but still hushed voices call to her.
"I'm losing her."
I'm not lost. I'm here. I'm here.
Suddenly she is breathing. The air forced down her throat is sweet and sterile; the distinct and unsettling taste of plastic seems so out of place here under the waves. Again and again her lungs fill with air, each time pulling her upward… gently… gently. Then a jolt. A current wrenches her hard, like a tether embedded in her chest is being yanked toward the surface. It brings her close to the sky again… so close that she can see the light of the sun twinkling through the surf. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. Then softly again, little tugs. Enough to keep the blue sky in sight.
"What's happening, why isn't it working?" There you are, Red.
It's working, Red. It's working. I just can't come up yet. Just bring me close enough to see the sky.
"Don't go, Lizzie."
I'm not going, I'm here. Where are you? I'm here.
She tries to move her legs, wills herself to churn them like egg beaters to reach the surface. She knows the motions. I'm here don't you see me? But her legs won't move. She is stuck between the ocean floor and the sky. Adrift in the tide.
"Please don't go," his voice is pinched, like someone has their hand around his throat. It's getting farther away. "Breathe. Don't go." The water is turning cold now, and every fiber of her keens toward the sound of his voice. Toward the surface. Toward the sunlight.
Let go of me, he's hurting. He thinks I'm gone, let me go. He can't find me.
The tide pulls her back, a chanting rhythm of protest.
Stay. Stay. Stay with us. Stay.
Her chest hurts. A breath would make her feel better if only she could open her mouth, if only she could stretch her lungs like a bellows. Her lungs struggle and struggle. And then lie still.
The remaining energy flowing through her body slows. The tides leave her be. No current rushes against her ears. It's silent. The water isn't holding her afloat anymore, the sand and sky are too far away. But she can still feel the cold. The chill of the ocean. The dead silence of nothingness.
She is alone.
But suddenly, her palm tingles awake. Something rubs against it and nestles into its curve, so soft and warm. His skin. She can feel him. His breath ghosts over her knuckles, and that same comforting burst envelopes her knuckles one by one. The flesh of his lips gives way, dragging and lingering. Her skin blossoms vibrant and lush under his tear-slick lips like a garden in bloom.
"We have to leave Raymond the police are here."
Not just yet. Please. Let him stay with me a moment longer. If I can't be with him now, let him stay.
In luxuriating, creeping puddles, her face warms with his breath – each kiss like a candle wick crackling and bouncing into soft flame. Her eyelids, her brow, her cheek… each waking and sleeping, ebbing and flowing under his touch. The feel of his fingers cradling her head; she can almost feel the daylight in her hair.
I love you. I love you. I'll come back for you. His cheek pressed against hers, the corner of his lip flexed tightly next to hers. Raymond, I'll come back. Don't cry.
And then there was nothing. Nothing but the sensation his lips left behind, the warmth evaporating into the ether.
I will come back for you.