Author's Note: Hello again, dear readers, and welcome to Chapter 4! Now, I will say, this Chapter was originally longer; however, with its word count just passing 10k words, I decided to split its contents in half. I believe it shall be easier this way - for all of us. Also, I have recently bought the game for myself to play!...and I'm about to face the Keeper. I don't know whether I should be excited or worried. Surely he's better than Laura...right? :/
On that note, a huge thank you to every reviewer, follower, and favorite! Your support keeps me motivated, and I am grateful for every email I receive for this story. :)
Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own The Evil Within whatsoever (unfortunately). However, any OCs or scenes not seen in the game are my creations.
Chapter IV:
Disoriented
"'Reality' is the only word in the English language that should always be used in quotes." -Unknown
Some time had passed—a decent break in conversation after Cassandra had spoken her piece of the tale—when a pressing question dawned on Sebastian. He asked, "What happened after the ambulance crashed?" He glanced at Cassandra. "You were awake sooner than I was."
Cassandra shrugged, consequently raising Sebastian's right arm up and down with the movement. "Not much to tell, really. I woke up with you still knocked out beside me and a fire flickering in the windshield. Everyone else was gone," she said, brow furrowed, as if her own words baffled her. "I was still dazed when I hauled you out, so there are some holes in my memory. I doubt anything significant occurred, though."
Sebastian gave a single nod, decidedly dodging around the subject after Cassandra's last statement. Although nothing significant happened to Cassandra during his unconsciousness, he could not truthfully declare the same. Of course, he had no solid proof that his experience in the irrational hospital and his exchange with the nurse residing there had been a real event; that is, every second he had undergone in that place could have simply been a disturbing dream. Cassandra had supposedly undergone similar trials after her encounter with the cloaked man—an ominous, tangible nightmare. Still, despite his reasoning, he could not erase the alternate world from his mind; he could not admit that the sights and conversations and pain had been a figment of his imagination.
I'll be waiting. The nurse had told him that. She obviously expected him to return to the hospital, whether sooner or later. The place had to be real, and there had to be a route back.
That is, if he was desperate enough to revisit after his first encounter.
The debating thought faded once Sebastian noticed a shift in the scenery. The trees became sparse, parting abruptly to the left and right and revealing the yawning mouth of a cave. The bright glow of Sebastian's and Cassandra's lanterns struck the marred rock and attempted to pierce the shadows inhabiting the tunnel—the latter service, however, met with little success.
Cassandra exhaled audibly. "I knew Krimson City had a decent thicket along its southern vicinity, but I certainly don't remember it being a mountainous region," she remarked, gazing up at the tower of stone above the cavern's entrance.
"That's because it's not," Sebastian countered, joining her observation. He was not eager to journey into the fissure; and, if he had allowed paranoia to persuade his mind, he might have feared that the cave would collapse as soon as he and Cassandra passed the threshold (though, considering the operation of this twisted world, Sebastian would not be surprised if the notion proved true). But, he and Cassandra had few options—especially when a distant voice funneled through the tunnel, bouncing off the rocks and echoing in his ears.
"Voices, voices, voices…"
Sebastian and Cassandra stared at each other. Let's go.
They entered the dank cave, maneuvering around fallen slabs of rock and loose pebbles. The mumbles grew louder, encouraging Sebastian and Cassandra to press forward into the impeding darkness. Eventually, their lanterns illuminated a pale figure shuffling back and forth across the tunnel's width. Sebastian did not recognize the stranger until they drew closer and he caught a glimpse of the opposing male's scrunched features. He was the young man accompanying the doctor—Leslie was what they called him, right?
Sebastian was suddenly anxious to reach Leslie, his pace quickening despite his aching leg; however, a faint glint in the air brought him to a jarring halt, his hand gripping Cassandra's shoulder to prevent her from travelling further as well.
As if to confirm Sebastian's suspicions, Leslie relayed frantically, "Hurts, hurts…"
Sebastian's eyes followed the thin line that stretched across their path, the left end attached to a rigged device. A trip wire.
"Whoa…" Sebastian murmured, slowly lifting his gaze to stare at Leslie. "Were you warning us about this?"
"Hurts, hurts!" Leslie emphasized, pressing the heels of his palms to his temples.
Cassandra shifted. "He's right. That is a powerful explosive. The thing would blow you in half," she breathed. She glanced at Sebastian, incredulity creasing her features. "I'm surprised he didn't spring it."
"Kid's smart," he agreed. Then, addressing Leslie again, he spoke, "You're Leslie, right? I'm a police officer, and so is my partner. Maybe we should help you."
Leslie lowered his hands, wringing them furiously. He never met Sebastian's or Cassandra's gaze. "Should help you," he repeated vaguely, shifting nervously.
Sebastian mumbled a curse. "How are we going to get you to a hospital?"
Cassandra huffed. "I doubt there is a hospital nearby. He's just going to have to tag along until we can get him somewhere safe."
"Safe, safe…" Leslie parroted. Then, panic blossoming, he said with increasing volume, "Hospital. Hospital. Hospital. Hospital. Hospital!"
Leslie waddled into the darkness, his ghostly figure drifting away.
Cassandra whispered her own expletive. "Leslie, wait!" Her beckoning was fruitless, though, for no response—in words or in reappearance—answered her. She shook her head. "What was that all about?"
"No idea," Sebastian replied.
She sighed. "Well, let's go after him then. Can't let him wander alone out here."
They both slipped cautiously under the trip wire, keeping their heads bowed and, judging by Cassandra's distracted gaze directed over Sebastian's shoulder, the redheaded detective remained wary of the explosive attached to the wall. They passed unharmed, and they wasted no time whatsoever in placing distance between them and the trap.
The cave came to a quick end after they departed the trip wire, and the foreboding forest greeted them as soon as they stepped over the rocky threshold. Both Sebastian and Cassandra scanned the expansive area before them; however, surprisingly, Leslie was nowhere to be found.
"So, not only is he smart, he's also fast," Cassandra noted dryly.
Sebastian shook his head indignantly. "He couldn't have gotten far," he retorted, ascending the mild slope and following the faint path worn into the tall grass. Cassandra's crunching footsteps accompanied his own as she trailed behind him.
A poorly constructed fence rose from the ground on their left, following the makeshift path faithfully. On the right sat a broken, rotting carriage housing no signs that it had been disturbed lately; however, the motionless body strewn across the grass a few feet in front of it spoke otherwise. Sebastian may have been tempted to approach the body, but the mass of crows that picked at its flesh informed Sebastian that the individual was long deceased and probably held no clues—none that the crows had not already torn apart.
A squat, stand-alone building appearing in the near distance, a hanging, swaying lamp illuminating its covered porch. Sebastian sidled toward the wooden structure, noting the dark blood messily decorating its door; however, there was an off-setting factor about the gruesome splatter, and Sebastian could have sworn that the crimson substance formed a lighthouse, shafts of light emitting from its peak.
"Beacon Mental Hospital," Cassandra suddenly muttered, earning Sebastian's attention as he twisted his torso to glance back at her. She continued, explaining, "Don't you recognize it? I remember seeing that exact symbol in the courtyard—the statue in the center. But what significance would that hold here?"
Sebastian swiveled forward again. "It's where this madness started, isn't it?" he asked, proceeding toward the door and reaching for the handle.
"Even so, I wouldn't consider it a coincidence—or safe, for that matter."
Sebastian did not argue her point (silently, he agreed); but he did not halt his progress, shoving open the door and garnering a lonely squeal from the hinges. Immediately, the single room beyond distorted, the air seemingly solidifying into a familiar figure: the nurse from the abnormal hospital. She strode forward, entering the blindingly bright mirror at the other end of the room and disappearing from view.
Crack!
Sebastian was startled from his reverie when the door slammed shut, barring him inside the small space.
"Sebastian!" Cassandra called from the outside, the handle rattling but refusing to budge. "Sebastian?"
"I'm all right," he answered her concerned shouts. A part of his mind urged him to move toward the door and reopen it; however, another part—a purely curious part—was transfixed to the mirror as it shattered, soft music filling the air and a bright beam shining through the ugly cracks. His feet sought the mirror, and he felt himself drawing closer to the broken glass.
"I can't open the door. Sebastian?"
He clearly remembered hearing Cassandra, but his brain refused to obey. First, he had to investigate. He saw the nurse depart the room through this strange portal; surely he could mimic the action.
"Sebastian!"
He woke up on an uncomfortable mattress, the space he was occupying dreary and dark.
"What the…?" he mumbled, searching the area wildly. This was his room—his cell at the hospital. "Back here again? By a mirror? I must be losing it."
He had returned to the hospital through a mirror in an abandoned building; and, worse, he had left Cassandra stranded while he himself had no sure way of escaping from this secondary world.
Sebastian ran a hand down his face, scrubbing at the scruff along his jaw. He had wanted to revisit the hospital, if only to solidify the reality of the place; now, it seemed that his wish was granted—though, he would not necessarily label himself as happy.
Slipping off the worn mattress, Sebastian grudgingly scanned the familiar room, the scene unaltered from his last visit. He spared a glance at the desk beside him; the newspapers were gone, replaced with blank sheets of paper held in place by a pen. He may have considered the minor change odd, but after the recent events he had experienced, he shrugged at the detail and shifted his attention to the open door. His feet involuntarily guided him into the hall, his right leg interrupting his smooth gait. Even in this strange, seemingly imaginary place, his injuries still affected him—they still existed. Perhaps that meant this was not a dream; that he was awake and, in a sense, sane.
Sebastian huffed to himself. If that's true, then that means the other place was a bad dream—and I don't particularly believe that.
The lobby became his next destination. With a brief examination, Sebastian realized that the entirety of the waiting room remained unchanged as well, every piece occupying its respective space. Truly, the only difference Sebastian could detect was the stack of newspapers occupying their designated rack. Upon closer inspection, Sebastian realized that the printed articles were past news, perhaps a week younger than the previous papers he had skimmed here: 'SERIAL KILLER ON THE LOOSE. Victims Had Surgery Performed On Them.' What connection did an old report about a supposed serial killer have with this place? Were these newspapers even relevant in this twisted world?
The grandfather clock chimed, urging Sebastian to turn his back to the newspaper's stand; and, as soon as his eyes landed on the billboard directly across from him, his feet were moving forward in eager, faltering strides. Once he reached the board, he snatched the flyer hanging subtly from the cork.
MISSING: Leslie Withers
Psychiatric patient Leslie Withers disappeared from a locked room at Beacon Mental Hospital.
A 'missing' poster? For the poor kid from Beacon Mental Hospital? Had he been lost for quite some time, only now reappearing in this strange place? But how, and why? He was in the ambulance with everyone else, departing the very place he had supposedly escaped from! The flyer made no sense.
Hinges groaned and, from the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw the nurse emerge from a door behind the reception desk. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked nonchalantly as she approached the counter. She gestured toward a clipboard. "Would you care to sign in?"
Sebastian walked toward the desk, crumpling Leslie's 'missing person' poster and shoving it into his pants' pocket—he would keep his questions about the newspapers and the billboard for a later date. First, he must speak to the nurse. Despite their previous, unsettling meeting, Sebastian knew she was his only guidance in this hospital—though, whether her answers would be straightforward or evasive was a different consideration.
He leaned against the counter, staring at the nurse incredulously before shifting his gaze toward the iron-bar door. He could clearly see the chair (it had changed, Sebastian noticed, from an innocent antique chair to a sadistic wheelchair) sitting in the center of its circle of light, the IV bags standing behind it. Amazingly, the area had become even more ominous since his initial visit, its dark promises slipping through the cold bars and encroaching the lobby.
Sebastian tore his gaze away, a slow exhale leaving his lips. When had he held his breath? "Depends. Are you going to make me sit in that contraption again?" he asked, eyeing the nurse suspiciously. The aforementioned woman never flinched under his hard stare; however, her eyes never met his, even while answering his question.
"That is for you to decide," she informed, her features passive. Sebastian could not determine whether she was disappointed or indifferent to his skepticism.
He took a moment to consider his options, glancing behind him briefly as if he expected to be ambushed. The lobby was unnervingly peaceful—not even the artificial leaves of the plastic plant twitched in disturbance.
Finally, he voiced his next query: "So where's the exit?"
"First, you must sign in," she insisted.
Sebastian released a frustrated sigh before sliding the clipboard toward him. He grabbed a nearby pen and jotted down his name, not caring whether the penmanship was neat or formal.
"Thank you," the nurse said, tearing the sheet from the clipboard; and, as soon as the page was removed and stashed away, the iron door swung open, the metal clanging lightly on the adjacent wall in a jarring halt. Simultaneously, a crisp crack was heard, followed by a shrill ring that made Sebastian cringe. Twisting his torso, he stared in the opposite direction, down the hall and at the intricately designed mirror at the end. A sliver of light poured through a fissure in the smoky glass, bathing the hall in its pure glow.
Sebastian faced the nurse, suddenly curious. He had entered the hospital through a mirror; therefore, he figured he would be able to depart in the same fashion. However, there was a third question plaguing his thoughts.
"What does the chair do?" he asked, jerking a nod toward the aforementioned contraption.
The nurse tilted her head. "I'm afraid that I cannot answer that," she answered. A hint of a frown dragged the corners of her lips downward.
Of course you can't. Sebastian pressed his palm against the counter's cool top and pushed away from the reception desk. He stood in the center of the lobby, debating—actually debating—upon which direction he should choose. An intense desire to know what the chair and its twisted contraptions did to him—what effect they had on him—tugged him toward the barred passage; however, his clear memories of the pain he had endured initially competed with his desire for knowledge. He was hesitant, and he was wary.
Besides: why would he willingly ignore his escape route simply for curiosity?
Because he was a detective; because he wanted answers and results.
Sebastian would berate himself later—berate himself for striding through the iron-bar gate, passing the short passage with its filthy washbasin, and approaching the wheelchair with its glinting needles.
He circled the contraption, noting the gears and wires and tubes. He examined the needles attached to the wrist bands, poised to inject the forearms of its victims; and he observed—with a disgusted mask plastered on his features—the headpiece with its own dozens of needles. He had sat here—he had been punctured by these same needles; yet, he bore no marks of the shots. It was as if he imagined his former experience in the chair.
Sebastian shook his head. That was a thought he would rather not consider. He did not want this reality to be further muddled by doubt and fiction.
The distinct click of heels garnered his attention. Striding into the room with a casual, cool air, the nurse brushed past him and approached the control panel adjacent to the wheelchair. She spun around once she reached her position, her features mildly contorted with curiosity and compliance. Wordlessly, she seemed to be asking: do you wish to try again?
"Why can't you tell me what this thing does?" Sebastian pressed, gesturing toward the wheelchair and watching the nurse cautiously, hoping to witness some indication in the woman's stature or demeanor. She may not speak openly, but her reactions hinted at her thoughts. Unfortunately, she remained utterly passive and silent, still waiting patiently for Sebastian to finalize his decision. She was unshakeable when she was pressed about secrets.
Sebastian shook his head, retreating from the room. "I'm not going back in—not until I have my questions answered," he stated boldly, a sliver of irritation entering his tone. With a final glance at the unresponsive nurse, he spun around and returned to the lobby, his eyes locked on the mirror at the end of the corridor.
He had barely passed the reception desk when a soft rustle emitted from his right. His head snapped abruptly in the aforementioned direction, alarm visible on his features when his gaze landed on the nurse standing attentively behind the counter. She never met his eyes as she said in curt farewell, "Do see us again."
The courtesy was never repaid as Sebastian hastened his stride and left the lobby, his footsteps echoing loudly down the corridor as he approached the shining mirror. He squinted as he focused on the strip of light that broke through the glass, the action painful but mesmerizing all at once. He remembered passing the second set of doors before his world was washed in white; and, after a handful of seconds, the pure color dissolved into a rough, shadowy world, interrupted only by a dull, golden radiance.
Sebastian brought a hand to his forehead, a groan leaving his lips as reality reestablished itself in his groggy mind. His brain registered the horizontal position of his body, and he slowly raised his torso from the wooden floorboards. A quick scan of his surroundings revealed that he was still inhabiting the strange, outcast building, the enchanting mirror that once hung on its far wall missing. He huffed—even if he changed his mind, the hospital was, once again, beyond his reach.
Regaining his footing, Sebastian wandered over to the door, hoping that the entryway was unlocked. He grasped the handle and pulled it down—there was a soft click, and the door whined on its hinges as Sebastian opened the portal. He inhaled the fresh air, relieved to be free of his temporary confines; however, he noticed a significant detail that was absent from the scene before him—a detail that suddenly sharpened his senses.
Cassandra was nowhere to be seen.
He swore under his breath, fully departing the building and searching the nearby area for the redheaded detective. "Manders?" he beckoned testily, waiting for a reply that failed to arrive. He glanced up and down the worn path, finding no definite sign to Cassandra's whereabouts—all was peaceful, except for the occasional caw from the crows. He exhaled, exasperated as he muttered to himself, "Where did you go?"
He chose to proceed forward down the path, deciding that the redheaded detective would at least push onward and not backtrack. Towering rock formations and fallen boulders surrounded him on the left and right, interrupted only by the path he tread and the few, gnarled trees that rose from patches of rich earth and overgrown grass. The roots—almost purposely curved to catch the feet of trespassers—broke through the ground, combining with the chunks of rock to create a hazardous journey; and Sebastian's wounded calf did not appreciate the awkward motions Sebastian had to adopt to traverse the terrain. Sebastian paused occasionally to regain his balance and allow the burning agony gripping his nerves to ease into a dull throb once more. Perhaps Cassandra's assistance had done more wonders than he had originally inferred.
Eventually, the path widened, revealing another outpost wedged between the stone wall on the left and the dilapidated wagon on the right. The porch—similar to the last building—was illuminated with a hanging lantern; however, it also revealed a man pounding on the closed door furiously. The distracted male was ragged and stained with blood, his skin impaled with bits of wood.
Another one like Connelly? Sebastian wondered, brow furrowed in thought. If this man was also infected, then Sebastian needed to slip by him; or, if he must, dispose the other male. Unfortunately, the latter seemed to be Sebastian's only option, for the building and the damaged wagon barricaded the path; and Sebastian was unable to scale the sheer stone—not with his injury.
Sebastian flicked off his lantern and reached for his handgun—but, when his hand brushed the handle of a different weapon, he reconsidered his tactic. Fingers curling around a smooth hilt, Sebastian drew his hunting knife and held it level with his line of sight. He had forgotten about the weapon, too stunned by the sudden change of events to even recall its presence at his hip.
Lifting his gaze, Sebastian studied the man still beating the wooden door to no avail. Perhaps Sebastian could do this furtively; and, if the attempt failed him, then he could still summon his gun to finish the job.
He crept forward, deliberately ignoring his aching calf and keeping his focus locked on the infected man. As Sebastian entered the perimeter of the porch's light, he could detect the more gruesome details that composed his target. Irregular bumps, cavernous cysts, a network of veins, and streaks of blood—this man was no different from Connelly. What was this disease? Or was it even classified as an ailment? Sebastian was no scientist or doctor; therefore, he had no way of knowing.
The opportunity blossomed abruptly; and, in a swift movement, Sebastian found himself sinking his sharp blade into the man's skull, puncturing the temple with a sickening crunch. The opposing male became limp, a heavy weight in Sebastian's arms. Sebastian lowered the body to the ground, glancing away as he yanked his hunting knife free of its kill. It was done—the hunting knife had performed well.
Sebastian stepped over the deceased man, opening the door the aforementioned male had been attempting to tear down. The inside of the structure consisted of little more than a short, bending corridor that led to an open window. Sebastian had no option but to follow the designated path, climbing over the windowsill and continuing down the dirt trail he had formerly been trekking; however, he barely took two steps before he caught a flash of movement in the darkness. He focused on the position he had seen the blur, fighting to peer through the shadows of the night. He quickly found the figure, the humanoid shape disappearing behind the bulky rocks.
Sebastian quickened his gait, his objective now attached to the fleeing human being. Of course, he could be chasing another infected person; but, despite the chance, Sebastian knew this was his only definite lead. He has been pointlessly roaming this mountainous copse ever since his return from the hospital; he might derive some benefit if he followed the guidance of another.
He rounded the bend, briefly blinded by the orange flames that greeted him. Lifting a hand to shield his eyes, he gazed at the roaring bonfire, distantly wondering who had been maintaining the fire. Had it been the person he had seen seconds earlier? If so, where had he gone?
A low, hollow groan earned his immediate attention, and his head snapped in the direction of the noise. An arching iron gate stood a few yards away, its right door swinging loosely. Sebastian approached the gate, pressing his forearm against the cold metal and pushing the aforementioned door open. It groaned again as it swung open, and Sebastian gave it a mild glare as he passed.
The dirt he had been treading morphed into cobblestone, flecked with dried leaves, straws of hay, and broken bottles. A second, grand fire burned brightly up ahead, illuminating the collapsed ruins of a once large home. A section of the remaining walls was splattered heavily with blood; and, hobbling away from the gory scene, was an aged man, barefooted, grey-haired, and wearing baggy clothing. His skin was pallid, and his entire body seemed to shake uncontrollably.
Hesitating for a brief moment, Sebastian finally stepped forward, shifting his weight to his left foot and keeping his stance defensive. He did not completely trust this newcomer, especially with the bloody display behind him. "Hey, are you from around here?" Sebastian began, garnering the elder's attention only for a second before he stared at his feet again. "Look, I don't know where—"
"Can't go on…" the elder breathed. He stopped, lifted his head, and basked in a ray of white light. Sebastian caught a glimpse of a lighthouse in the distance before he was blinded by its far-stretching beams. He shrunk away from the shaft of radiance, cringing when his ears were suddenly filled with a high-pitched ring.
'Did you not hear it? That sound—that ringing.' Cassandra had described a ringing sound—a sound that she had heard twice, nearly thrice if the ambulance could be considered a third experience. Was this the same noise that now filled his head with its terrible clamor?
Sebastian did not have much time to consider the question before a strangled cry from the elder snagged his attention. He stared in silent horror as a long, thin string of crimson spiraled around the opposing man's legs, wrapping his body rapidly in its liquid webs. It collected around his head, spinning and warping before exploding in a shower of red droplets.
"My God…" Sebastian said to himself, staring at the elder in utter shock. His body was inflicted with barbed wire, the tiny barbs digging into his skin and stretching it grotesquely across his bones and muscles.
Then, a yard away from him, another man arose, his body more mutilated, with various stitches and nails marring his uncovered torso while his skull was separated into three fragments, revealing clumps of barbed wire between the pieces.
Sebastian spat curses, ripping his handgun from its holster.
The second man—the man seemingly stuffed with barbed wire, considering the state of his head—snarled and charged down the small flight of stairs, his glowing eyes set on Sebastian. Sebastian leveled his handgun and fired, the first bullet striking the barbed man squarely on the nose, forcing him to fall backward in a pained yowl. Sebastian raised his weapon higher, sending his second bullet toward the elder who had yet to reach his compatriot's position. The bullet sank into his knee, damaging the joint beyond repair. The elder tumbled to the side without the support of his leg, his upper body landing in the flames of the bonfire. He thrashed and wailed, but Sebastian did not linger on his writhing form for long, unable to witness the suffering. Thankfully, the elder's cries died away quickly.
A glare from the corner of his eyes made him swivel away from the carnage, his eyes focusing on the lighthouse sitting amongst a nest of rocky crags in the distance. He would not deny the slight tug he felt toward the shining beacon; however, he resisted and stared at the earth instead.
I feel like I'm being pulled just looking at it. He spared a quick glance toward the two motionless males. Were they drawn to it as well? Is that what changed them? The lighthouse? The ringing?
He trudged forward, shoving his handgun into its holster. If he was feeling a slight pull, then the others were undoubtedly effected as well. Connelly had already been altered, and Cassandra had been complaining about the piercing ring, experiencing the sound on more than one occasion.
Therefore, the faster he found them, the better the chances—that is, if there was anything that could be done to reverse the curse. Connelly never regained his senses; would the others be stronger under such influences?
Despite his lame leg, Sebastian quickened his pace down the cobblestone path.
Sebastian could easily describe his experience before reaching the abandoned town with one word: Hell. He had fought a handful of the infected beings, spending his bullets until the last one left the barrel of his handgun and entered the skull of its victim for a killing blow; however, he had been pursued by a dozen more, chased until he reached a locked gate. The following, desperate attempt at escape had been a blur, beginning with a mad dash toward the mindless horde and ending in the murky waters of a wide river.
As he had said: Hell.
He stumbled forward, his leg searing with pain from his unrelenting escape. He did not pay much heed to the details that composed the town, merely watching for enemies and searching for a suitable building to take shelter in. He settled for the first, two-story dwelling on his left, trudging toward the partially open double doors. A sliver of light seeping through the seams cast a thin ray across the ground, as if beckoning Sebastian to enter—and Sebastian did not hesitate.
He tugged open one of the doors and entered, staggering toward the dresser that sat two yards from the entrance. He paused for a moment, sucking in a slow breath before fumbling through the contents of the drawers—which, unfortunately, consisted of little other than sparse clothing. Sebastian decided to collect the single, white shirt from the final drawer, grasping it firmly in his hand as he approached the opposite wall. He leaned his back against the rough concrete, carefully sliding down the wall into a sitting position.
Of course, he had no option to clean the laceration—not even a bottle of alcohol was available; therefore, he could only shred the shirt he had acquired and wrap it tightly around his calf. The treatment was hardly grand or overly efficient; but, as long as it halted the oozing trail of blood and provided some pressure to the area, then Sebastian would be satisfied with his makeshift bandages.
The clean shirt became bloodied tatters as Sebastian cut strips from the white fabric and bound them around his wound. Pain shot up his leg, spreading the anguish throughout his body as he proceeded with his task; however, he did not become tenderer, merely using the distress as a motivation to ensure the durability of the binding. Utilizing the final piece of cloth, Sebastian tied the knot and reclined against the wall, his clenched jaw loosening and his hand scrubbing at the stubble on his chin.
For how long Sebastian sat there, sucking in deep breaths and letting the pain seep away from his injured leg, he could not guess; however, whenever he heard the clatter from upstairs, followed by a muffled voice, he urged himself to reinstate himself into action. He rose from the floor and crept up the staircase, one hand brushing against the wall and the other gripping the handle of his gun. The upper level of the home consisted of a barren corridor with open doorways leading to various rooms—mostly bedrooms, if the chambers' setup was proof enough to the theory.
Sebastian was cautious, examining each new space he encountered; but, it was not until he reached the end of the hallway that he found any trace of suspicion. A closed door—positioned on the far left—garnered Sebastian's attention, and he sidled toward the barricaded portal with light footsteps. Once within reach, Sebastian grasped the doorknob and twisted his wrist, opening the door and pushing the wooden slab inward. Sebastian ignored the creak that emitted from the door when his eyes landed upon the white coat of another male.
Sebastian raised his gun, shifting his weight to his stronger leg. "Who's there?" he demanded, his index finger brushing the trigger in dreaded anticipation.
"No, don't shoot!" the man exclaimed, lifting his arms with his palms facing outward: surrender. Then, with meticulously slow movements, the man placed a hand on his chest and assured Sebastian, saying, "I'm not one of them. I'm a doctor—Marcelo Jimenez."
Sebastian's arms fell as his muscles released their tension; he recognized that voice and accent, along with the unmistakable laboratory coat. "You were in the ambulance before it crashed, right?" he queried, an eyebrow arched faintly.
"Yes," Marcelo acknowledged, nodding, "we're lucky to be alive."
You don't need to tell me that. Surviving an ambush in a nightmarish Beacon Mental Hospital and fleeing a collapsing city were remarkable feats alone; now, Sebastian was able to add living after falling off a precipice and combating a hoard of deranged, inflicted men and women. Sebastian had much more than luck when these ordeals took place.
The thought served as a reminder. Sebastian eyed the doctor warily. "Have you seen anyone else pass by here? Met them, even?" Sebastian pressed. He stepped forward, three long strides covering the majority of the distance between himself and Marcelo.
Marcelo nodded fervently. "Yes! My patient, Leslie," he answered eagerly. "I saw him running up ahead, but…"
"But?"
Marcelo made a summoning gesture. "Come this way—quietly, mind you."
Marcelo pushed aside the fluttering curtain a foot away from him, revealing a rickety balcony. Sebastian hesitated for a moment before following after the doctor. He had yet to holster his weapon, the gun gleaming wickedly in the torchlight as it remained firmly clasped in his palm.
Once Sebastian had adopted a stance next to Marcelo, the doctor whispered hoarsely, "Have a look for yourself." He shoved a pair of binoculars into Sebastian's hands. He continued: "Those…things…chased me all the way into the village."
Sebastian lifted the binoculars and stared down at the landscape before them. The seemingly peaceful town became more chaotic further down the main road, more infected beings roaming the settlement with awkward gaits. Sebastian did not fail to notice the deadly weapons a handful of the infected hefted in their gory hands, nor the gruesome, mutilated design their bodies had undertaken. The sight provoked a thought—or, rather, multiple thoughts: were these people former residents of this town? Were they altered because of the lighthouse and its accompanying ring? How and why had he and Marcelo resisted the impact of the deafening noise? Would they eventually meet the same, unfortunate demise? Or were they immune?
No—no, the theory did not complete the puzzle adequately. Connelly had deteriorated rapidly, and Cassandra had been struggling with the strange noise ever since Connelly's cruiser's radio first introduce the sound; even Sebastian had felt a strong pull toward the lighthouse when he had laid eyes upon it. Therefore, immunity had no part in recent events; rather, it was like a gradual acceleration—a slow ascension. Sebastian had no desire to see the results—in him, or anyone else who had been on that ambulance.
Since the doctor had not continued his speech, Sebastian decided to add to his original statement. "Those things chased me down, too. They're all over the place, as if everyone here fell victim to…well, to whatever this epidemic is," Sebastian said, lowering the binoculars and passing them back to the doctor.
Marcelo accepted the aforementioned equipment. Then, pointing to some unknown object in the distance, he explained, "Leslie went through that gate." Sebastian followed the doctor's index finger and stared at the intimidating gate that separated the town from whatever landmark that lay beyond, the thick lumber that composed the barricade sturdy.
Then, in a hesitant tone, Marcelo decided to add, "And, perhaps I should mention another who has fled to the other side before the gate closed."
These words garnered Sebastian's immediate interest, and he faced the doctor fully, his features twisted in a displeased outlook. "Who?" he demanded.
"A woman—red hair and sporting a badge, if my eyes did not deceive me."
Cassandra. Sebastian's mouth formed a harsh line, irritation directed toward the doctor and concern concentrated on the redheaded detective and the Beacon Hospital patient. Sebastian needed to reach the other side of the gate.
He refocused on Marcelo. "Couldn't have told me this earlier?" he questioned, voice oddly level—and Marcelo did not miss the precarious calmness, providing quick explanation to his motives.
"I apologize," he said, "but she slipped my mind. I have my own to look after, as you already know."
Sebastian could not rid himself of Marcelo's evasive manner and sharp retorts; as if the doctor regarded Sebastian as a fool. Granted, Marcelo did seem to withhold knowledge beyond Sebastian, the mere mention of the name 'Ruvik' supporting Sebastian's assumption; however, the fact did not necessarily mean that Sebastian wished to be treated as an imbecile, nor kept in the dark by compiling secrets.
Lifting his handgun and frowning at the lack of bullets (he would have to scour the town for ammunition, it would seem), Sebastian told Marcelo, "Well, if we want to reach either of them, then we're going to have to cooperate." He glanced at the pathway leading to the closed gate. "There are too many to shoot our way through."
Marcelo curled his hands around the railing and placed his weight upon it—a position Sebastian figured unwise, considering the poor state of the balcony. "One us could try to lure them away while the other gets the gate open," he suggested. He turned his head toward Sebastian. "You're the one with the gun; therefore, you should be able to manage the latter."
Sebastian was hardly thrilled about the shaky plan, but he shrugged anyway and agreed, remarking, "If you say so." Then, before the doctor could depart, Sebastian added, "Hey, doc. Your patient, Leslie—was he missing? Before this whole ordeal?"
Marcelo opened his mouth, closed it; then tried again, saying unsurely, "No, he's been at the hospital, under my exclusive care—with the exception of some…outside professionals." He paused. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." Sebastian waved off the query. "Just a stupid question."
Marcelo nodded and disappeared into the house, slipping back into Sebastian's sight below the balcony. The doctor jogged forward, flaming torch in hand, and shouted at the infected: "Over here! Here!" Growls erupted from the streets, and multiple figures stumbled toward the torch and the unfortunate man holding the light source. "That's right, this way!"
The infected charged, the torch was abandoned, and the doctor's stark white coat easily marked Marcelo's progress as he dashed into the darkness, chased by haunting figures.
Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. "The old guy's gonna get himself killed," he mumbled. Still, he should not waste the doctor's efforts of distraction; therefore, he retraced his steps, listening to the distant growls of the inhuman beings as he proceeded toward the closed gate.
And, all the while, he inwardly questioned Marcelo Jimenez suspicious persona. Sebastian had been a detective for quite some time—he knew a guilty man when he saw one. Marcelo would have some explaining to do after they escaped this ghost town.
Leyshla Gisel: Well, now that I own the game, I can say that watching the videos was more leisurely than facing the horrors myself (still fun, though; when I'm not panicking or running out of ammunition). As for the upgrade chair, it will come back (as seen above) and it will play a bigger role in the future (though I may not reveal all of the details quite yet). Don't worry, all will be revealed in time ;) I hope you enjoyed Chapter 4!
EnigmaUniverse: I'm glad the hospital scene turned out well! Not all has been revealed about the place, but the pieces will begin to come together soon. And I agree: I do not believe anyone would be willing to sit in a chair and be jabbed with needles. Getting normal shots at the doctor's office is quite enough. :/
So Cassandra has been fitting into the story well? Good! It's never easy trying to incorporate a new character into an established storyline, because the introduced character will always make an impact that could potentially alter the entire plot (or at least a decent portion, depending on said character's role). Also, it's an added bonus that Sebastian has remained in character so far (and hopefully in the above Chapter, too). He can be tricky at times.
Also, despite my lateness of the message, I hope your holidays and New Year went well, too :) And the flu has been spreading here, too; actually, the rest of my family have just finished recovering. I hope you don't catch it!