Author's Note: In the simplest terms, this story spawned in my head and urged by brain to write it down. No if's or but's, either. Therefore, you are now reading the result of my nagging, spontaneous plot bunnies.
On that note, welcome to Everlasting and Neverending, my muse for The Evil Within. Truly, I never thought I would develop such an interest and love for the video game, considering my pitiful, lacking skills in horror games; however, the plot of the game and the characters involved intrigue me to no end. And, despite how terrifying, there is so much to be explored in the realm of Ruvik's mind, it seems; and I want to delve deeper.
Therefore, I hope you all enjoy what I have written so far and what is to come; and, I sincerely thank you for taking the time to read my work. Have fun...
Disclaimer: I, sweettea1, do not own any elements or characters from The Evil Within. I do, however, own any OCs or scenes not seen in the game, for they are my creations.
Chapter I:
Pinpoint
"Find out what you're afraid of and go live there." –Chuck Palahniuk
"Well, Kidman."
A sigh escaped Julie Kidman's lips. "What is it this time, Manders?" she asked, swiveling away from her computer to face the owner of the voice—Cassandra Manders.
Aforementioned woman smiled broadly, slipping her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. "You, me, Joseph, and Sebastian—what do you say?"
Julie dawned a contemplative look (or, rather, a feigned appearance of the emotion), tilting her head mildly to the side and resting her left cheek against her knuckles. "Sounds like a crowded ride. Where are we going?"
"Crime scene downtown," Cassandra answered, a frown tugging the corners of her lips downward. Shifting, she leaned her hips against Julie's desk, her eyes flitting through the neatly stacked papers and personal trinkets covering the wooden surface. "Sebastian suggested that we could use the experience—you know, us rookies."
Julie huffed a laugh, adjusting her position and folding her arms across her chest. "He suggested?" she asked, a rare, teasing tone touching her voice.
Cassandra hummed, nodding distantly as she glanced toward the office of the detective in question—Sebastian Castellanos. The room was only three desks away from Julie's space, occupying a generous portion of the department. It was well lit, bathing every inch in a yellow tint that added a strange, worn appearance to the office. Through the glass panes on either side of the closed door, Cassandra could see the resident of the workspace, palms resting on the oaken desk and hazel eyes focusing on the pictures scattered between his hands. He wore his never-changing attire—which, surprisingly, remained classy and sharp despite the number of times he had donned the garb—and his black hair was slicked back, a few stray pieces dangling around his face. He had not moved from that stance for the past thirty minutes, except for exchanging glossy photographs for others or allowing his hand to stray toward his chin in deep thought. Cassandra had to wonder exactly what he was poring over, and whether the evidence strewn across his desk was about this crime scene they were supposed to investigate.
Her musings were abruptly interrupted when Julie snapped her fingers, earning a startled jump and a bashful blush from Cassandra. Julie stared at her, her arched eyebrows the only sign that she was amused—or, possibly, irritated. Cassandra struggled to distinguish between the two expressions whenever she conversed with Julie. "You were saying?" Kidman urged.
Cassandra cleared her throat, pushing away from Julie's desk. Her initial embarrassment still burned her cheeks and ears. "Well, he may have insisted rather strongly that we tag along—but I will point out that he did not sound too thrilled."
"Castellanos is never thrilled about anything," Julie said dryly. She stood, gripping the back of her chair and wheeling the seat under the desk. "Still, I suppose it would do us both some good to get out on the field. I'm tired of searching through the city's old case files."
"Is that what you do in your spare time?" Cassandra pried, smirking playfully. Julie gave her a deadpan look.
"Yes, and I would suggest you do the same," she said, claiming her badge and hooking it onto her belt. Then, with one hand grabbing a notepad out of a drawer and the other selecting a pen out of the pencil holder, she fully faced Cassandra and shoved the objects into her hands. "You may learn a few things from those cases."
Cassandra accepted the notepad and pen, slipping the latter into her front pocket. "Maybe. But several of them are unsolved—mysteries for some determined detective to uncover and revive," she replied with a shrug. She flipped through the notepad, ensuring that she had plenty of blank pages to use.
"Have you ever considered that you could be that determined detective?" Julie countered, garnering Cassandra's full attention. The latter rookie furrowed her brow.
"I—I guess not." She paused, hesitant. "Have you, Kidman?"
Julie's lips twisted into a frown. "I can always dream about being the best."
Cassandra nodded. "Then work for it. It's not impossible, especially if you have the potential."
Julie quirked an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment, Manders?"
Aforementioned woman chuckled. "If it is," she said, staring at Julie pointedly, "then don't expect too many of them."
Julie returned the stare equally. "Same."
Cassandra would not consider her cramped position between Julie Kidman and Joseph Oda in the back seat of the police cruiser a pleasant experience—especially when every turn or bump in the road sparked a collision among the three of them. Julie did not complain, simply staring out of the window in displeasure and mumbling an apology whenever her elbow accidentally rammed into Cassandra's bicep. Joseph, however, fidgeted often, pressing against the car door and peering at the contents of the manila folder clasped in Cassandra's fingers. He seemed to be trying to distract himself, proffering questions and pointing to the printed information on the papers as Cassandra analyzed the available database. She knew she would have much more fortune back at the department since she would have better technology and a greater amount of space; however, they still had twenty minutes of travel to overcome—and that was a rough estimate, for the cloudy sky had finally decided to release its torrents of rain, slowing their progress. Cassandra added another ten minutes to their trip.
"Cassandra."
The rookie lifted her chin, meeting the hard, hazel gaze that irrefutably belonged to Sebastian.
Realizing that he had her attention, the veteran detective extended a hand toward her. "Let me see those photos again," he requested.
Cassandra nodded mutely, turning to the back of the folder and retrieving the stack of photographs. She spared a glance at the first picture, grimacing at the gruesome image of the dead body and the memories it sparked from her time at the crime scene. Hastily, she handed Sebastian the visual evidence, mumbling a quiet 'here you go.'
"Thanks," he said, distant as he instantly attached his attention to the same image Cassandra had been cringing at. A minute passed, and Cassandra watched from the corner of her eye as Sebastian studied every picture in the considerably thick stack. Afterwards, he turned his torso to face her again. "What do you make of this?"
He presented a close-up shot of the victim's arm, revealing a thick, blocky-style symbol drawn on the skin by a black marker. It strangely resembled a diamond pierced by a spear. Cassandra squinted and Joseph leaned forward to examine the emblem with her. Julie merely glanced, but not a single word left her lips.
Cassandra finally shrugged. "A target, perhaps? I remember a couple other victims bearing that same mark."
"A rivalry, then?" Joseph suggested, adjusting his glasses.
"That, or a sign that this is a serial killer—you know, his personal touch to distinguish his work."
Sebastian withdrew the photograph, gazing at it with a new sense of interest. He opened his mouth to proceed with his inquiries, but he never received the chance—the police cruiser's radio crackled to life before he could utter a sound.
"All units, all units; 11-99, expedite cover code 3. Beacon Mental Hospital."
Every pair of eyes fell on the radio; however, only Officer Connelly—the oddly silent driver who kept his eyes plastered on the wet road—provided a response to the emergency call.
"One-eighty-four, copy; code 3. ETA three minutes," he said, flipping on his sirens and spinning the wheel to turn right at the intersection.
"Copy one-eighty-four."
"Sorry detectives. I know you just comin' off a case, but I'm afraid we're gonna have to make a detour," Connelly apologized, glancing at Cassandra, Julie, and Joseph through the rear view mirror. Cassandra was amused to notice Connelly's purposeful avoidance of Sebastian's gaze. A wise decision, she supposed, considering the sullen mood the veteran detective had adopted as soon as the radio had interrupted his interrogation.
Cassandra shifted forward, the seatbelt protesting against the action and biting into her waist. She reached a hand between the two front seats. "You want me to take those back, Sebastian?" she asked, pointing at the photographs still clasped in his hands.
Sebastian stared at her for a brief second before returning the pictures. "I suppose so," he said. Cassandra quickly straightened, fully aware of the irritation in Sebastian's tone. He did not want to be bothered.
Joseph—as if detecting the tension—decided to spark a conversation; or, perhaps he was simply curious. "Sounds serious." He nodded toward the radio. "Is it a riot?"
Connelly shook his head. "Call went out just before I picked you up. Said it was 'multiple homicides.' Half a dozen units already on-scene."
Cassandra furrowed her brow. "Then what do they need us for? It seems as though the situation isn't quite under control yet," she noted, tucking away the photographs and gingerly setting the manila folder between her feet. "Half a dozen units is a considerable number."
The radio intervened again. "One-thirty-one, please advise—"
Connelly looked at her through the rear view mirror. "This isn't your typical one-man murder case, detective. Apparently, it's some bloody massacre that occurred at the hospital, and they haven't found the culprit responsible for the crime."
"You mean culprits. If it's as bad as you describe, then there must be more than one suspect," Julie interjected, finally tearing her eyes away from the water-speckled window and meeting the driver's gaze blandly.
"Maybe," Connelly admitted. "Or maybe it's the ghost of that doctor who went schizo and chopped up all those patients."
Joseph leaned forward. "That's not what happened. Some patients disappeared. Some kind of scandal?"
Cassandra stared incredulously at Joseph. "Are you serious?" she asked, eyebrows soaring upwards.
"Supposedly." Joseph shrugged, unsure.
"Still," Connelly mused, seemingly brushing away Joseph's comment, "gives ya the creeps, doesn't it?"
"One-two-seven, one-two-four, please respond—"
Suddenly, Sebastian turned around in his seat, speaking for the first time since the radio had come to life. "Joseph, you think there's a connection?"
"It's a possibility," the aforementioned detective speculated. He lifted a small, black book and waved it in the air. "I believe the records were sealed."
"Anyone on-scene, respond—"
Cassandra glared at the radio, the continuous interrupting beginning to probe her patience. Sebastian seemed to be just as tired with the requests and alerts as she was, for he decided to answer the woman on the other end.
"Dispatch this is Detective Castellanos in one-eight-four, what's the situation, over?"
"One-eight-four be advised, some problem—at Beacon Memorial—radio."
Cassandra had to strain her ears to understand the patchy words that filtered through the speakers; and, even when she recognized the few audible phrases, they provided her with no definite knowledge. There was a problem at the Beacon Memorial? Had they found the suspect—or suspects, as Julie had insisted—and were struggling to bring him—them—into custody? Or were they experiencing problems with their radio, since that was the final word that she managed to decipher?
Sebastian spoke again: "Is there any—"
A screech funneled through the speakers, earning multiple curse words from both Sebastian and Connelly, and grimaces from Joseph and Cassandra. The latter detective covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut as the piercing noise seeped through her fingers and pounded against her eardrums.
"Can you shut that thing off?" Cassandra shouted over the din, cracking one eye open to stare at the screaming radio.
Connelly's only response was 'Jesus!' as he yanked the police cruiser back between the lines, jerking his passengers as well. And, strangely—thankfully—the radio silenced itself as soon as Connelly returned to his respective lane.
"Wish's granted," the officer breathed, rubbing his right ear tenderly.
Cassandra carefully uncovered her ears, releasing a sigh of relief. She glanced at Joseph, watching as he shook his head and took off his glasses. "Are you all right?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, mimicking Connelly's actions. "You?"
"Better than I thought." She turned to Julie. "Kidman?"
"Perfectly," she responded evenly, unfazed by the display. Cassandra was tempted to question her fellow rookie whether she heard the screech or not, but she held her tongue. For Julie's sake, Cassandra was not going to draw too much attention to her. Not now.
Therefore, she switched her gaze between Sebastian and Connelly, mouth opening to ask them the same question; however, Sebastian raised a hand, nodding his head to signify that they were equally well—at least, as well as one could be after such an event.
Sebastian peered through the rear view mirror. "Junior Detective Kidman, any thoughts?" he asked the composed woman. Cassandra darted her eyes toward Julie instinctively.
"Nothing yet," she replied evenly, voice inflectionless. She watched the outside world blur past them. "I'm sure we'll know everything once we get there."
"Right," Sebastian mumbled. He addressed Cassandra. "What about you, Manders?"
Cassandra blinked, pursing her lips. "To be honest, my head is spinning—and it's not the radio's fault, either. I just don't know which assumption to start with."
"That's what detectives are for, Cassandra: we put the pieces together and choose the right answer."
Sebastian did not press for an answer, letting the subject slide and allowing the rest of the ride to continue in silence.
Cassandra reclined in her seat, staring thoughtfully at the folder resting on the floor at her feet. A few pages and photographs were peeking out of the manila cardstock and poking into her booted foot, as if prodding her to search through the details again for a promising secret. She nearly accepted the temptation, but another sharp turn by Connelly helped her to refrain. Therefore, she focused on the soaked road before them, illuminated by the headlights of the police cruiser. They supposedly had multiple homicides—she needed to be prepared for anything, no matter how grisly or baffling.
Roughly two minutes passed before the police cruiser came to a progressive halt in front of an impressive iron gate. Beyond the black rods and crystalline droplets of rain, Cassandra could see six or seven police cars parked randomly within the courtyard; however, no officers could be seen near the black and white vehicles. Undoubtedly they were within the looming antique building, investigating the crime and searching for their killer. A shiver wove down her spine as she studied the hauntingly intricate design of the old mansion, and she rubbed her upper arms to soothe the goose bumps that prickled her skin. For what reason would a man want to conduct a mass murder within the Beacon Mental Hospital? What goal would be accomplished from such violence? Was it an act of revenge? Anger? Desperation?
"Come on, Manders. You can't solve the case in the car," Julie remarked, leaning down to stare at her fellow rookie.
"Of course," Cassandra said, returning to the present. She slid across the seats and exited the police cruiser, standing next to Julie in the light drizzle.
Sebastian and Joseph were already sauntering toward the iron gates, sweeping their gazes across the disorderly scene. Julie and Cassandra joined them some moments later, each of the detectives eyeing a particular point of interest.
Joseph's voice sliced through the rhythmic beat of the rain, asking Sebastian, "What do you make of it?"
The veteran detective did not answer Joseph, opting to glance over his shoulder and give Connelly an order. "Connelly, contact Dispatch and let them know what's happening." He switched his attention to the others. "Joseph, Kidman, Cassandra—you're with me. We're going to have a look around."
Julie released a barely audible sigh. "Right…" She trudged forward, slipping through the narrow opening between the two doors of the gate.
"I'm with you," Cassandra acknowledged, staring after Julie suspiciously. She followed closely behind Sebastian and Joseph, shoulders tense and senses alert as she scanned the area. As she had noted earlier, the courtyard was abandoned, hinting at no signs of life other than swaying vegetation. The police cruisers were dead, soaked in rainwater; and the towering hospital held no light in its windows.
They rounded around the center of the courtyard, and Cassandra seized the opportunity to admire the stony monument standing proudly among a nest of bushes. It resembled a lighthouse, with a circle centering on the peak of the structure and framing the two shafts of light that emitted from the top. Cassandra raised her eyebrows, silently admiring the weathered piece of architecture; however, her appreciation dwindled quickly and her attention returned to the antique building when she caught Sebastian and Joseph gliding up the steps.
Sebastian reached the heavy mahogany doors first, inspecting them briefly before placing both of his palms on the wet wood and pushing the left side inward. The hinges groaned, and Sebastian simultaneously grunted—not in effort, but in revulsion. Cassandra and Joseph exchanged a confused glance; however, they soon realized the reason behind Sebastian's reaction, the strong, coppery scent of blood striking their noses. Cassandra scrunched her features, pressing the back of her hand against her nostrils in an attempt to block the overwhelming scent mingling with the humid air.
Joseph exhaled sharply, joining Sebastian at the door. "Smells like blood," he noted, sharing a wary glance with the veteran detective.
Sebastian nodded, already aware. "All right, stay sharp."
Joseph drew his handgun in response, pushing open the opposite door and proceeding into the hospital. Cassandra strode forward, fingers curled around the handle of her own gun, ready to assist Joseph in reconnaissance. However, Sebastian had other plans, gripping her shoulder and pulling her behind the threshold.
Cassandra only caught a glimpse of the bloodbath beyond before she turned sharply toward Sebastian. "You need our help," she stated, not daring to offer a question. Sebastian was usually careful to consider his options if given the opportunity.
"Yes, but you would do me more good if you stayed with Julie—outside," he said, retracting his hand. His hazel eyes flitted over to Julie, who was approaching their position with gun in hand. "We're going to check it out. You two don't let anyone else through this door."
Julie—much to Cassandra's shock—protested. "We can be an extra set of eyes."
And, of course, Sebastian was unmoving in his decision. "We don't know what's happening here. You're our backup," he insisted, eyeing them both. He was not in the mood for arguments.
Cassandra sighed, rocking back on her heels. "Fine," she muttered, lowering her gun. Sebastian nodded, trailing after Joseph. Cassandra saw one final preview of the pools of blood (along with a whiff of the crimson substance) before the doors creaked closed. She spun around, glaring at the empty police cruisers and the puddles of water soaking the earth and gravel. She felt Julie's eyes boring holes into the side of her head, but she did not bother to address her fellow rookie, merely listening for any signs of a struggle behind the mahogany doors.
Lightening sliced through the clouds, eerily illuminating the courtyard and adding a faint glow to the lighthouse monument. Cassandra stared at the piece of architecture for several long seconds, debating. Then, whipping her head in Julie's direction, she commented, "Officer Connelly sure is taking his sweet time."
Julie arched an eyebrow. "He's calling backup, Manders; give him some time."
Cassandra stared at her. "There was a mass murder in that hospital—don't you find that strange? Or even concerning?" she stressed, wiping away a raindrop that had plopped solidly onto her forehead. "We have empty police cruisers—an empty courtyard, actually; multiple bodies; two of our best detectives going in alone; and nothing but silence from this place. We don't even have a suspect."
Julie's jaw visibly tensed, and she deliberately avoided Cassandra's gaze as she responded sharply, "If there are no officers, then they are tracking down their missing suspect. If Sebastian and Joseph are our best detectives, then they can handle whatever situation that may impede them." She finally decided to turn toward Cassandra, a deep frown creasing her features. "If you're so concerned, then go find Connelly. I'll stand by and watch the door myself."
A rumble of thunder seemed to enhance Julie's words, sending a second shiver through Cassandra's bones. She gave a single, stiff nod. "I won't be gone long. We're in this together, though—so if anything changes, then alert me."
Julie returned the gesture, nodding; however, she never spoke another word, letting her gaze drift elsewhere. Cassandra holstered her gun, trotting down the slick steps and trudging through the rain. The downpour had increased, the droplets becoming larger and falling more rapidly. Cassandra wished she had collected her own coat, similar to Sebastian; the veteran detective was always prepared—not even the weather surprised him.
Connelly's cruiser's lights still flashed, and Cassandra could distinctly hear static emitting from the radio. Furrowing her brow, she slipped through the gates, cringing when the cold, iron bars brushed her palms.
"Officer Connelly?" she called, raising her voice above the thrum of the rainfall. No reply came from the vehicle. "Connelly? This is Detective Manders; are you all right?"
Her steps slowed, and she analyzed the police cruiser with more scrutiny. The driver's side door was still swung wide open, and Cassandra could see a pair of feet sticking out beneath the door—but they were not standing upright, rather leaning backwards in a lax position. Cassandra instantly ripped her handgun out of her holster, holding the weapon up defensively and blinking the water out of her vision.
She circled around, keeping her gun trained on the police cruiser. She eventually passed the open car door; however, her heart skipped a beat when she saw the limp form of Officer Connelly spread awkwardly across the seats, blood streaming from his right eye and pooling on the floorboards.
"O—oh my God," she stuttered. She summoned what little courage she retained—undoubtedly, that courage was merely adrenaline—and surged forward, reaching across Connelly's body and placing two fingers against his neck. No steady pulse pressed against her own skin.
She withdrew from the body, mouth agape as she tried to form words. "Kidman! Kidman, officer—"
The words died in her throat as she spun around and met the milky-white gaze of a cloaked man. Three slow seconds passed as Cassandra stared at the man before her, studying his horrifically scarred face and hard gaze; and, in that seemingly long lapse of time, Cassandra felt as though the man had sorted through her entire life—raked his eyes over every thought her brain had ever produced.
Then, she reacted.
She lifted her gun and fired, the bullets burning through the barrel and colliding with the cloaked man; however, not a single shot harmed him. Cassandra's eyes bulged as she watched every bullet sink into his form and disappear, leaving no trace that he had ever been harmed—save for the old burns racing across his face and partly exposed torso.
Her trigger-finger stilled and her arms wobbled. The cloaked man never flinched, only observing her with a twinkle of curiosity shining in his white irises. Then, with the flick of a hand, her gun was ripped away from her hands and sent scattering across the street.
Cassandra gasped, her fingers stinging from the force and her brain numb from the speed of the action. She was disarmed, and this man never had to lay a finger on her. Slowly—fearfully—she faced her attacker.
"What are you?" she breathed.
He smirked. Then, drawing his right arm back, he swung his fist down at her face. Cassandra caught a brief, wicked glint from his hand before pain exploded through her left eye.
The world become dark; the rain stopped falling; and her heart stopped pounding.