She was an apparition, an idea, a thought that came to mind. He closed his eyes, smelled the air that stunk of burned flesh, antiseptic and stagnancy. The taste was in his mouth, the ruin in his fingertips, but when he opened his eyes and found her crawling toward him, growling, her nails scraping along the hospital floors, her mouth widened and a low screech left her lips.
Her long black hair trailed on the floor, her eyes wide, and she stops so close to him that he reaches for her. His fingers find the top of her head, his palm presses down before he curls his nails into her scalp, dragging her hair into a knot, he yanks the thing that has twisted into his sister.
His beloved, Laura, who loves the color red, who loves the sunflowers outside of the barn, who screamed in agony when the fire touched her flesh. She was not his sister, she was a creature he conjured when the world tipped over, when his father trapped him in the basement and all he could think of was why he didn't die alongside her.
The agony had dug into his heart, and festered until his rage pulled through the creases. The disgust of his family, the terrible relentless need to dissect them, and when he had his chance. He killed his parents.
The taste of it, the joy of the knife embedded into his skin, the gasp and shock on their faces before they tumbled against each other before their bed. It trembled through him, and he knew it wasn't the end, he could make it right.
So he did.
He tortured, he researched, he made sure every person that was dragged through his home was used to their full extent. He was used to their screams, to their pain, and he found it deliciously addicting.
Mobius helped, they were a means to an end, and it only fell apart because of Jimenez. And now that he was trapped, now that he was there in front of the creature that became his sister. The memory of her has twisted and split apart, she was skinned alive of everything he held dear to him.
This was the product of his love for her.
She moved back when he let go of her hair, a snarl leaving her lips, but her head bowed. Her legs, her arms, scraping on the ground, burns on her skin of the memory of her.
He stared, disgusted, but it smoothed out when her form began to shift and fade into the form of his sister intact.
She stood without the added arms, in her red dress that she died in, there was not a burn on her, nothing that destroyed her. Her head was still bowed and a laugh left her, one that unnerved him, that echoed around them in the hall of the hospital.
"Laura," he said, his voice raspy.
She slowly raised her head, and her lips were pulled into a smile, another laugh left her. Her eyes were empty of any happiness that he once saw in them, and she looked like a shell of his sister, not the real thing.
"What's wrong, Ruben?" she asked, the voice was the same, the worry in each word that was pronounced.
He was rooted to the floor, staring at this thing that mocked him. He was sick of it, disgusted by it, but he could do nothing as she walked closer to him.
"You're not her," he said to it.
Her laugh echoed around them, "I am her, a memory of her that was created by you."
So this was his fault. His love for his sister was too great, he missed her dearly, but he could do nothing for her now that he was trapped inside his own machine.
She drew closer and every little detail on her face, on her dress, was the exact same as when Laura died. Before she was consumed in the flames, the smile was not the same, it was too empty. Unlike when his sister laughed, when she held him in her arms, her warmth surrounded him and he was safe, always safe.
Was this the same?
She stopped and raised her arms, her smile smoothed into something kind. "You're not alone in here, Ruben. You're not tormented anymore when I'm here, and I'll always be here." She reached for the side of his face, but before she could touch his skin, he grabbed her wrist.
Her skin was soft, but cold. His thumb smoothed over her vein in the inside of her wrist, his fingers dug into her skin and he watched for any reaction, but she stared, empty.
"Everything is okay," she said, reaching for the side of his face with her other hand, and this time he didn't stop her. She cupped his cheek and leaned closer until their bodies were inches from each other. "Everything is okay."
He dropped her wrist and she wrapped her arms around him. He was stiff in her embrace, but he soon leaned closer, closing his eyes, wishing it were real enough.
"You're not real," he said into her ear.
A laugh escaped her, "I'm not."
For as long as he could, he couldn't cry, he could only get angry, a rage that filled him up. That simmered under the weight of what he would do once he escaped this prison. His revenge grew taut in his mind, and everything else in the room reacted to it. The gurneys, the wheelchairs, the plants in the corner, and the equipment in rooms that lined the hall began to hover in the air. A wave of it escaped him, over and over again until he felt the shift in her arms, the bones protruding, her coldness snaking outward as a raspy groan left her throat.
He opened his eyes, "You're not real."
She screamed as he remembered in the barn and she pulled away, her body had gone back to its monstrous form. Her back bent slightly, and the arms slammed into the ground, her mouth hung open as she disappeared from the hall in a blur of red.
He stared at the place where she was and the feeling of her arms around him, the sickness of it clung to his skin. He hated it, he despised what this world could do to him, and he thought he had more control, but even this, the memory could deceive him.
He'd have to be more careful when dealing with his sister.
Notes: I made some mini prompts for myself so I could add more The Evil Within fanfictions. :D It's short, so I hoped you didn't mind.
Reviews are appreciated. No flames or bashing please.