Feels Like I'm Dying By The Ripperette
A/N: This is just a real little piece of crap that I wrote out of bordom. If you didn't notice this on the summary, there are MAJOR spoilers if you haven't played the game. I used some lines directly from the script; just crediting so I don't get caught.
Cynthia sighed in relief as she found the doorway into the subway's ticket booth and PA control center was open. She took a deep breath, as she slid the door shut behind her, praying that HE didn't show up, soon.
She had gotten separated from Henry as she made her way up the stairs, and found a doorway that led up onto the street. That was when the man in the long coat had begun to follow her. He didn't float around the room or look dirty like the other people, and he wasn't one of those monster dogs that she'd seen dragging their tongues along the floor earlier in her nightmare, so she thought maybe he was friendly, like Henry was. As always, she gave the man a friendly, secretive little smile, as she approached him with a seductive sway to her hips. The man tilted his head to the side, said nothing, and returned the smile with another, more childish grin. He then abruptly lifted one arm to point at her with the blade of a rusted butcher's knife. Cynthia was scared of him, and his dead eyes, and listless, threatening steps, so she did exactly what her gut instinct told her, and ran.
Going through the endless numbers of possible actions she could take – go get her purse from outside, where it snagged on the turnstile and fell to the floor when she thought she saw the man in the coat approaching her from where her and Henry originally came into from (it wasn't possible, though – unless he was some sort of ghost. But then again, this was a dream, it didn't have to make any sense…), and see if she could find anything to defend herself, look through the office for a weapon, hide and pray – Cynthia blinked at the PA. Henry was somewhere out there, still lost, still fighting those things. She had to help him – call him to the turnstiles, lead him back to the door, beg him to keep the man in the long coat away from her. Even though this was a dream, she would just have to give her subconscious-ness's Knight in Shining Armor a VERY "special favor."
Taking in a shaky breath, Cynthia pressed down on a red button near the microphone as she leaned down towards it, looking idly out at the tinted window, before concentrating on the control panel, frowning in concentration.
"Henry," she paused slightly, as her voice echoed all around her, "I found the exit. Come to the turnstile…" Frowning at how crackly her voice sounded, and wincing at a bit of odd feedback, she cleared her throat to the side, announcing the message once again. "Henry, I found the exit; come to the turnstile."
Standing up straighter, Cynthia's chocolate-colored eyes widened in fear, as she saw HIM starting to approach the turnstile, still smiling sweetly to her from afar, as he turned the knife in his hand, making it shine in the dim light. Like the bile from her bout of sickness earlier, Cynthia's heart raced up into her throat, the panic causing her heart to race causing her voice to quiver as she spoke into the microphone once more.
"Hurry, hurry! It's him!" She never comprehended that what she said wouldn't make any sense to Henry – if she did, she knew it was a dream, and Henry would know exactly what she meant. The man in the long coat pressed one hand against the turnstiles, making them rotate with a long creak, as he made his way through with neither token or ticket.
"He's coming!" That was the last thing she shouted into it before taking her trembling finger off of the button, and backing up, letting out a panicked shriek as she bumped into the table behind her. He didn't seem to notice as he stepped over the scattered contents of her purse, making them fly around the tiled floor with a series of small clanks, his smile sweetening as he drew closer, pausing at the door to press one hand against it. The man had a deep, calm voice, but it was rather manic, as he laughed, a rich, jovial sound, before pulling the door open and stepping through. Cynthia's hand gripped a chair at her side, as her knees locked, the man in the coat's smile turning into a slight grin, as he drew closer.
With another cry, Cynthia flung the chair towards him as hard as she could, before immediately backing up, both hands pressed on the table behind her, as she leaned upon it, almost as if she wanted to climb up on top of it, as if that would somehow defend her. He didn't offer so much as a grunt before approaching her, slowly, the door shutting itself, as the chair clattered to the ground. He drew closer and closer with each step, holding his hand out with the knife to his side, coming within an arm's length of her, before reaching out his other hand to rest it on her waist. Cynthia was too busy letting out another shriek and trying to shy away to notice how quickly the warmth left the man's eyes and how the curl of his smile was undone.
He returned her cry with one of his own – it was quiet, but somehow bestial, and anguished – as he thrust the blade into her stomach. Cynthia howled in pain, throwing her head back, as she reached out to try and shove him off, and with him, the blade, out. He laughed and sobbed all at once, as he shoved her down onto the table she had once seen as her retreat, pulling the knife out with it. He said things to her that sounded bitter and cruel, but she heard only her own pained cries. She had never had a dream that hurt so bad, before. He penetrated her skin with the blade several more, quick times, none quite as slowly as the first, but each just as painful. Cynthia was only able to scream more, as she felt and saw the knife enter and exit, enter and exit.
With a low growl, he pulled her forward by the hair – it came someone undone from her clip as he did so, some of it even was pulled out and tangled around his fingers, as he shoved her into a wall, her arms flailing out for anything as she struggled to get away. He pulled her hair again, pushing her around and slamming her into things, almost as if were just for fun, before letting go of her with a final yank of her hair. Cynthia fell down, feeling hazy and weak, numb to the sensation of her back hitting the floor. The man in the long coat kicked her, before kneeling with her down on the floor. She let out a low groan of pain, as he drove the butcher's knife down, dead and center, through her stomach, twisting it as he pulled it out. The next cry from her was gurgled, sound mixed with blood bubbled out from between her lips. Cynthia surrendered at this point, letting her body go limp, save from the whimpers of pain, and the occasional spasms of her body as she coughed more, uttering crimson words.
The last bit of direct pain she felt was from the tip of the knife, as the man breathed, heavily, holding her steady by the shoulder. He slowly carved something across the top of her mostly- exposed left breast, mumbling something to himself. Sighing, content, he pushed her away, looking around, before standing up. Cynthia didn't see or didn't care about the smile of accomplishment that he cast down towards her as he turned to leave the room.
The blackness she saw behind her eyelids lasted for a long time, as she coughed, occasionally letting out a moan as she felt the burning in her torso, and the hot wetness as he life's essence seeped out of her, pooling on the floor. This had been the most awful thing she'd ever experience; all the pain just felt so real to her. Cynthia winced as she heard the door open, feeling something akin to relief as she opened her brown eyes for the last time to see Henry as he kneeled at her side…what he said to her sounded so far away, like he was underwater.
"It's just…a dream, right?"Post-Mortem (Literally! Ha…): I myself thought that Walter beat Cynthia to death, but I read on Translated Memories that she was stabbed. I actually really liked Cynthia, to be honest, but, you know. The urge to be sinister and all that. I know it's not that good, but, meh. I just thought I'd share it.