Minerva's in the corner.
Louis doesn't know how long she'd stood there, or how long they've stared at each other. Long enough for the crank of his neck to ache from the awkward position of which he lays his head. His eyes, heavy and blurred, blink slowly, waiting for her figure to blend away in the shadows.
She remains, though, with her back against the closet doors and hands rubbing at her bare arms. No doubt she's chilled from the coolness of the bedroom. Hell, it's cold enough that a frosty cloud puffs out through his nose with every breath. Why wasn't she wearing her coat?
Her head twitches, cocking to the side. The movement's so quick he almost misses it.
Then, she smiles.
His bones become heavy as if pumped full of wet cement, sinking him down into the old springs of the mattress. The muscles of his calves flex, tighten, aching with the strain of a thousand invisible needle pinpricks.
Minerva's smile grows wider, her pale blue eyes shining silver like a reflection of the moon glowing outside the window. They crinkle with delight, sincere joy at the sight of him.
It's then that he notices something's off about her, other than her entire presence, of course.
Her hair.
Long, flowing over her shoulders in ginger waves, glossy in the moonlight that strikes it.
That's what confirms it for him.
This isn't real.
No matter what her grin says, that's not Minerva.
He's shaking.
Uncontrollably.
His fingers tremble against his chest, sending icy tremors through his veins, a liquidized fear. But still, he doesn't move. He keeps watching her, and she keeps watching him. She keeps smiling.
'Fuck, just-'
His pinky twitches. His movements are slow, unnoticeable under the blanket as his hand slips off his stomach and searches besides him. When he finds nothing but cold sheets, he squeezes his eyes painfully shut and takes a shuttering gulp of air.
She's gone.
She's gone and he's alone with… with whatever's really in the corner, trapped within the confines of his unconscious mind once again.
'Fuck, no, just go away.'
All he wants is a night of peace.
'Go away-'
Minerva pushes off from her spot against the closet door and moves further into the light.
"C'mon," she whispers, her voice ringing off the walls. "I want to sing."
Sing, she says. She wants to sing.
Louis finally breaks his gaze away from her, craning his neck towards the wall. His lips move in small murmurs, but his voice doesn't break through the cold, suffocating silence.
"Louis?"
The dead don't sing. That's what he wants to tell her. They growl, gurgles of unsatisfied hunger and constant vibrating moans are all they get.
No beautiful, lyrical hums for the dead.
The blanket drags down his body, pooling around his feet. The air's piercingly chilly now, the kind cold that almost burns your skin as it seeps through the blood and down to the bones.
When her fingers wrap around his hand, he finds he doesn't have the strength to jerk away. He puts up no resistance as she pulls him up, yanking on his arm for him to leave the bed.
And he does.
'No, no, no-' he tries to protest.
Louis nearly topples over, allowing the pressure squeezing his body to consume him if that means getting away from Minerva.
She catches him.
Fuck.
Her embrace nearly brings him to tears. The warmth behind his eyes, the lump begging to be swallowed in his throat makes him want to weep.
So powerless, so weak, he leans against her with his head resting against her shoulder. Her hair is soft against his cheek, almost comforting.
His feet drag across the wooden floors as she pulls him, heavy legs moving even when he begs them not to, a disconnect between his body and his brain. It takes everything within him not to collapse under the pressure of his own body. His head falls forward, neck too weak to even look straight ahead.
If it weren't for Minerva's fingers entwined with his, he surely would've fallen straight through the floorboards, down and down. Down until he hit the dirt. Maybe even further, given just how weighed down he feels.
Then... a scream?
It starts off as a faint hiss, barely there yet still echoing.
It gets louder with every step he takes. Not only that, but the weight begins to lift. He can stand straight now, no longer hunched over and ready to fall. While the invisible needles still press into his legs, he finds it easier to move.
Another scream so awful, scratchy and agonizing, reverberates off the walls and shoots through him.
He stops, eyes wide and darting around.
'Vi…?'
His hand has been left cold. Minerva's gone.
But, her voice isn't.
Behind all the screaming, as if whispered directly in his ear, is her singing. He can't make out the words, his brain's too hyperfocused on the screaming down the hall.
It's not real, he tells himself, but even his own thoughts become fuzzy and pushed aside.
All that heaviness he felt is lifted, and he's sprinting down the hallway with his heart slamming against his ribcage as if it's attempting to break free. His oxygen's low, only allowing him to swallow short, heavy breaths.
'Violet!' he tries to shout, but once again, he has no voice. No matter how much his lips move, no matter how much air he pushes through his lungs, he has no voice. 'Vi! Violet!'
Her bedroom door is shut, locked tight. The wood rattles in the doorframe as if there's a struggle being thrown at it. Louis pounds his fist against it until his hand is painfully numb.
The screams are beyond piercing now, excruciating.
Desperately, he shakes the doorknob with both hands, using his body to slam against the hard barrier.
'Fuck, fuck- open!'
His shoulder begins to ache, the fibers of his thin shirt catching splinters that dig deeper into tender flesh with every hit.
He tumbles through, stumbling and falling to his hands and knees.
Violet's curled up in the corner.
She's stopped screaming.
And this isn't her bedroom.
Louis takes in the decrepit manner of the cell, a parallel to the one he was once forced into. It's blurred, edges fuzzy and colors blended. She's the only clear thing here.
Well...
Violet isn't really there, he knows. None of this is real, he keeps telling himself.
It's time to wake up.
'Wake up, Louis,' he begs.
Violet weeps into her arm, her shoulders shaking with every gasp.
"L-Lou?" her voice's deep, breathless and throaty. It's not her voice. Scratchy, like someone speaking through radio interference.
Against better judgment, he crawls through the room and over to her.
'Violet?'
When he touches her shoulder, she vanishes. He nearly topples over, landing on his elbows terribly.
He jerks himself around to watch Violet walk across the room with her back to him. She stops at the door. The sound of scraping metal echoes and it opens.
Aasim and Omar are waiting for her.
She steps out with them, closing the door behind her.
'Wait, Vi-!'
He's on his feet and dashing to break free, but it's already locked.
The three of them only stare when he shakes the bars, their faces contorted by shadows.
'Don't!' he pleads. 'Don't go again! Please!'
They don't hear him, of course. Even if they read his lips, they still wouldn't hear him.
All together, they turn away from him and leave, but not before Violet finally speaks.
"Good riddance."
Good riddance.
Good riddance.
He collapses against the barred door, curling his knees to his chin and covering his eyes with his arms.
...Good riddance.
"Good riddance."
He whirls around, eyes darting around in search of the voice.
From the corner which Violet once sat stands a figure, and once she exposes herself to the light Louis can do nothing but finally release his tears.
He chokes, sobbing into his hand as he presses himself into the corner, trying to appear small and invisible. Of course, that's just stupid thinking.
As Dorian advances towards him, he finds himself paralyzed by the hand of dread.
'Shit- fuck!'
Her nails dig into his neck as she takes a hold of him and jerks him forward, slamming him down flat against the floor.
'Scream, Louis!' he tells himself. 'Scream! Anything to wake up!'
She grabs a fist full of his hair, forcing him to look at her.
'Thrash around! Get Clementine's attention- anything! Just wake up!'
He can't break his gaze from hers. Dorian's eyes are black, cold and unreadable. They reveal nothing but sorrow, inky black sorrow.
She brings him to his feet, icy fingers wrapped around the bare skin of his wrist, alighting dreadful flames within his blood. He flinches away and squeezes his eyes shut, wincing
'No, no, no! Clementine-!'
Dorian jerks his arm up to focus on his closed fist. When she makes no other movements, Louis dares to peak an eye open before gasping horrifically at what his grasp clutches.
An arrow, long and smooth, clean.
Dorian grins, baring all her teeth.
'No, please-!'
Louis tries to break free, but her hold on him is too strong.
He soundlessly cries out again when Dorian opens her mouth wide and impales herself on the arrow.
Blood gushes from her slack mouth, squirting and soaking his hand. The thick liquid trickles down his arm. It only gets worse when Louis tries to push her away, free from his paralysis.
'No, no! I-I didn't-' he tries to cry out. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!'
Her body collapses, crashing into him and bringing them both to the floor. His head bounces against the wood, disorienting him and bringing black splotches across his vision. Hot blood clings to his neck and chest now, still spurting from Dorian's dislocated jaw.
The heaviness is back.
'I'm sorry…' he whispers. 'I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…'
"Louis?"
Dorian lifts her head.
She reaches around and yanks the arrow out, tossing it aside. Her jaw unhinges, the flesh of her lips and cheeks rotting away and tearing.
"Lou, hey-!"
Her eyes are silver now.
She smiles.
"Clem? What's- Louis?"
Her teeth tear out his throat, and all he can do is scream.
Good riddance.
Louis gasps out, flinging himself forward. Sweat drenches his shirt, sticky and clinging to hot skin. It's too hot, he's suffocating.
Cool fingers press into his shoulder and he flinches away, terrified and disoriented.
"No, no-!" he cries out. "Please-"
"Lou- Louis, it's me-"
"Clem, is he-?"
"AJ, open the window!"
"But-"
"Do it!"
He won't stop shaking. His entire body rocks with the never-ending waves of sobs escaping his throat, burning his eyes and slipping down his cheeks. He tucks his head between his knees and tries to breathe, tries to ease his pounding heart. Fuck, it's going to break out of his chest!
There's a sweet, calming whisper in his ear as a rush of cold air hits him.
"It's me. You're okay."
He shakes his head.
"I'm sorry-" he apologizes. What for, he's not sure. "-I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"
He chances opening his eyes, blinking rapidly to clear his tears. In front of him, still blurred, sits AJ. The young boy stares up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
A gentle hand rubs his back, and he's relieved to see Clementine's comforting eyes locking with his. She pushes his dreads away from his face and uses her thumb to brush his tears away.
Louis' face burns with an awful mixture of shame and distress. His gaze darts past AJ and towards the corner of the room, right by the closet.
Empty.
AJ cautiously takes his hand, holding it with both his. "Louis?" he whispers. "It's okay. The monsters are gone."
Clementine kisses his temple, pulling him closer and holding his other hand. "We're here," she murmurs.
And Louis cries.
He cries until he can't anymore.
Clementine and AJ don't leave him, they don't say anything else.
They hold him until the three of them are cramped up in the same bed. AJ snores lightly, curled up at his side and still grasping his hand.
His throat hurts and his eyes are sore. Echoes and images replay in his mind, even when he wills them away, even when he tries to think of happier things.
It's just another nightmare. Morning will come soon, and it'll be better.
At least, that's what he tells himself.
Clementine's stare is felt, and when he meets it, she smiles at him. A silent, "Are you okay?"
No.
But Louis smiles back anyway.