It had been so long since the music had stopped.
The gramophone no longer played the music he had yearned for.
He had picked up the letter, and listened to the sweet music that floated to his (what he had called) cell.
Insanity had gripped his heart, but he had heard it, and it had warmed his body and filled him with hope.
And then he escaped, in penance of Sal's actions.
His best friend had sacrificed himself after seeing so many wonders; and all he had had to remember him by was a small table, a poster, and the memory of his letters.
And his Happy Buddy, Mr Smiley. How could he forget Mr Smiley? Granted, the poster was creepy, but he had sent him games (at the expense of his organs) and tried to keep him sane and happy.
But Charlotte... she had been alive, and she had meant so much to him. The poster she had given to him, the cake, the song... He could never forget the feeling of true happiness she had provided.
Her death had struck him, and his last piece of sanity he had left was shredded.
His determination to find her washed away as he stood, transfixed, at the blood that splattered the walls, layering them with a sheen of red.
He needed to find her… but how?
And then he knew.
The door.
She had gone through the door to take her life.
He would die with her.
There was nothing left for him… the virus had taken over the world, and the few contacts he had were all dead.
Death was the only way out now.
The drawer in the counter was open, and a knife gleamed from the depths.
He slipped his hand in, and grasped the handle.
Withdrawing the weapon, he stared at the singular cake standing proud on the display in the window.
He took this too, slowly savouring the taste of what would be his last meal.
Nobody else would need it.
With a small smear of icing on the corner of his mouth, he then opened the back door.
And there she was.
Laying in a pool of blood.
The floor was stained with Charlotte's blood, and a long trail lead out from underneath her delicate body.
She had long, flowing hair… blonde waves curling down her back.
Her eyes were closed, but he could imagine they had been bright and full of life.
Slender limbs were sprawled around her, and it was all he could do to stop himself from screaming aloud into the empty air.
He could not bear this any longer.
He could not see Charlotte like this any longer.
He could not live in the shadow of insanity.
The knife glimmered in the dim light shimmering from a dusty lightbulb suspended from the ceiling as he held it up.
His hands shook as he glanced back at Charlotte.
He wanted her to be the last thing he saw.
And, almost with a stroke of hope, the blade plunged into his body, and he fell to the floor.
The pain that struck him burnt into his soul, but he knew that it was what he needed to do to find her.
He crawled to Charlotte, and took her small hand in his own strong hand.
He saw her face.
He saw his blood mingling with hers.
And then there was nothing.
"You did this… for me?" a wispy voice reached out to his ears from the empty, black air.
He knew it was Charlotte.
He did it.
He did it, and now she was here.
"Charlotte… I was going insane. I had to do something, and I had waited for your letters. I escaped for you, I died for you I did everything for you." His voice came out shaky, but he could hear his own joy.
For she was with him, thus, he was with her.
"I played music for you… Did you hear it?"
"I did, I heard it Charlotte! I heard it, and I thought I was going insane but I heard it." He could hear footsteps in the seemingly infinite void, but they were not his own.
"Good… I knew you would." He could almost hear her smile, beautiful on her face.
"I didn't think you would talk to me all the time you did. I waited and waited and waited for your letters but-"
"I would always send those letters. Shit, you were only person I could send a letter to." He heard a small laugh.
It was driving him crazy, talking to this darkness.
"You don't even know me."
And then she came from the oblivion.
It was her.
Charlotte.
The one he had waited for was here.
She walked forward, towards him, and when she had reached him, her hand stretched out to meet his.
His mind flashed back to when he had crawled his way to her before his death, and took her hand in his.
But now her hand was not cold and dead.
He felt the energy flow through each delicate finger, and saw the face he had yearned for in his isolated time.
Bright, electric blue eyes lit up the blackened background, and no longer did he care what was to come, all he cared about was staying with Charlotte.
"I know more about you than you think." Her fingers weaved between his, and they both smiled.
"…Mark…"