How?

Eddie stares down at the bundle of sheets in his hands, squeezing them, trying to piece together when the warmth in his arms had disappeared into a few balled up fabrics. The chill in the air feels unnatural. All of the candles in the room have somehow died, or are faintly withering away, dimming the light to the point that he can barely see the small hallway ahead. He flexes his fingers around the mound again.

How?

Did she plan this from the beginning? Had this been her little scheme all along? Find protection under him just long enough for him to kill that cannibalistic bastard? Is this what she wanted?

Voice dried in his throat, he silently lays the sheets where they were and crawls off the bed. His boots thud against the cold floor, echoing through the room as it is the only sound besides the steady hum of the ventilation system. He snatches a candle from the desk with his sketchbook and ruffles through the mess to find a lighter. The flame burns his eyes when it is alive, but the sting is pleasant. It anchors him to reality.

The dullness coursing through him makes his actions feel surreal. Borderline imaginary and real, he walks the narrow tightrope and sways from side to side, quietly searching the room and hall for any signs of life. She likes to hide in small, dark, shadowy spaces, so he checks every corner. He bends to look under the tables, crouches to peer behind doorways, runs his hands along the floor and walls and sniffs the air for any scent of her.

Gone.

But the question is no longer just how, but why. Why would she leave when he saved her from that crazed man? Why would she leave when he was willing to keep her warm, fed, and protected? Isn't that what all women want and need out of a man, a place for comfort, warmth, food, and the utmost love? So why, why why why, would she sneak out and leave him while he was intoxicated in oblivion? He trusted her.

Eddie swallows thickly and tries to blink away the wetness building in his eyes. Something snaps – no, breaks – in his chest and he can't seem to find his breath. He gasps, but the air is too far away. Dull and aching, his heart slows to an irregular beat that refuses to pump blood through his veins. His fingers tremble. His toes are freezing. His vision is blurred by tears and soon he is dragging the back of his gloved hand over his eyes, sniffling, balling the other hand into a fist and eventually biting his glove to keep from crying out in frustration.

It is his own damn fault that she left. He allowed himself to feel comfortable while knowing that she was a frightened bird. She was afraid and dazed, never taught how to properly love someone. She was neglected the chance to completely come into her womanhood and that had left her wary of men. He had known this, but he rushed her anyway. Didn't she say that she was not ready for children? By god, she wasn't ready for anything.

He slams his fist against the wall and groans, arms shaking, bowing his head to press his forehead against the cold. She ran away because he was so stupid, stupid, stupid. Quick to anger yet slow to listen, he lured her like sheep to wolves. Perhaps she would have been more receptive if he hadn't forced himself upon her – if he had been more courteous of her concerns and forgotten his assumptions. Because he assumed her ideals and took it upon himself to further them without examination, he never fully recognized the many gaps in her thought process.

Expecting a girl to be a woman, ha! How foolish.

Drawing a long breath, he holds it until his lungs are screaming for release before sighing. Despite how the world seems to spin around him, he attempts to steady his feet and back away from the wall. One step, he is wobbly, but three steps later Eddie feels secure enough to shake his head and walk towards the door.

He'll just have to be patient and teach her how a proper woman is supposed to love and behave. If she does not know, then how can he hold it against her? He was going about their relationship the wrong way this entire time.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Eddie taps the workroom's door closed with his foot and then starts down the hall of the Vocational Block. Light shines through cracked windows here and there, but everything is mostly shrouded in darkness. Bittersweet thoughts tread his mind as he walks past the many rows of broken sewing machines and mannequins, scrunching his nose as he passes their rotting models.

Whores. All purposed to fall before his feet and be used as he determines. Their elegant dresses are stained by blood and other excrements to the point where the entire piece is soiled, never to be worn again. It is a pity to have such nice fabrics wasted on them, but there's nothing he can do now. Eddie runs a finger along the whore's waist as he passes her body.

Cold air breezes past him as he makes his way through the block, maneuvering through rooms to check for any signs of Waylon being there. It is reasonable that she could have gotten lost in his little labyrinth, and even more plausible that she couldn't have gotten too far away. Especially without his-

Eddie pats his waist and finds empty air around belt loops. He slides his hands down the length of his vest and pants, digging into every pocket and still finding nothing but space. They should have been on him, somewhere, safely kept away so no one can take it. He pats his body again but to no avail. And it is then that he remembers the events before he fell asleep. He came back into the workroom, saw Waylon, and then…then…

The turn of his heel is sharp enough to break his ankle, but he ignores the sting as he heads towards the only feasible place his darling could have gone. The corner of his lip curls into a snarl. That little minx, it amazes him how clever she is. In the face of mass turmoil and danger, Waylon always seem to concoct a plan of escape. Eddie doesn't give her all of the credit she deserves.

By the time he can see the awkwardly shoved open metal door leading to the male ward, he is simmering with excitement. The looming chase courses through his veins in adrenaline, swirling relentlessly and making him stumble back into that world of surrealism. He can practically taste it. Eyes locked on the shadows to come, he does not notice the small, golden chains until he hears a crunch under his shoe. He ignores it at first, but the crunching does not stop even after three strides. Now curious, he glances down at his feet and catches just the faintest glint.

It reflects off of the light behind him, shining softly among the darkness. Eddie lifts his right foot only to expose more chains underneath. They are scattered on the ground, torn in violent haste and tossed haphazardly. Gaze travelling along the floor, he sees the farthest remnant a foot or two away, resting against the wall.

"Darling," he whispers, feeling something heavy fall into the pit of his stomach, like lead. Eddie tries to wet his lips but his tongue is dry. It hurts, but the sight itself is not painful. It is the symbol that is upsetting; he stares at the image of Waylon rejecting their love – but how can he be upset? He scared her. The cannibal scared her. And that is what he's here to fix. That is why he searching for her now, to fix this.

Swiping aside the gold chains, Eddie crouches into the space that is now clear and begins to gather the small pieces into his palm, collecting them as he tries to calm his quivering heart. He had expected vicious anger to consume him, and for a second he could feel it bubbling, yet for some reason it has quelled to a small note of annoyance. The idea is simultaneously baffling and calming. He plucks the last chain from the floor and balls his fist tightly around them before funneling them into his back pocket.

Fear has a way of getting to people; he knows this, has felt it and learned to harness the terror of others for his advantage. It is a skill that has to be taught, since life is a constant cycle of overcoming fear. Of the unknown, of the future, of the past, of someone or something, the meaning behind fear does not matter as much as it being there. He has felt fear many times before, but most of the memories are hidden behind a veil of whirring and images that came with the engine. However, Eddie recollects that he learned the skill before he woke up. He had used it, instilled it in others. How? He does not remember, yet the fact remains that fear had, at some point, become an ally of his.

Maybe his darling was too fragile for it? He can only believe that, hang on to it because it is the safest route for him (and her). As he walks through the eerily quiet male ward his thoughts are fixed of Waylon and trying to piece together two problems: what is she afraid of and how to fix it. So consumed in his thoughts, Eddie does not notice the growing shadow behind him, creeping along the walls as he stares straight ahead. The quiet is misleading; the shadow follows him into a large room with chains hanging from the ceiling and drops of blood splattering on to the ground.

Somewhere in the distance, a sweet melody begins to play.

Eddie jolts from its suddenness and sharply turns around. He searches the area around him but nothing has changed. No shadows, no movements, no sounds except for the music coursing through the ward. He breathes in deeply and wraps his hand around the knife holstered on his hip, gripping it tightly. Cautiously, he walks back to the doorway of the room and peers around the corner.

"I don't want to set the world on fire…"

The hallway stretches farther than he thought, but the shadows hold no sign of life, so he gently steps away from the door and continues his search. A large light shines at the center of the room, beaming down on a bloody mattress suspended by chains and wooden columns. Scraggly beds sit in rows across each other, and opposite the highlighted mattress is a fortress of overturned beds and mattresses strapped together by belts and rope.

"I just want to start a flame in your heart…"

He approaches the bloody mattress as one would a wild animal, hand on his weapon and on soft, meticulous feet. Red glistens in the light, showcasing its freshness while a pungent odor of iron rises from the mattress. It spills from around the edges of the bed, pints of blood streaming like a river. Eddie steps into the puddle and pulls out his knife.

"In my heart I have but one desire, and that one is you… no other will do…"

Whoever's blood this is…Eddie bites his lower lip in the habit of his lover's, which only serves to make his stomach tighten. His little bird, off to fly on her own but she could have… Some whore could have found her and-

Something clatters to the ground behind him and then he hears the faintest sound of groaning - whimpering almost - coming from the same direction that the music is. He quickly retightens his grip on the knife and heads towards it on heavy feet. The music grows louder as he crosses the hall to a much larger room (lit by a combination of candles and light bulbs) but he focuses on the groaning.

"I've lost all ambition… for worldly acclaim…"

So sickeningly familiar.

"I just want to be the one you love…"

Rage begins to simmer but he has no will to fight it.

"And with your admission that you feel the same…"

Splotches of blood mark his path as he travels deeper into the room, growing in size the closer he gets to the source of music. The man sings louder; the groans become agonizing. Eddie's muscles flinch in anticipation. He grits his teeth.

"I'll have reached the goal I'm dreaming of…"

The blood stops at the back of the room, pooling underneath a grey, wooden door. An upside down cross dangles above it, and the walls are carved by scratch marks and broken fingernails. Eddie listens to the soft coo of the singer, and feels his blood rage to the acute groaning coming from behind the door. It sounds so familiar, and in this moment Eddie is reminded of his ally. Fear…it has a way of getting to people.

"Believe me…"

"Eddie!" Waylon screams when he shoves open the door, knife raised to attack but he almost drops it when their eyes meet. Chained down to a rotating, circular block of wood, Waylon stares at him with wide eyes and a frightened expression, sprawled and trying to jerk her wrists out from under the chains but the pressure only bruises. Her dress sways with the cycle of the wood, and Eddie can make out stripes of blood and dirt coating her dress and body. He is frozen by the scene before him, a playfully sinister wheel binding his darling by heavy chains as blood drips down the side of her forehead. His body tries to still him, but he has no control over the surge of energy moving him forward. All he knows is that he needs to save her, now.

Eddie moves with speed unknown, grabbing the edge of the wheel as best as he can and yanking it counter-clockwise to stop its motion. He adjusts it so that Waylon is positioned upright, and then comes to stand in front of her.

He wipes away the tears from her cheeks with a shaky hand. "Darling, darling what happened to you?" Eddie stumbles to grab one of the chains and lift it off of her wrist. It doesn't budge. "Who did this to you? Who chained you up like this?"

Waylon shakes her head violently. "I-I don't know! I don't k-know him-"

"Where did he find you?"

"E-Eddie I-"

"I need you to answer me!" He shouts and stabs the far corner of the wheel, above Waylon's head but she flinches from the impact. Another whimper escapes her lips, and the noise makes him regret ever yelling. Eddie inhales shakily and tries to steady his breathing, but it is so goddamn hard when his darling is covered in blood and crying.

This time when he speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "Waylon, what happened to you?"

"I was… I-I was running and – and then he just came out of n-nowhere," she lifts her chin and sucks in breath through her teeth only to lose it in a hiccup. "Oh god E-Eddie he just… I don't even – I don't know! I t-tried to fight him off b-but then – I couldn't see anything anymore," Waylon sobs. "Everything was s-so dark."

Gently, Eddie curls his fingers through her hair to lift it away from her face, feeling around for the source of the blood leaking down her forehead, but he can't find it. Even after sifting through her hair, pulling strands apart just to make sure, the cut is nonexistent. Eddie drops his attention to the blood on her dress. It is still wet, but no matter where he looks he can't pinpoint the cut. Eddie reaches above her head and pulls out his knife. "Waylon," he taps her cheek to regain her attention, "are you hurt?"

Waylon's eyes are glossy. "Hurt?"

"Did he hurt you, darling? Where is this blood coming from?"

"…Not mine," she says, and the wave of relief that washes over him is intense, but he has to be sure.

"He didn't cut you? You're not bleeding? Darling, are you saying that this blood isn't yours?" Eddie yanks on one of the chains by her feet. "Are you sure?"

She hiccups and coughs, but nods her head. "Not mine… E-Eddie, I don't know what ha-happened."

"I'll get you out of here."

"I-I'm so s-sorry."

He stops pulling on the chain and looks up at her - his goddess, with puffy, red eyes and tears streaming down her face. Her lips tremble and the blood on her forehead trickles down to her cheek. Eddie grabs her hand. "You don't have to apologize, my lov-"

"I was so scared, Eddie. I shouldn't h-have left you, I… Eddie," she tries but isn't able to hold back her tears any longer. They ravage through her like a flood, all of the anguish and horror, and all Eddie can do is watch. Watch as his love heaves heavy tears and trembles even under the weight of the chains. He feels something in his chest clench and has to turn away before it could grow. Squeezing the hand in his before letting go, Eddie goes back to the chain around her foot and starts to loosen it.

He tugs on it until he feels a slack, and then rotates around the knot until the chain drops with a loud thud.

He is halfway through the second chain when the music suddenly stops and a cold laughter replaces it. Biting and fierce, it pierces through the air and drills a hole into Eddie's ear, travelling through his mind until it hits something that has him turning on his heel and readying his knife.

In the doorway is a man, stitched together and slowly clapping.

"Bravo! What a wonderful performance that was," he claps, "I must say that I am very impressed. It's not every day that a man gets to witness a romantic tragedy in this dump; a shame really. If the government is going to spend our tax dollars on mundane expenditures then this should surely be on the list."

The man strides in confidence, head held high on his shoulders and arms graciously swaying at his side despite holding a pair of shears the length of his tibia. Eddie watches him like a hawk. The variant stops at a desk and flips open some sort of book. He holds the shears under his arm and licks his finger to turn each page. The crinkle of paper scratches at Eddie's ears and he clenches his jaw, adjusting the knife to re-position his guard. The man closes his book and walks forward, but stops at the brink where shadow ends and light penetrates. Although Eddie can't see his eyes, he knows that they are staring through him.

"Who could have known that we would fall to this? A knife outstretched to slit the throat of another man, tell me, where is the camaraderie in that?"

Eddie scoffs. "You did this."

"I did this? Are you seriously going to lay the blame solely on me?" He pauses for an answer, but silence reigns between them. "Well then, I see how it is. Your little 'bride' runs away from home and you blame the one who finds her. Okay, I guess I can see your point, with the spinning, chainy wheel and all, but seriously you should be thanking me right now."

"How dare you-"

"Ah, ah, ah, I'm the one talking here." The man pauses, and then howls in fake laughter. "Isn't that one classic? A little déjà vu for two am I right, or am I right?" he snickers, and then straightens up as if nothing happened. He taps his bone shears against the floor. "As I was saying before being rudely interrupted, you should be thanking me because I saved you a) a hell of a lot of trouble trying to find this little dime and b) the chance to reunite with your proclaimed lover."

Eddie swipes his knife through the air. "You did no such thing."

"But I did, I did. You see, your damsel in distress is rather slippery. Crawling through vents and hiding in lockers or under tables; but unlike you, I've had experienced with this type. And to tell you the truth, it is not worth the effort; but anywho, if it wasn't for me your 'bride' would have been long gone by now, wouldn't you have you little dog," he coos and waves past Eddie's shoulder to Waylon. He stops when Eddie steps in front of her.

Sighing, the man continues. "I suppose appreciation was a bit too much of a stretch for you… but I at least expected happiness. To see me."

Eddie narrows his eyes at the man. "And why is that?"

Holding his gaze, the man allows the pregnant silence to serenade the room until it is drenched in hostility; then, and only then, does he step into the light. "Because I've missed you, buddy."