Angels of Death

by Ashe Corinthos

"Please... kill me." —Six floors, each with a new set of dangers. A girl with a hidden past, and a killer turned into a sacrifice. An unlikely pair only able to survive together. Death surrounds them— can they escape with their lives? (A novelization of Angels of Death. Warnings inside.)

14. Her Sorrowful Lullaby

"Wait, Zack. Don't go that way!"

Oh God... Oh God... Think... Think!

It's too late. I can't do anything. I have to stop him, he can't see what's ahead, he can't he can't he can't—

"Hey, Ray! What're you doin'?!"

Her eyes darken. Her bangs fall in front of her face, and she can feel every bit of energy in her body sap away.

It's too late.

All she can do now... is follow after, and watch everything crumble.

.x.X.x.

"This place totally looks like the inside of a house... What's goin' on?"

Zack's curious eyes flash across every inch of the floor he can swallow. After the hellish circumstances of the past five floors, this seems... too goddamned normal. One footstep out of the elevator gave him a weird vibe, just by how everything looks so oddly pristine— like it was all fake somehow, or like he'd walked into a real-life dollhouse. It gives him the creeps.

Still, compared to the rest, this feels even more foreboding than the last few. Each floor is modelled after the master's preferences as far as he knows; who the hell asked for a regular apartment or something in here? Not to mention, though he knew minor details about the other masters, whoever was supposed to be up here is a total blank for him. He's on high alert for any funny business.

What kind of fucked up person lives in here, anyway?

He'd stepped into what seems to be a darkened living room, and he can barely follow what's where around him. There's some moonlight pouring into the room from a window, but it feels artificial somehow. He tries a nearby lamp, but the lights refuse to turn on.

Great. Just dandy. Just what I need, another fucking Eddie on my hands.

Noting that Ray's gone quiet somewhere behind him, he glances back at her. Her expression immediately tells him something is off, and he places a hand on his hip, trying not to wince at the pain in his gut.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks. "You don't look so hot."

She doesn't answer. Her blue eyes are even less lively than before somehow, if that's even possible at this point. It worries him how ghostly pale she's become— could it be cause of her injuries or something?

"You worn out...?"

Still nothing, and he resigns himself to her creepy silence for now. He can focus more on her odd behavior later, once they get a feel for whoever lives in this place. It does bother at him, nagging at the back of his mind, and it pisses him off.

What's gotten into her lately? She's been actin' so strange.

Ever since B2, with that priest she ran into, Ray hasn't been the same. Something changed that he doesn't know about. Not to mention her spouting that he's her God or whatever.

He wants part of whatever drugs she's taking, that's for sure.

Zack moves further into the room, and notices bunches of colorful arrangements along the floor toward the farthest half. As he steps over them to examine them, reaching down to pluck at the head of it, he realizes they're flowers; fake flowers at that, yet they smell just like fully bloomed blossoms.

What's the deal with these flowers? Not to mention they're not even real... Fakes, but smell just like the real thing.

Getting out of the mass of plastic flowers, he glances toward the other side of the room. A cough sits there with something on it taking up most the space, and the big window in the back reveals a full moon.

A moon? Hey... isn't this still the basement? He puzzles over it a moment, before recognizing the electronic glow of the edges and moon's shape. Ah, it's a fake on that glows. What the hell is up with this place?

Fake flowers, fake moon, and this dollhouse-like floor... what kind of twisted nutjob is behind this?

Something squishes under his feet. There's a room-wide rug across the wooden floor, soft under his shoes— but this part feels sticky, and sounds wrong when he walks over it.

Then his eyes filter down, and he realizes that it's because this entire section is covered in blood— following along with his registry of the object lying on the couch.

It's lying in a puddle of its own blood; or rather, they are. A man and woman, facing the room with sewn shut eyes. He's only just realizing there's a nasty smell mixing with the false artificial scent of the flowers. The man has short brown hair, and a gunshot wound to his head and over his chest, where the blonde woman is covered in multiple stab wounds.

But the part that disturbs him the most and causes him to take a slow step back, is realizing that they're sewn to one another. Their arms are tied together by a thick thread, down their torsos and legs. Their limbs have been removed, stuffed, and then replaced in specific order, to make them appear to be cuddling on the couch, and their mouths are pinned into permanently affixed smiles. He starts to reach out, to feel if it's actually real.

It's... all sewed together. Is this some kinda doll...?

"Zack."

He turns to see Ray walking toward him slowly, approaching from the shadows around them.

"Stop it, Zack," she tells him, an unreadable expression on her face. "Anything could happen here, so don't go around just blindly touching stuff!"

He blinks at her. He's never heard her directly command him like that, or with such force either. "...Huh?"

Just for that, he wants to know why— and it spurs his rebellious side, just a bit. He faces away from her, looking back at the two people joined together on the couch. Without responding, he edges closer to them, and she pipes in again a bit more urgently.

"Zack. Stop it, Zack."

He feels her grip onto his sleeve, and he looks back at her to see that dark, stark face again, like she's just been through a ghostly experience or something. He pulls his arm away from her.

Here we go again, with the weird behavior. What the hell is up with her?

"...You've been actin' all weird lately," he points out. "What're you losin' your shit over over this kinda stuff now for?"

Just to counter her request, he reaches out as if to prove that there's nothing to be concerned about— and his fingers dip into the arm of the woman's figure. It's cold and squishes under his movement, far too soft and pliable for a stuffed doll yet hard underneath. His disturbance of the nasty creation causes a gross smell to waft up to his nose, and he coughs, disgusted and a little horrified as he realizes what it really is.

He's seen nasty, psychotic shit before now, but this is one of his top ten creepiest.

"Gah?!" he outbursts, covering his nose. "What the hell. It's a... stiff... Fuckin' gross."

Ray, who had stood back in fear, suddenly rushes back to his side, grabbing his arm again in tight fingers.

"Zack! Hey!" All of a sudden, she's right in his face. This isn't like the time he'd been half-dazed on B2, where the tension between them could've been cut by his knife and the vibes felt unfamiliar and different. She forces herself up to him this time, urgent and pleading, even as he tears himself away from her and backs up, meeting his every step with her own.

"Please, oh please...! I beg of you, hurry up and kill me!"

"...Hey!" he says, unable to take this sudden change. He's become used to her constant reminders for him to kill her, but at least she seemed patient, then. Now it's like she's in some kinda panic, blue eyes wide with terror and desperation. "Where the hell did that come from?!"

"Please... hurry...!" she continues loudly, and he shoves her back, rising over her intimidation and gesturing with his scythe.

"What're you blabbin' about?! Why the hell would I kill you here?! We're not even outside yet- plus that's not the look on your face I wanna see when I do it!" he says, trying to work past his own sudden doubts and confusion.

Why is she so hellbent all of a sudden like this?

"...But..."

As she's about to plead her case again, her gaze falls to the floor. Her words pause, and she takes a step to the side. He follows to the object that's caught her eye, and she takes in a sharp breath.

"This book..." she whispers, eyes wide as dinner plates, noting the thick black-covered book lying partially in the bloody mess. "I remember... it's a Bible."

Without any warning, Ray grabs at her head, hands fisting into the long blonde strands as if to stop something internally. Zack is at a loss as he watches her begin to scream.

"Please Zack!" The girl turns on him. Her eyes have gone deep sapphire, an even darker, almost opaque black now.

"Hurry and kill me! Before you know too much!"

Know too much? What the hell is she talking about now?

His throat has closed with shock, and he watches her grow weaker, her hands falling limp to her sides. Ray swallows visibly in front of him, her words dropping to a whisper.

"...Please... As I am now... Kill me. Please...!"

She starts to back away. He's so bewildered by her actions that he almost wants to stop her, to shake some sense into her, but there's something in her eyes that brings the tiniest sliver of fear into his own chest.

"...If you're my God!" she finishes— before her eyes roll back.

Ray's knees hit the carpet, but he finally regains his ability to function and drops down in time to catch her before she faceplants into the murky, black blood stains. Her form is lifeless in his arms, and he can feel how fast he's freaking out internally. Even he can tell this isn't like her. Something's wrong.

"Hey...!" He moves her quickly, pushing her back to look at her face. She's so pale, like a porcelain doll under his bandaged, rough hands. "Stop screwin' around and get ahold of yerself!"

Ray doesn't respond, and he realizes that she's fully lost consciousness. His head swirls with unnecessary thoughts, and he stares at her for a moment, trying to puzzle out a reason as to why she'd act like that.

Her face is ghost white. No— damn, it's blue.

Ray...?

He doesn't waste a moment. Zack scoops her up into his arms, before glancing at the couch.

I'll put her over there. I just have to get that nasty thing off that's taking up space first.

After some maneuvering, he has the crumpled, decaying bodies tossed to one side off the couch, and Ray lying still there instead, arms by her sides and her bag half hanging unceremoniously off the edge. The seat is still bloody, but there's little he can do about that. It's better than nothing, anyways.

He leans over her, watching her quiet breathing for a few moments.

What the hell...? Why'd she go and collapse on me all of a sudden? Maybe she's exhausted? Don't blame her...

She's gone through as much hell as he has. Yeah, he's sporting a fantastic gash to the stomach and a bullet hole in his arm, but he knows that preacher probably put her through the ringer mentally. Maybe she's just breaking under the stress of everything? She is just a kid, after all.

And she's been actin' so weird and panicky... Damn it. Damn it! His fist hits the couch, near her head but not close enough to harm her, and he glares down at her. His inner self is battling another side, and it's starting to really piss him off about now.

She just now gets a despair-filled look on her face... ugh.

He remembers how much he wanted to see it. To see that same expression she'd made when they first met, when he trampled that stupid bird and she ran from him. A game of cat and mouse, of predator and prey. Hell, he's been waiting for it ever since they joined up, just so he could have the satisfaction of it coming from her when he kills her. It was on the same level as... well, as something else he'd made her do, but she sucked at both of them til now.

But, now... It's not right. Seeing how scared and fragile she was at that time wasn't what he wanted.

His fingers unball from a fist to toy with a stray lock of her blonde hair, twisting the strands between his fingertips. He can't feel it well thanks to the gauze around his hands, but he imagines it's as soft as it looks.

...It's no fun with her makin' that face at me now...

Her words keep resounding in his head, like a song on loop. Her calling him 'God' as easily as if it can't be disputed.

...'My God', huh? So she's talkin' 'bout me...

...Aah, what's goin' on here?

He really had taken it as a joke at first, but the way she'd cried it out to him earlier seemed far too serious and real to be just the effects of some kind of hallucination. Like she firmly, truly believes it somehow. But that can't be.

...The whole thing sickens me.

The rustle of papers makes him snap from his reverie. He looks down to see her purse has accidentally opened up, and some papers have slipped to the floor.

Huh? What's this? Did it fall outta Ray's bag...?

Out of curiosity he picks them up, but after a moment of staring blankly at the scribbles and wiggly lines, he groans in frustration.

Aahh, I can't read it...!

Though he can't make out a lick of whatever the hell's typed out on them, he does recognize the pictures left in black and white.

There are photos on 'em. Which means... this one is mine, he flips between the two sheafs, and the other is Ray's?

He tries again to look at the writing and such, and something else pops out at him from the midst of the gibberish. The numbers, which he does know (to an extent), matching up with his birthday and age.

...These numbers do make sense, though. But still... Damn, we're makin' annoying faces. he flips his own photo off, disgusted. If he didn't know better, he wouldn't recognize himself— but he knows Ray's face anywhere. It bothers him that someone had access to his image, but at this point it doesn't really matter.

Thud.

Zack pauses, lowering the papers to scan the surroundings. He knows that wasn't part of his imagination; he heard something unnatural just now.

...What's that sound?

The sound persists, steady like footfalls, and he frowns, growing tense.

...Come to think of it, I never did find out where that bastard Danny ran off to.

That sound... It's comin' from where I came in.

It could be Danny, the master of the floor, or just a weightlifting mouse for all he knows, but it sounds human-made. He grabs hold of his scythe, pulling him to his full height and preparing to strike the first thing that moves. With Ray out of commission, he's got to make sure nothing can touch her.

I'm gonna check it out.

Approaching the door they'd came through, he hears the noise much louder now, a rhythmic tap against the wood. He prepares his scythe, and then yanks open the door, stepping forward to face whoever might be trying to toy with them.

...Only to be faced with the empty front hall.

What the...?

Something hits his toe. Zack looks down to see a small remote car reversing and then moving forward, bumping into him as if that's all it's capable of. His face contorts in confusion.

Huh? Hey, so this toy is what was makin' the sound?

With frustration, he whips out his scythe and slashes apart the toy. It rips into mechanical pieces that fly off in every direction, the biggest remnant falling lifelessly in front of him.

"Dammit," he swears, glaring down at it. "Misleading me with stupid shit when I'm all on edge..."

Without warning, something slams into Zack from behind, a driving force that makes him stumble out of the doorway and nearly trip over the massacred toy. He barely has time to catch himself before the door shuts and locks behind him, and someone laughs on the other side.

"It worked! I'm rid of him!"

The chuckling, smug tones... Zack's eyes go wide as he recognizes the voice, and hatred begins to build up in his chest, along with anger.

...That fucker Danny!

"Now, now. Don't you know breaking stuff isn't the answer to everything?" the voice says, and with a roar, Zack slams his shoulder into the door in retaliation. It shudders under his weight, but proves much stronger than he anticipates. He doesn't give up, throwing himself into it once more. The image of Ray's still, weak and prone body on the other side moves him to act. He can't leave her be with that freak.

"Tsk tsk, Zack. Don't hit the door so hard. Tired Ray will wake from her nap!"

"...Danny, you bastard!" Zack yells out, pounding against the door. Hell, he hopes how loud he's being does wake her up. Maybe she'd be able to hide from the creepy doctor.

"Too bad!" Danny giggles on the other side, sounding far too pleased with himself. "It won't budge even with your strength! It looks like the doors on this floor are quite sturdy indeed!"

"Hey! What is this all about?! Open the door, Danny!" the boy growls out, and Danny tsks again.

"Yes, Zack... I could open it. But now's not the time," he replies nonchalantly, sounding a little further away. "...Isn't that right, Rachel? Oh, I do hope she opens her peepers soon."

Blind fury wells within the noiret. Just the thought of Danny being locked in that room with Ray makes his blood boil.

"Hey... if you touch a hair on her head, you're dead!" he angrily exclaims.

"No need for the attitude, Zack," clucks the doctor with amusement, "I won't harm her. But now I have a full deck! Rachel's safety... and how to find the way out of this building!"

The doctor's statement leaves Zack stunned for a moment. The way out? Could he seriously mean it?

"Wha-?"

Danny's voice suddenly grows sharper, targeting the boy directly with every syllable.

"Now use that worthless brain of yours to comprehend what I'm about to say, you illiterate fool... I mean to give you some clues and a helping hand!" he declares. "You've stood complacently by her side, oblivious. Worse of all, she refers to you as her God! And you aren't even opposed to the idea."

"Fucker..." Zack hisses, already irritated. He doesn't care if Danny's trying to 'help' or whatever the hell. Right now, he really just wants to cave in his skull and rip him in half. How could he even begin to understand how he feels, anyway, that sick bastard. "Quit ramblin' and talk like normal so I can understand!"

The other voice falls silent, then finally responds.

"...Now go and learn about her. This floor is the very essence of her... I'll let you decide then what's truly best for her... Depending on your choice, I'll get you out of here... Sans Rachel, that is."

Danny's dicking around is starting to royally get on his nerves. He slams his palm flat against the door. "What kinda half-assed explanation is that?!"

I don't have time to waste on this guy!

"Hey! Wake up, Ray!" Zack yells loud, hoping to catch the girl's attention, but Danny just laughs again.

"She slumbers, hiding such lovely jewels..." he comments in a sickeningly adoring voice, as if speaking of a pet. "...Until you know her, she shall remain this way."

His footsteps fade away, and Zack stares at the wood barrier for a moment before hitting it with his fist again, ignoring the pain that threads through his arm.

"...Hey! Cut the bullshit! Shiiiiit!"

No matter how he fights against the door, it doesn't move. Finally he stands back, breathing heavily in exertion. He can't stop thinking of Ray's actions, and Danny's little 'helpful' speech.

...'Know' her? She must be hiding a hell of a secret, then. Somethin' about God and some other stuff...

Nothing adds up, and it all just proves to get on his nerves further. The fact of the matter is that she's in Danny's clutches right now, and he could be doing who knows what to her. Even if he tries to figure it all out right here, there's no answers for him to draw that'll get him back to her side any faster.

...Aahhh! There's no use in thinkin' about it! Maybe somethin' will turn up if I tear this whole place apart.

Vaguely he remembers another door in that room that he hadn't tried to open, and he knows that's how Danny must've gotten in. If he can locate it, he could try to rip his way through there if he has to.

Anyway, I'll have to get there by goin' around from here.

Already fantasizing about what he plans to do to Danny once he can get his hands on him, Zack takes a step past the debris of the toy— and something clicks under his feet.

...Huh?

His quick reflexes register something before even he realizes, and he leaps off to one side as an object whizzes by his head, narrowly missing him and sticking into the door behind him, getting trapped in the wood.

What was that just now?!

He cautiously peers at it, noting the sharp arrow that would've impaled him. He doesn't know what kind of fucked up person would set up something like this except for Cathy, but at least he's ready to face it.

Glancing along the now-eerily quiet hall, he knows that can't be the only one. I gotta dodge 'em, or I'm shish kebab!

He moves forward a step, and another arrow lets loose from a set of holes in the ceiling above. This time he's ready for it, and he sidesteps it easily, watching it fly back into the door. By the time he's done, that thing'll be swiss cheese.

Advancing down the walkway is a challenge, as it seems every inch he moves forward, he gets shot at; but finally he hits the landing where they'd gotten off the elevator, and the arrows stop coming. Breathing in relief, he stares at the fifteen or so arrow lodged in the back of the hall, frowning to himself.

What is this place!? What's going on here?! This place has 'cheap, instant death' written all over it! Awww, shit... what a pain in the ass!

Now putting some of Ray's caution to use, he moves up the stairwell to the left and enters the 'second floor'. The stairs creak with his every move, making him paranoid.

At the top, he finds something lying on the ground, and he curiously reaches for it. It's a little heavy but not by much for someone like him.

Oh? What do we have here...? Looks like a... white board. There's some sort of writing on it...

...Sure wish I could read, he grouses internally. Guess I'll pick it up for the hell of it.

Looking around, he observes the empty hall. Another stairwell across from him leads down, but the floor up here has two doorways that he can actually see. Of course they're not important right now, so he vies for the next stairs. The sooner he can get to Ray, the better.

The floor squeaks like crazy around here...

Sprinting down the stairs, scythe ready if something comes after him. When he reaches the bottom, he notes that he's now in what looks like a kitchen and dining room combo. There's sparkling clean appliances and a table for six, with a pizza box on it. A short blood trail of footprints leads away from a large, dark dried puddle of blood in the center of the floor.

The first thing to draw his interest is the pizza, of course. He circles the table, noting the familiar logo on the box. Hell, it's been years since he had a decent slice of pizza. His stomach growls with the thought, reminding him that it's probably been days since he last ate anything.

Cautiously lifting the lid, he stares in surprise at the perfect pizza sitting inside. Granted it looks a little dried out, but any pizza is better than no pizza. He was honestly expecting a bomb under the guise of food, though, so the sight is pretty shocking.

...What's a pizza doin' here? Can I eat it?

Before he thinks twice about it, he withdraws a slice of the pizza, already thinking about the taste and texture of it in his mouth. God, he hasn't had anything nice to eat outside of makeshift cereal in what feels like forever.

Raising it, he takes a bite out of the slice. It's not the best, and it's slightly warm, like it's still recent somehow.

...Until it starts getting hotter, and hotter. His tongue is on fire. His entire face is suddenly engulfed in invisible flames, and he coughs, dropping the slice to the ground.

"H-Hooooot! Mother-fuuuuuuuuuuuckin' hot fuck! On a fuckin' plate!"

In anger and retaliation, he uses his scythe and slashes down against the table, cutting through it and the pizza, then kicking it across the room in his rage. When he finally feels like he's gotten vengeance, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the nasty burning taste lingering in his mouth.

What sort of sick, twisted trap is this shit!?

Something catches his eye, however. Something that doesn't belong where the table had sat a moment ago— a steel trap door nestled in the fabric of the rug.

...Huh? A door... Is there a basement or somethin'?

He grabs at the thin handle on the top and yanks, but the door refuses to budge under his attempts. He kicks at it, hits it with his fists, even tries to use his scythe to pry it open but nothing.

I can push, pull, hit or kick it all I want, but it won't get me anywhere!

Then he realizes something that instantly makes him feel a bit stupid— a small keyhole.

...It's locked? I gotta search for a key?! What a pain in the ass!

Kicking it one last time for good measure, Zack heads for the door on the other side, trying the handle. Locked— of course. It's a fucking running gag with everyone on every floor, isn't it?

But, this door is the one that matches up with the other, right? So Danny and Ray must be on the other side.

He tries to force it open, but the door is unyielding once more. Hard as a rock... Are the doors here made of metal or somethin'?

I better keep looking around. There's another room plus that little door on the ground that might get me in there faster.

Entering the next room over, he realizes it's a regular, stereotypical bathroom. It's rather clean and well-kept, with even a washer and stuff. Though when he tries a sink, no water runs out.

Weird... not even a drop.

He wanders the room, searching for clues albeit he doesn't expect much. There's a bathtub filled with some murky water that he'd rather not stick his fingers in. A mirror shows his ugly reflection, and he has to resist the urge to crack it into small pieces.

Nothing. There's fucking nothing in this goddamned room. What now?

Just out of reflex, he glances down at the toilet by the door— and does a double take when he stares down into the bowl.

No way. Somethin's inside.

Ah, shit... do I really gotta...?

He's done some pretty gross things before, but sticking his hand in places shit belongs isn't exactly his idea of a fun time. Still, the thing at the bottom could be important, and he's no coward.

Thrusting his hand into the cold water, he cringes and curses under his breath as he fishes for the object. When he finally locates it, he's lightning fast yanking it out of the depths.

"Groooooooosssssss!"

Shaking his hand to rid himself of the feeling of the water, he gazes upon the 'treasure' he'd hunted down... A key.

You're kidding me. A key? What kinda dipshit would put a key somewhere like this?!

He shudders a little, disgusted beyond belief and not wanting to glance at his wet hand.

My hands... I gotta wash 'em.

Knowing the sinks in here don't work and the ones in the kitchen probably don't either, he heads for the bathtub. It's not exactly what he prefers, but it'll do.

It's dirty, but better than washin' 'em in the shitter, I guess.

He places his hands in the water. it feels grimy, but much less nausea-giving than the john. Until—

"—Huh?!"

Zack barely yanks himself away from the edge of the tub before the creatures inside it chomp up at him, a few of them latching onto his hands quickly before he shakes them off violently.

"Owwww!"

Whatever it was disappears back into the depths before he can get a good look, and he frowns at his hands, seeing the teeth marks beginning to form little droplets through his bandages.

What the hell was it?!

In anger he moves forward. The tub is old fashioned, and has a chain-pull drain. He grabs hold and throws it out of the water, watching the contents swirl away to reveal the bottom.

...What's this? Fiiiishhhh?! C'mon now! For tiny fish, they sure got some razor-sharp teeth! And that attitude! Looks like these little fishies don't know their place in the foodchain... Do I look like food?!

"Now look at my hands," he mumbles aloud, wiping them off on his jacket. "They're drippin' with blood..."

Well, I guess blood's an improvement over that other shit.

Screw this room, I'm outta here.

...I wonder if that key works on that trap door out there?

He leaves the room without a second look, making a beeline for the door he'd battered earlier. Kneeling down, he frowns at the key in his hand before sticking it into the lock.

I'd rather not touch this key, but looks like I got no other options.

The door swings downward, and he feels a sense of pride fill his chest. It opened!

This leads downstairs, huh...?

He's wary, but there's not much else he can do. He starts down, entering the darkness.

His footsteps fill the empty silence. The further down the stairs go, the less comfortable he feels. When he reaches bottom, he's faced with a short narrow hall, where the walls are painted a deep blue and lined in iron. There's a cell and another hall, and he narrows his eyes.

...Here we go again with another weird place. Now it's a basement; everything's so damn complex... What the hell can I find out about her here anyway?!

Crossing in front of the cell, something howls within. He pauses, and crinkles his nose at the acrid scent that emanates from within.

Man, it reeks of animals... Something's in there.

Moving on, he goes down the hall. It seems to open up into a bigger room with another entrance. There's bloodstains scattered every which where.

The hell...?

Something clangs open behind Zack. He instantly turns on his heel, scythe gripped tight in his hand, and watches as three big creatures enter the room along with him.

Dogs— muscular, angry, hungry mongrels with beady eyes, taking slow pawprints toward him. He sneers at them, not too intimidated, although they don't look like the friendly type. They're probably the cause of the bloody messes in the room.

...Whoa, shit! Those are some monster mutts! What the hell's up with this place?!

Swinging his scythe in his hand, he clicks his tongue and glares at the dogs, meeting ferocious eyes with fire to match.

"Are you hungry? You're all dirty and covered in drool," he taunts. "Back off! I'll beat your asses if you bite me!"

They bark and roar at him, spreading out around him, and he tenses up. He's not in his best condition, but fuck if he'll die down here to a bunch of mangy canines.

He swipes at one of them, and they rear back with a low howl.

"Don't like taking a beating, eh? You're good as dead, you filthy mongrels!"

What ensues next is a mass of bloodshed. Zack doesn't hold back, and his scythe tears out over them. They bark and snap at him, saliva flying and hunger pushing them to attack him mercilessly. They're deadset on him being their lunch, but he's not ready to lie down to something this stupid, even as they score bites on his arms and legs.

His scythe cuts and chops down on them, leaving them bleeding and whining, and they circles around, barring him from the next entrance as if protecting it. He growls under his breath, becoming annoyed fast.

"Hey, get outta the way, you dumb mutts," he glares. "Ready for another round, eh?"

"...Bring it!"

They lunge for him, but he's done messing around. He impales one of them on his scythe and tosses it aside. Another roars and attacks him head on, biting into his lower calf, and he swirls the scythe up and cuts it in two. His sharp blade makes quick, easy work of the final, who cowers just a little at being the last of its brothers.

Surrounded by the bleeding, mangled corpses of the canines, he wipes off his blade and runs the back of his hand over his forehead, clearing his throat. He's exhausted and hellishly sore now, his body screaming out at being used so roughly.

...Aww man. Stupid pooches wastin' my time... Plus those bites hurt like a bitch. Who uses a dog, anyway? The guy on this floor definitely has a screw loose.

Something comes to mind as he's catching his breath. It sets his teeth on edge, and it bothers him that it echoes so wrong in his thoughts.

'This floor is the very essence of Ray', or so he said...

What in the hell is any of this supposed to tell me about Ray...?

How could anything on this floor tell him anything about her? What exactly is the connection to this floor, and her?

Zack walks past the dismembered dogs to the entryway. It's blocked off by some kind of table, and he rolls his eyes.

This thing's in the way.

Whipping his scythe around, he crashes the tip down upon the wood, splintering it into pieces as easily as if shredding paper. He grins to himself, self-satisfied, before walking inside, following the now-clean wood flooring to the room that awaits.

The moment he steps inside, it all hits him at once, and he's stuck staring at the decor and objects in the room, unable to wrap his head around it.

It looks like a child's playroom. The walls are a deep azure with red-painted stars and moons. What looks like hundreds of stuffed animals litter the room all over, amongst other varying toys. At the center of the room is a chair with a small red box on it, surrounded by vases of flowers.

It's a mountain of tacky junk, he thinks first.

However, upon closer inspection, some of the animals and toys seem to be oozing some kinda red substance. It creeps him out, so he steers clear of them, wandering toward the box on the chair with curiosity. The scent of flowers is powerful in this particular spot, but the flowers look about as real as the ones above.

He reaches down to open the lid, but it doesn't move. He glares at it.

So this is locked too, huh...? How do I open it?

He punches and yanks at the lid, but it's as immovable as the doors he'd try to pry open. Frustrated, he rubs his face.

Dammit— I'm all out of ideas.

Something else tears at him, and he sighs through his fingers. His other hand, tightly wrapped around his blade handle, grows even more vise-like with anger at himself.

...Even if I try to learn more about her, my head can't keep up! The box won't open, and this room makes no freakin' sense! Man, this place is more fucked up than my room!

It wouldn't hurt to clean up every now and then!

Those words...

Someone else said those words. No, he knows who; Ray. When she'd explored his room, she'd said that it'd be good to 'tidy up'.

...Without her here, those words feel so empty. Like a stranger'd spoken them.

...Damn, he finally resigns himself, irritated beyond belief. Guess there's no choice but to look somewhere else. I gotta get back to that room and do something about that eyeball freak before Ray wakes up.

He turns away, not wanting to look at the room any longer. It bugs him how weird it is inside— probably the domain of some creepy psychopath even more twisted than he himself.

Walking back through, he feels something click underneath his feet. He freezes in place, eyes cast every which way in a panic.

I stepped on something again! Shit— Another trap?!

Without warning, the floor under his feet gives way. He yelps in surprise as he drops, flailing out toward the edge and narrowingly catching it with his hand. His other hand, dangling with the scythe, weighs him down easily.

"For fuck's sake?!" He cries out angrily, his fingertips taut against the wood. "What kinda house is this?! The guy in charge of this floor needs his head examined!"

The floor under his fingers begins to creak with his weight. A despairing feeling washes over him, and he grits his teeth hard.

Crap! One wrong move and the wood will give way!

If I fall... Then I'd probably be a goner...

Ahh... Dammit.

His fingers are painful holding onto the wood, and he knows he can't hang forever. Not to mention, any shifting on his part will lead to his inevitable drop to death.

"—You would do well to be more wary, Zack."

He stiffens at the voice that addresses him. Peeking over the wood, he sees the well-polished boots of a man coming up toward him, followed by a familiar purple robe.

"Although, I expected something like this would happen..." Gray murmurs.

The sight of the priest instantly sets Zack on edge. Even in his predicament, seeing him isn't any kind of relief. No, he just feels even more annoyed by his presence.

"Expected?! Expect my knife in yer belly! What the hell are you doin' here?!" he growls out petulantly.

Yet, even as he faces the preacher with a stony glare, the man doesn't flinch. instead, he reaches down, and Zack prepares for him to sever his fingers or somethin' to drop him down into the abyss below.

But he instead grabs hold of Zack's arm and yanks up hard, pulling him out of the hole. Zack uses his scythe to leverage himself up easier, and then Gray lets go of him, allowing him to stand on his own two feet.

The action leaves him in even more confusion. The guy had the opportunity to off him right then and there, so why didn't he?

"...Why did you save me?" he asks suspiciously.

Gray's pupil-less eyes gaze into him, and he shrugs. "Come now. What fun would it be if your story were to end here?" He glances backward, inhaling. "The girl who paid no mind to my warning and threatened me with a knife... Rachel Gardner, is with Danny I presume?"

His knowledge of what's going on leaves Zack with a chill running down his spine, but the older man doesn't seem all too concerned, an awkward smile crossing his face.

"You were on a quest to take her back, were you not?"

The hell would he know?

"So what?" Zack bristles, shifting from foot to foot. If the old geezer says another goddamned word about it... he'll rip him to bits. "Whaddaya want from me?"

"Hmm..." Gray's smile grows gentler as he observes the young man, amused. "Zack, could it be that you have learned to feel emotions through all of this?"

Ray's face pops into his mind with the ferocity of a lightning strike amidst a collection of memories, and to his horror his cheeks blaze under his wrappings. He can't begin to fuckin' comprehend the stupidity of the priest's words, as if he's trying to get under his skin or something. What he himself feels or doesn't feel is nobody else's goddamn business.

"What's so fuckin' funny? Quit smilin'— wipe that smug look off yer face!" Zack hisses through his teeth.

Gray's expression doesn't change, but he does nod his head in acknowledgement. "Ahh... forgive me. I didn't intend to ridicule you."

"Then what the hell did you intend?" He can't keep the ruffled tone out of his voice.

What is this guy toyin' at?

The man turns away, his hands knotted behind his back. "I was merely intrigued as to what came over you."

His puzzling answer sets off all kinds of irritation, and Zack snaps back, twisting the handle of his scythe. "Huuh? Whaddaya mean 'came over you'? Why the hell is everyone here so damn cryptic?!"

He points the scythe at Gray threateningly, even if the priest can't see it.

"And you're the biggest question mark of them all! Now what the hell do you mean?!"

Gray looks up to the ceiling for a moment, before turning around to face the hooded boy. He takes a glance at the scythe, but seems to brush it off as unimportant.

"Hmm... Very well, Zack. It appears sophisticated matters are not your strong suit; allow me to explain."

He takes a few measured steps out into the middle of the bloodied room where the dogs lie in pieces, before turning around once more. He raises a hand, clutching his bible in his other hand and gesturing out in a sweeping movement.

"Ever since childhood, I have observed those devout to God. Some were beauteous, whilst some were... blind and ugly. At times, people would exploit God as an instrument to condemn non-believers. And then... pretentiously flaunt God's imagery. I suppose it always weighed on my mind— 'What would God truly think if He saw those people'? ...Or so I asked myself."

His words are filled with power and nostalgia. He seems to be taking each sentence from a well within himself, pouring out something to Zack.

Unfortunately, his fancy words are practically useless. Everything he's spoken is like gibberish in the boy's ears, and he's left wondering what the hell he just heard.

"...Whaaaaat?" Zack utters before he can stop himself, and Gray gives him a disapproving look.

"Could you be civil and heed what I have to say? Though earnest, you lack such consideration."

Rubbed the wrong way, Zack dips his scythe into the floor beneath his feet, flipping off the priest. "Oh, give it a rest, will you? I told you to make it simple so I can get what yer talkin' about! Nothing you said makes any sense!"

The reverend sighs audibly.

"Very well." He walks back to Zack, his features revealing nothing to him. "...In short, I wished to see things from the Lord's own eyes, by playing the role of God in this place. This building serves as a garden of sorts... to put my idea to the test. Those placed on B7 are mere subjects to be monitored, and angelic intervention was required to test and exact justice on those brought here. Those who possessed no opposition to bloodshed were adept; Danny, Eddie, Cathy..."

He smiles again, his thin brows furrowing.

"...and you, Zack."

Zack makes a face at him, but he can't offer any kind of retort. After all, he's not exactly wrong. He's never been afraid to spill blood for his own gain. Although it feels like forever ago now that he came to be here in this place.

"Although..." Gray continues on. "I suspect you have qualities far removed from the others."

The boy blinks a few times, not getting his meaning. "...Huh?"

"You were exceedingly pure and nescient," the priest clarifies lightly, before his expression darkens. "An unadulterated... murderer. Which is precisely why I brought you here as one of my angels. ...Nonetheless, you have broken the rules here, thus making you a sacrifice, as you are attempting to leave this place."

I knew it! I knew this freak had an ulterior motive!

Zack raises his blade cautiously, ready to attack at a moment's notice. "So you do wanna kill me, huh!?"

Gray gives him a sidelong glare, somehow managing to freeze the blood in his body for a moment before he glows red-hot with anger again.

"...I am still speaking," he snaps, before sighing once more and toying with his Bible. "...Do not misunderstand me. It appears that you, who only desired to leave this place, are attempting to take Rachel Gardner with you. Therefore... I became curious as to why. So both of you have now become 'monitored subjects'."

His teeth grinding together, Zack frowns visibly. Monitored subjects? Becoming a sacrifice, being some 'angel'... Fuck all of this.

"...It makes no fuckin' sense either way," he replies grudgingly.

As if knowing the boy wouldn't come to terms with all he's said so far, the priest nods his head. "Ah, that is perfectly fine with me. I do not think you verbally capable of conveying your feelings anyway. Besides, I am not done monitoring you yet, so we shall see what comes to pass."

A chill runs through Zack again. Hearing the guy say something so creepy... fuckin' stalker-like.

"...You say you're watchin' everything? Seriously, Reverend?" he asks, to which the man shakes his head.

"That was my original intent... though if that bothers you, I apologize."

"What bullshit," the noiret grumbles. "What the hell is an apology gonna do for me?"

A light flickers on in Gray's eyes, and he taps his fingers against the cover of his book.

"Oh— come to think of it, solving the puzzle imposed by Danny may be somewhat beyond your abilities... Shall I lend you some assistance?"

First he's telling him that he's gonna die for 'breaking the rules', and now he's offering help? His suggestion is such a surprise that Zack's left gaping at the man.

"...Huh? Seriously?"

"Well, idling time away is also a dull act, you see," Gray smiles. "Should you find yourself at odds, then come hither for my counsel. In exchange for my help, however, I should like to keep watch over your actions. I wish to see how you intend to leave this place, what you are persevering to become, and who you really are."

He's quiet for a moment. Internally, Zack's inner alarms are going off, telling him that it's far too much of a hassle for this guy to creepily watch his every move. Yet... right now he's at a loss anyways. If he needs help, it'd be best to get it from this guy. He might be crazy and hard to understand, but he's better than nothing.

"...Fine," he finally says after a long period of silence.

He strides forward, past the reverend. Ray's on his mind again, and now more than ever he's running out of time to stand around and goof off. He's already wasted too much time on listening to the priest's speech.

"Oh, before that, Zack," Gray pipes up, stopping him. "Answer me this. How... How did you feel when Rachel Gardner called you 'God'?"

Dammit... It's like hearing a broken record player. It never ends with these people.

"...It creeped me out," he says honestly.

"Is that so?"

Zack takes another step forward, before something makes him stop again.

"Hey, do me a favor..." he says, his words targeting the priest.

"Yes?"

Another moment, before Zack waves a hand flippantly.

"...Stop talkin' in riddles all the damn time. It's such a major pain in the ass. Every single one of you are just idiots to me!"

He's not looking, but he can hear the smile in Gray's response.

"...Is that so...?"

"Yeah, it is," Zack snorts, before wheeling on the priest, thrusting a hand into his hoodie pocket. "So, uh... Hey."

"Yes?"

"Don't 'yes' me!" he instantly scolds, before grimacing to himself. Yeah, he hates the thought of asking for help, but there's not much else he can do at this point. For fuck's sake, a single locked door's got him stumped for good.

"...What should I do?" he finally manages to ask through his pride. "'Cause honestly, I don't got a clue anymore. Nothin' but locked doors everywhere... plus no keys. The only thing I got is this plate."

He withdraws the white board from his pocket, showing it to the reverend, and the older man eyes it with recognition.

"Zack, is that just an ordinary plate?" he inquires.

"Huuh?" Great, and here I thought he had the answers. Zack looks down at the plate, glaring at the scribbles he can't figure out etched over it.

"...I know there's writing on it," he admits. "But I can't read it."

Something on Gray's face changes, and a short smile crosses his face fondly.

"...Names are written on it," he explains.

Zack blinks. "...Names?"

"That name plate— 'tis meant to be hung on the door of its owner's room, Zack. Trying hanging it somewhere that comes to mind. I guarantee you will get a response from it."

Hung up somewhere? So I need to put this somewhere that makes sense, right? ...That's so dumb.

"...So I should just hang it wherever, huh?" he clarifies to himself, to which the priest nods.

"Yes, that too may prove fruitful. Know this;" His milky white eyes flash. "The names of a man and woman are inscribed upon it. Conceivably, a couple in wedlock."

A couple in 'wedlock'? None of this is ringing any bells, but it's better than knowing nothing; at least, he hopes so, anyway.

"...Hell if I know," he mutters inaudibly.

Well, whatever. That was enough to give me a start, I guess. But where the hell would I hang some dumb board up with someone's name on it? I don't even know who these people are.

...I could try upstairs, maybe? I never did check those rooms up there.

His feet move before his brain catches up, and he exits the basement and finds himself back in that rickety hall upstairs in no time, where he'd found the plate in the first place. He steps around carefully, noting that some of the wood flooring looks as unsafe as the one he'd nearly fallen to his death from.

There's two doors down the hall, and he stops in front of the first one. A post of some kind seems to protrude from the door, like a gnarly finger waiting for something. He tries to open the door without putting anything on, but it proves immovable.

Could I try hanging it up here?

Lifting the board, he positions it on the post and waits, not sure what to be ready for. Something clicks, but when he tries the door, it doesn't open.

Nothin', huh? Guess that means this room doesn't match the plate...

He heads for the other door, finding a similar post. He glances down at the plate in his hand.

The name plate is hung on the room of its owner... huh? Do I hang the plate here?

Figuring to try it again for the hell of it, he ungraciously sticks it on. He doesn't expect much, but to his surprise, there's another click and the door unlatches before his eyes.

...Pay dirt.

...Whose room is this?

Stepping inside, he's greeted by modern decor. A king-size bed is in the corner, and there's a rocking chair in the middle of the room. A vanity littered in makeups and some bookshelves are also in the room, and he squints at it all, trying to make out everything since it's so dim within— lit up by the light of one of those fake moon-windows.

It's just a plain old room.

He begins rifling through. The bed and underneath it prove useless, and he inspects a plant near the vanity that turns out to be fake, with leaves of fabric. The amount of false, fake stuff around here's really starting to get weird. Who actually buys so many plastic plants?

There's a large dresser toward the back of the room. Some magazines and bottles are spread out over the top messily along with a small jewelry box, and he starts pulling out drawers and glancing through. Underwear, books, some kinda photo album...? Lame. Nothing actually useful.

He reaches out for the jewelry and lifts the lid, and finds it devoid of anything except a small key. He blinks, something clicking in the back of his mind.

...Can I use this to open that box in the basement?

He shoves it deep into his hoodie pocket, starting to move away to inspect some of the other objects in the room, when the floor under his feet begins to shake, throwing him off balance.

What the-?!

The world around him shivers and shakes violently, and something clangs overhead. His head whips up so see the ceiling slowly descending on him, and he squeaks in shock.

Tits on Christ! The ceiling's comin' down! I gotta get outta here before I'm a pancake!

Nearly tripping over his own two feet, Zack flies back the way he'd come, maneuvering past the chair and the objects strewn along the floor. The roof is coming down far too fast, and he pours haste into his steps, leaping out the door just in time for the ceiling to drop down, sealing off the room forever.

Breathing hard, he picks himself up off the wood paneling and catches up with his wild brain, his pulse racing under his skin. After he's managed to calm down a bit, he shakes a fist upward.

"Gimme a break! Stop fuckin' with me, house! Whoever's in charge of this floor needs a lobotomy!"

I could've nearly gotten fuckin' flattened.

He moves to yank at the door, but it refuses to open. The nameplate doesn't seem to be movable now either, like it's been locked in.

Awww, shit! It won't open...

...What is this place to Ray, anyway?

What the hell does some weird room for a couple have to do with her? Why would she even be involved with this place? So far, all he's managed to find are more questions instead of answers. Nothing has given him anything to go off of. Hasn't he been looking hard enough? Is he really so stupid he can't piece it together?

Hell, maybe it's right in front of his face, and he just can't see it?

...Nevermind. I got a key. At any rate... guess I gotta keep goin' to find out more about her.

.x.X.x.

Back in the basement, Gray greets him with a smile as he approaches.

"How are you progressing?"

"Shut up!" Zack snaps instantly. "I almost got squished in some crazy goddamned room!"

The priest tightens his grip on his Bible, shaking his head. "...I see."

Not liking the disappointed look on Gray's face, he finds himself offering up more information, flashing the small key he'd found.

"But, I did find a key!"

A light sparks in Gray's soulless eyes, like he's filled with pride or something, and he smiles once more.

"Well, that is good news!"

Now awkward, Zack brushes past him, biting the inside of his cheek. "Just... shut up!"

Don't act so creepily proud of me or something. I ain't yer kid.

Moving on, the hooded boy leaps across the gap left by the trap pitfall, finding it easy to do despite his protesting body. Ray did a good job patching him back together, at least.

The toys and weird oozing creatures around the room are really giving him the creeps. He despises this room, but he walks up to the small box anyways. If this will help him learn more about Ray, then what choice does he have?

Sticking the small key into the box, he finds to his luck that it fits perfectly. The lid pops open immediately, and he slowly raises the lid.

He jolts when something begins to play, and he realizes that the box itself is emanating soft music. The melody isn't something he recognizes, but it stirs something in his chest.

So it plays music when it opens...

Glancing around the room, he grouses under his breath despite the soothing notes.

It's all just a pile of goddamned junk, an' it all reeks of... kids' playthings...

Facing the box again, he notices something lying within it. But when he fishes it from the box, he lets out a displeased whine.

Ahh! Another plate with writing is inside!

Great. Just another thing he has to figure out. Who knew not being able to read would be this fuckin' annoying?

It's small than the one before, he thinks as he examines the plate, noting the words scribbled on it. Plus the writing's not as long.

He squints down at the two words. They're unreadable to him, but... somehow, it's like he's seen it before. Familiar, almost.

The box suddenly snaps closed, the music abruptly ending before him, and he gazes at it before turning away. The plate feels ice cold in his hand, and he stuffs it into his pocket.

Guess I'll get goin'...

Crossing the long gap between rooms again, he sees Gray's expectant gaze on him. A thought passes his mind before he stands before the priest, raising the plate and waving it in his hand.

"Hey, do I use this plate the same as the one before?"

"Ahh," the reverend says. "So you found the other one. ...'Tis to be handled in the same manner as the one before it."

His multicolored eyes float to it. "...Is that so...?"

So this name... is supposed to go on the other door...

Gray notices the way he eyes the writing, and raises a brow. "What troubles you? ...Are you curious about the inscription?"

...!

Zack goes entirely stiff, not realizing that his thoughts were written so bare across his features, and Gray chuckles under his breath.

"If you wish to know, then I shall read it for you," he offers.

The first words at the tip of his tongue are; do it. But before he can utter them, something else tells him not to do it, a voice that hardly ever speaks up. It tells him to think more, to figure it out himself— to understand why he finds it familiar on his own. He's never taken the easy road before, and even now when Ray's life hangs in the balance as well as his own, he feels like it's important that he do the footwork himself.

"...Nevermind," he says, placing the plate back in his pocket. "Don't read it."

"Are you not curious?" The priest presses him.

Zack turns from the priest. His hand is balled in a fist at his side, and his scythe feels like a leaden weight.

"...Even if I was, I don't feel like havin' someone tell me."

Gray grows wistful. "...I see."

Walking past him, Zack's thoughts swirl around, trying to understand. He doesn't know how to read, that's for sure, let alone know someone's name by heart. It doesn't make sense that he somehow knows those letters, that person's name. He's never taken the time to memorize someone's goddamn name before, since they're always gone so quickly.

So why? Why does it matter? Why didn't he just let Gray tell him what it was?

Those thoughts consume him past the nasty, spicy pizza, up the stairs, all the way to the room where he'd tried to hang the other plate. Staring at it, he glances down at the small plate once more.

This is bound to be where I'm supposed to use it.

...I still don't know whose name this is though.

...Oh well, just as long as it opens.

Pushing past his curiosity and confusion, he hangs the plate. It clicks like the last, but then triggers the door, opening it for him. He breathes a sigh of relief, but the longer he stares at the name, the more his curiosity eats away at him.

He takes a few steps back from it, puzzling it out in his head.

I know I've seen this plate's writing somewhere before...

...!

It comes to him suddenly, as if it'd been waiting for him to try and make the connection. Slowly, Zack pulls out the papers that had fallen from Ray's bag, staring down at them as if they hold all the answers he seeks.

That's right... these papers that fell from her bag...

It must've come from them, but though he tries his damndest, nothing he pieces together makes sense. Half the letters don't even seem to make the right sounds.

Aaarrrgggghhhh!

His fist slams into the door, crumpling the papers a little in his frustration.

It might as well be in gibberish— I can't read it!

Moving to the center of the hall, he tosses the papers down onto the floor, then kneels down. He knows he's still in a hurry, but this is bugging him way too much for him not to figure out right now.

He lays them out flat, and scans over them. It's the one with Ray's photograph that catches his eye.

This one must be hers... And what're these numbers for? It says Ray's is '13'... and mine is '20'. ...Is it our ages?

Trying to fit together the bits of information he can understand, he starts to gain a bit of knowledge from the pages.

Okay, so the spaces between the photographs and ages... are our names?

Something about her name makes him cast a wary glance from the paper to the plate on the door. Rising and walking the papers over to the entryway, he stares between the two, comparing them.

...The first letter in Ray's name matches the first letter on the plate...

...And the next letter also matches the next on the plate... And the next ones...

...They all match.

He gazes at the plate. Somewhere inside himself, he starts laughing— a low-bellied chuckle that doesn't sound right even to himself.

Her name... is on that board.

Well, whaddaya know, he thinks. I knew I'd seen them before. So... that means this is Ray's room, huh?

Though he thought he'd feel victorious or something after figuring out the big secret behind the name, it leaves his insides cold and leaden. His feet don't want to move forward, though he knows he needs to.

What the hell is her room doin' here, anyway?

That question feels impassable and strong. And there's only one answer he can see; to go inside.

...Oh well. Never mind that— I'm curious about what's in store for me next. Given what's been goin' on so far in this house, I bet nothin' good's waitin' for me in her room.

The fact of the matter is that he doesn't have much of a choice but to go into it, but it's as if there's an invisible shield blocking his path. He's had no problems invading other parts of the house, but knowing this is 'Ray's' room... for some reason, he's hesitating.

Well... there's no point in overthinking stuff, he finally decides. Guess I'll go a bit further down the rabbit hole. ...Can't say I'm not curious.

Steeling himself, Zack moves forward and pushes open the door, stepping into it before he can somehow talk himself out of it.

The first thing he sees is the large, blackened puddle of blood near the entryway, coloring diamond-pattern carpet and white rug a nasty red. Looking past that, it's rather simplistic and bland, with baby blue walls and a lunar window casting light inside. The bed is small and decorated in a soft blue coverlet, and there's a rocking chair and a few bookshelves near her dresser. A TV sits off to one side, with a vcr and dvd player sitting underneath its stand, and a vanity sits empty besides a mirror and tiny chair.

Is this her room?

He doesn't know how, but he knows the statement is correct. Maybe it's because the place absolutely screams of Ray's empty personality, of everything he's learned about her so far.

His eyes are continually drawn to the deep stain on the floor, and a sense of nausea rises in her throat. The room is calm and peaceful, and the stain feels... disruptive or something. It doesn't belong.

The floor's bright... red... Is that normal? Or is that bat-shit crazy? I've got no clue.

He walks further inside. It feels so intrusive, like he doesn't belong as much as that red spot doesn't. He's some big, bad monster entering the little kiddie's hideaway, or something like that. It gets on his nerves.

He can't help his own curiosity, though. Ray's an enigma of her own. Ever since they met, he hasn't been able to understand her at all— not that he really tried. He used her to advance, at first. Disposing of her back then would've been easy if she'd have just ran and screamed like the others, but she didn't. Her actions never made sense. And, yet... she kept him alive. She stayed by him and helped him along specifically so that he'd keep his promise to murder her.

Anyone else would think she's psychotic and twisted. But, coming from a monster himself... it's interesting. And before he knew it... he wasn't sure what he wanted from her anymore. Before, the urge to kill her was strong. Now, it's... watered down. In fact, she's got his head so screwed up right now that he doesn't even recognize his own self.

He brushes his gauzy fingertips along her bookshelves, the thick hard-backed novels pristinely kept on the shelf. He can imagine her poring over them in his head, flipping through their pages late at night.

...Books, eh? Can she read all of these? You gotta be kidding me.

Surprise reigns over the fact that there's nearly nothing in the room that completely says that this was Ray's space. In fact, it looks like anyone could've lived in here, it's so barren. There's a small hairbrush with blonde strands on the vanity table, but that's nearly the only thing that looks to be hers.

He moves over to the TV, raising a brow at it.

Does this thing turn on?

Deciding to run with his initial thought, he presses the button and watches it spring to life. Kneeling down in front of it, he watches as an image appears there, and a voice echoes through the room... and begins to play an unhappy story through its static.

.x.X.x.

'In (STATE REDACTED), (CITY REDACTED), the remains of Mr. and Mrs. Gardner were discovered at their private residence. Based on the blade-inflicted slashes and bullet holes on the remains, the incident is being treated as a homicide.

'Found more than a week after death, the remains are badly mutilated, having been sewn together unnaturally with thread. The daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Gardner, Rachel Gardner, was safely taken into protective custody, however...

'...Reports indicate that due to her exhibiting signs of trauma, she is currently being questioned about the incident.'

"Rachel, why don't we have a bit of an in-depth talk for our session today?"

In a quiet, nameless room, a girl sits silently, facing a doctor. Her hands are lying in her lap, her hair hanging over her face. Her eyes see without truly seeing, staring off into the distance. She's hardly spoken a word in a very long time.

"It's alright," the doctor soothes her, leaning forward in his chair. "There's nothing to fear."

Still no response from her. He lays his clipboard in his lap and clasps his hands together.

"Ah... I got it. How about I talk about myself this time for a change?"

This time, her blue eyes rise up to his face, and he grins happily, pleased with his progress.

"Aha! You looked at me! Oh, I knew it— your peepers are so beautiful."

She says nothing, only looking at him with just the faintest flicker of interest. He skips a beat awkwardly, then clears his throat.

"Well, um... to tell you the truth, one of my eyes is made of glass. I was born without an eye, you see. When I was a child, my mother worried herself sick over it. Just worried and worried... with such dark peepers."

He glances off, reminded of a simpler time that felt all too complex back then. Now he looks back in fondness— of that time draped in dark shadows.

"Dark, and tranquil peepers... as her child, my silhouette in them was only fleeting. even so, I... still loved my mother. Her peepers were so precious."

Biting the inside of his cheek, the doctor mets her gaze levelly, but with a gentle smile.

"Rachel... did you hate your parents?"

She blinks slowly, and something flickers across her emotionless face for a single instant.

"...No," she murmurs.

"Well, then," he continues, tilting his head and continuing his inquisition. "Why do you think you cut and sewed them up?"

She ponders his question, before a beatific smile graces her seashell-pink lips.

"...I wanted a family."

The answer is so simple, it passes her by without a second thought.

"...I see," he replies calmly. "How did you come to feel this way?"

Her dark eyes return his gaze unflinchingly.

"...How...?" She blinks again. "...Good question."

The doctor flips through his clipboard, filled with notes of her (and her lovely eyes), finding what he's searching for.

"Ahh, come to think of it... Didn't you find a puppy in an alleyway near your house?"

Her eyes barely flicker.

"It was tiny cute, yet so fragile..." she whispers, memories filling her opaque vision. "I wanted to keep that puppy so bad... but I would get in trouble if I took it home."

"First, I went home to tell them about the puppy."

.x.X.x.

The clock that always seems like it's far too loud can't cover up the noise in the house— or the crash of glass breaking yet again.

Walking in, Ray has barely taken a single step into her living room before the voices float to her ears, filled with malice and hatred.

"Ahh! Why do you always contradict me?!"

"Well, who would listen to an alcoholic, for starters?!"

"I was out working all day... and I hate being here in this house."

"Hahaha... That's quite a mouth you got there. Who the hell has use for some wino cop like you?"

"Oh, tell me another one, you bitch. Alcohol's less poisonous than the shit comin' outta your mouth!"

There's banging and thuds, and a woman's cry of pain coming from the back of the house.

"You're hurting me...! Stop! Stop it...!"

"I'm unhappy havin' wound up with a psychotic wife like you."

"No doubt because your very existence is a wretched one! Tell me; why are you so unhappy?!"

Another harsh slam. Ray's fingers are threading into her coat tightly, but she's unfazed even as the screaming gets louder.

"Aaagggghhh! You're the one that made me this way! It's your fault! All your fault!"

Ray brushes her hair away from her face, gently sighing under her breath. Moments like these aren't anything new nowadays, even as more glass breaks and something swings hard into the wall.

'They're in the kitchen today,' she notes. 'Wonder if they'll listen to me?'

Approaching the door to the kitchen without hesitation, right before she's about to open the door, footsteps cause her to stop in place.

'...Ah.'

She backs away just in time as the door goes flying open, the heavy wood slamming into the wall hard enough for the entire house to shake under her feet.

A man walks out, his hands clenched tight as his sides. His rugged brown hair is out of sorts, and his blue eyes are wild and disoriented, filled with unbridled anger. The moment he sees her, he raises a finger toward her accusingly. She can see his knuckles are bright red and bleeding.

"Where were you walkin' around so late?" he demands harshly, stepping up to her threateningly.

Ray's throat suddenly doesn't want to work, shriveling as he advances on her. He spits in response.

"Not talkin' as usual, huh? Do you got half a brain in that head of yours?"

"...Umm..." she finally manages. The mental image of the mangy, cowering puppy in the alley races through her mind.

His eyes flash sharply. "...Oh, so you got somethin' to say to me?"

He starts to tower over her menacingly, but the sound of someone else entering the room causes him to halt in place, followed by a shrill voice.

"Hold it..."

The woman that walks out has dirty, stringy blond hair wrapped up in a loose bun. Her face is creased by stress and age, and there's a glowing red mark across her cheek, as well as a bloody scrape down her arm that cuts through her mauve cardigan.

"Where do you think you're going with that money?" she growls with a mirthless chuckle. "Booze? Some whores? Hehe... Planning on making me miserable again?"

"Stop laughin'," he waves her off flippantly. "It gets on my nerves. I'm off to buy my own happiness."

"Is that so?!" she cries out angrily. "Then while you're out, can you buy my happiness too?! Go buy some happiness for an unhappy wretch like me!"

He scoffs at her, unamused. "Not only are you unhappy, but you burn through all the money! Some kinda mental case that can't even make ends meet!"

"Oh, it's always my fault, is it?! You always blame me! Aaaaaaaaaah, you foul bastard! Your filthy hands have even soiled my own life! Your brain, body and attitude are all soaked in booze!" she screams.

He moves lightning fast, slamming his hands palm first merciless into her chest, sending Ray's mother flying back into the kitchen door. As she recovers, he glares down at her. Ray begins to pipe up.

"Hey, dad... um..."

"Ah, everything about this family is miserable," he hisses through his teeth, ignoring her. "I gotta have booze to cope."

He brushes past Ray abruptly, heading for the front door, and her mother brings herself back ramrod straight and throws her words at him with the force of bullets.

"Don't run away from the hell you created!" she screeches, running up to him. "It's you! You're the one screwing me up; screwing this family up! It's not my fault, it's all yours!"

Ray watches that fiery scowl darken his face, and she expects what happens next. he whirls on her mother, gripping her forearms vise-tight in his thick fingers, The woman yelps in pain, though he's relentless.

"Ow! You're hurting me! You good-for-nothing!"

He slaps her hard across the face, then knocks his elbow into her chest, expelling the air in her chest in one blow.

"Shut the fuck up! You crazy bitch!"

He hits her again, a fist to the stomach, and though she's in pain, she doesn't cower from him.

"Marrying you is the worst thing that ever happened to me!" she spits out.

He roars in fury, and unleashes a hellish attack on the woman, knocking her down to her knees with the force of his strikes. Her blood drips to the wood as he splits her lip and scratches her exposed skin, before tossing her into the beaten white couch like a limp ragdoll.

Ray's father laughs mindlessly to himself, cracking his knuckles and backing away from her.

"I don't wanna hit anyone," he says, mostly to himself as if trying to ease the weight of his actions. "But yer askin' for it... A creepy bitch that can't understand what this crazy bitch is thinkin'. My life's hit rock bottom because both of you fucked it up!"

With that final statement, he storms out of the house, the front door crashing closed behind him. The resounding silence, broken by the ticking of the clock, is followed by Ray slowly approaching her mother. The woman lays her head against the beaten coach, tears in her eyes and nothing but pure hatred written over her expression.

"...Mom..." Ray begins, but she's interrupted by her mother's own ramblings to herself.

"One day... Ohh, one day... I... will... kill... him..."

Not paying attention even to her daughter's presence, she pushes herself shakily to her feet and walks away, heading toward the upstairs landing.

Ray frowns to herself before starting after her, nothing but the puppy in her thoughts.

'I gotta make them listen...'

She works her way over the cracked, long beaten and destroyed floor til she reaches her mother. The woman is rummaging through a drawer desperately at the end of the hall

"I'll... shoot him..." she mumbles. "If something happens to me... I'll... fight back with this..."

There's a click, and the sound of something unlatching.

"I'll use this... to kill... that bastard... I'll show him. Now I've got a secret weapon hidden here. When the time comes, that bastard will blubber like a baby. He'll regret everything... He'll bow down and tell me I was right all along. it didn't have to be this way... It happened because of him..."

Ray moves forward, cautiously advancing. "...Mom...?"

Startled by the young girl's voice, her mother hastily shuts the door and whirls around, placing her hands against the table to steady herself.

"Ray... what is it?" she breathes, though seeming relieved that it's only her and not her father.

"Mom, I gotta talk to you about something," Ray starts off again, but her mother moves forward, pressing a trembling finger against her daughter's lips to silence her. Her hazel eyes are wild and filled with disconcerting emotions.

"Um... I can't deal with you right now," she says quickly. "The kitchen's a dreadful mess and I gotta clean it up. I'm not in a state to be listening to whatever you have to say..."

Ray frowns further. If she doesn't say anything, she'll get in trouble. Just a few moments to listen wouldn't hurt, right?

"...Please listen. You'll get mad if I don't ask for permission first, right?"

Slap.

Ray's head snaps to one side as her mother's flat palm sends ehr reeling, her cheek burning with the ache of the hit. The woman begin to laugh, maniacally as she glares at her child.

"Amazing! Even my own daughter won't do as she's told?!"

The blonde can't find words as she stares up at her parent, reaching up to tenderly touch her cheek as her mother roars at her.

"Don't you know?! Your being here has gotten me stuck in this hell... Your very existence is detestable. It's like I'm dealing with your worthless father— it makes me sick to my stomach. Now..." The woman points toward the stairs, every word laced in acid. "...go upstairs to your room."

"Mom..." Gazing at her blankly with just the tiniest tinge of hope, Ray responds, "if I listen to you, will you listen to me...?"

"Go!" Her mother shoves her away. "Now! Don't make me anymore of a miserable and cruel mother than I already am!"

Ray's face falls, but her mother is already headed back into the living room. She stares after her, rubbing her cheek softly.

'Nobody's listening to what anybody has to say... Why is that?'

Her own curiosity draws her back to the drawer her mother had been rifling through.

'...Mom was hiding something over there. Her 'secret weapon to make herself heard'?'

As if drawn to the drawer, her feet take her to the simple scratched wood table, and her small fingers pull on the handle, revealing the object nestled amongst some papers.

'...A handgun... So something like this was here...'

The woman's words continue to repeat in a cycle.

'...'secret weapon'.'

.x.X.x.

"In the end, nobody listened to what I had to say. And then... a while later, I went to visit the puppy."

Her soft voice continues through the room, neither rising nor falling with human emotion, but matter-of-fact and calm.

"The puppy was weak, and likely to fall over dead any moment. When I reached out to pet that puppy..."

Her small, pale hands twitch just slightly in her lap, as she stares outward.

"...It bit me. After that... what happened until I got back home is still hazy."

There's suddenly a show of life; a flash in her sapphire irises. It's not pleasant to see— like the shock that roots you to the spot as an oncoming train barrels toward you, too fast for your stiff body to avoid.

"When I came to, I was in my room... 'fixing' that puppy. But I was soon found out."

Her head tilts to one side, her silken blonde hair draping over her shoulders, and her expression becomes a tad wistful.

"...Gosh," she murmurs. "Mom and Dad were fighting really loud that day..."

.x.X.x.

"What a good boy. Such a good boy."

The clatter of glass as another window is destroyed downstairs, and the high pitch of a woman's screech. Ignoring it all, Ray continues to stroke her beloved new pet, enjoying the feeling of the fur under her fingertips.

"I could just eat you up," she coos to it, admiring it in the box she'd placed it in for safety. "I want you to stay with me forever."

A heaving thud, and a man screaming at the top of his lungs. It's a nasty ruckus and painful on her ears, but she takes comfort in her dog.

"It's okay. Don't be scared..."

Something loud hits the wall downstairs.

"It's all your fault! There's somethin' wrong with her because you're crazy!" her father yells out.

"No... it's your fault that kid's abnormal!" her mother responds heatedly.

The sounds of skirmish below only increase, and Ray's hands tighten around her puppy. Her chest feels cold and somehow painful, even with her joyful new family addition.

They're being so loud.

"Ahhh! I can't stand this anymore!"

"Hey, what the hell are you doin'...!"

Another crash, a bump— and then out of nowhere, a scream unlike Ray has ever heard before. It's unmistakably her own mother's hoarse voice, but it's filled with something akin to terror and pain.

Rising to her feet slowly and gently closing the box with the puppy, Ray frowns.

'Gosh... it's really bad today.'

Those sounds were coming from the kitchen, she's fairly sure. Even though her feet are leaden and she doesn't want to go, she feels compelled to check.

'Guess I'll take a peek...'

Moving downstairs, she finds that the sounds of her parent's fight has stopped. The eerie silence is almost worse than the yelling.

Stopping in front of the kitchen door, she hears some kind of unrecognizable sound from within. It's like... a sloshing sound, over and over.

Something told her not to go in. Something said, 'stop. It's bad. Don't go.'

...But she entered despite the warning.

.x.X.x.

"I vividly remember what I saw there."

Ray's face has taken a ghostly white pallor. Even as the doctor scribbles down note after note, she goes silent, as if she can't bear to remember. Her eyes become even more lifeless, but the memory of the sight replays behind those shattered dark irises

She inhales softly, but maintains composure. Her fingers are taut in her shorts, yet she somehow doesn't flinch at her own words.

"...I saw..."

.x.X.x.

She's rooted in place. She can't move. She can't summon breath.

Her eyes are firmly pinned to the sight in front of her, as if she can't look away. Her body doesn't want to function.

There's... so much blood.

Drip, drip, drip, goes the dark liquid across the floor. It paints a mosaic of grotesque beauty along the wood. Blood, crimson red staining the floor. A figure over another, wielding something sharp.

No…. no, no, no…

It's all wrong. Everything is wrong.

There's so much blood, everywhere.

Her heart… is it still beating? Is this the height of madness?

The rhythmic thrust of the blade into the person lying dead underneath them, and the psychotic chuckle of the person stabbing them mercilessly. They don't even register her presence at first.

Her father, coated in blood from head to toe. Her mother... lying in it, her hazel eyes staring out in terror. Stab wounds litter her body, gory and gushing, staining her favorite cardigan.

Ray can't muster words, and after a moment, he finally stops stabbing her long enough to turn his head to look at her. His knife lowers, but stays gripped tightly in his crimson fingers.

"...What are you doing?" he asks in a scarily measured tone.

Her throat is closed up, a lump buried in the center and keeping her from responding. Not that she knows how— she's not even sure what she's seeing.

This... can't be real.

"So you saw that, huh?" Her father picks himself off his wife, turning to face Ray. The long steak knife gleams, covered in blood and dripping that liquid all over the floor haphazardly.

Drip, drip drip... blood along the floor.

...Why is her father smiling?

"Didn't you?' he inquires, taking a step closer. "I never had use for her all along. Everything here just makes me miserable."

His eyes, the same blue as her own, grow malicious and filled with a burning desire, and he points the knife at her, shaking it in his large hand.

"That's why you, too, must die!"

He starts moving toward her. Mindlessly, before she's thought it through, she's backing through the kitchen door, closing it behind her. The image of her mother lifeless on the kitchen floor is burned into her mind's eye.

Something breaks inside her. Something vital stops working, and she's left calmly thinking of the incident, and of what she must do.

'Ohh... how awful. Simply awful...'

It's a shame. It's a tragedy, really, what happened.

Her heart feels so... heavy, but she's not sure how she feels. In fact, it's... like she doesn't feel anything at all.

'Ah, the puppy... I gotta get back to my room.'

She rushes back toward the stairs. Nearly running past it, she suddenly stops upon seeing the table her mother had rummaged through that day. It feels like years ago.

'Come to think of it, mom was hiding a gun. For this moment...?'

This moment, where everything would crumble and splatter across the ground. Where someone would die.

'In that case...'

She moves forward, easily rooting through the drawer and pulling out the handgun. it gleams in the light, polished and hardly used.

'...It's okay for me to take it then.'

Just out of curiosity, she checks the chamber— revealing a full round of bullets. She blinks.

'It's... loaded. Ohh...'

'...I gotta hurry to my room.'

Quietly she climbs the stairs, hearing louder footsteps not far behind hers. Entering her room, she shuts the door and slowly comes up to the box with her puppy, peering inside.

'It's safe...'

"Don't be afraid," she whispers. "There's no need to worry. I mean..."

She gazes down at the gun held tightly in her fingers. It's like looking at someone else's hand.

"...I really have no choice here."

The door slamming open makes her look up. and hurried close the flaps on the box. Her father enters the room, kicking it closed behind him as he halts. He stares her down with those familiar eyes, the knife clutched tight in his grip and that sickening smile on his cracked lips.

"Do you think your father's crazy, Ray?" he asks her, before pointing down at the box. "But... Ray, you're just as crazy as me. Running to your room and talking to that thing— something's not right with you. Why don't you open that box...?"

She doesn't respond. Instead, she does as she's told, carefully opening the flaps on the crate to reveal the mangled, mutilated and sewn together remains of the puppy. The inside of the box is bloodied, and its fur is matted and filled with mange, already starting to smell rotten.

He takes a single glance in it, and then laughs to himself, a mirthless, ugly sound.

"Ahh, just as I thought— you're insane. What the hell did you do to that dog?! It's a patchwork corpse!"

Another step forward. She can see the bruises and scratch marks on his face, left over from her mother's nails.

"That dog— you killed it, didn't you?" He waves his knife, prying into her with his words. "Did stitching up its belly and sewing its mouth shut feel good...?!"

Finally, somewhere inside her, something snaps.

"...No," she responds, eyes growing glassy. "It... just became 'mine'. It became... my perfect puppy."

Her world suddenly feels so closed in. Her heart is shutting down, and she can't feel much of anything at all. Her anger, her sorrow, her confusion and fear is gone.

She's left empty.

"Hey, Dad..."

She raises the gun, pointing it at the man covered in her mother's blood. Ray doesn't have any hesitation as she takes aim, finger pressed to shoot.

"Become my..."

A twisted, happy smile lights over her face. She doesn't feel happy, but she desires him.

Desires her perfect family.

...Desires to have everything she never had. To have it all... become 'hers'.

"Become my... perfect daddy," she murmurs.

She squeezes the trigger.

He staggers, blood blooming over his chest pocket. She shoots again, hitting his arm. She fires again, and again, and a shot to the head is what brings him down, crumpling into an unmoving mass against her bedroom carpet. His bleeding body leaves a deep crimson stain over her floor, but she's filled with bliss.

Now that he's broken... she can mend him. She can make them all perfect.

"It's alright..." she murmurs to the empty air.

"...I'll 'fix you'."

.x.X.x.

"Afterwards, I sewed Mom and Dad to each other. I did it so they'd get along with each other."

Her smile then is genuine as she thinks of what happened. It's as if she's recalling a fond memory of her past, though her emotions seem flawed beyond repair.

"Then, I replaced dad's bad arm with a stuffed toy's. I sewed mom's mouth so she made a big smile."

Her fingers clasp together tightly, and she closes her eyes.

"That was... my perfect Mom and Dad."

The doctor watches her expression grow lighter. As she gazes at him, she's not truly seeing him, but the days she spent along with her 'perfect' family.

"All three of us played all day everyday with our puppy. Oh, it was so much fun. So..." She grows despondent, looking away. "When the police took them all away from me, I was so sad."

Danny gazes upon her with reborn vision, reassurance etched over his face.

"I see what you mean," he tells her, reaching out to softly touch the back of her hand. "I understand your sadness, Rachel. Can I... ask you one more thing?"

She nods, and he takes it as his go ahead.

"After that, a little animal died at the orphanage that took you in... Do you know why? Did you do that too?"

She thinks about his question, before nodding a second time.

"...Yeah."

"So, why did you feel the need to stitch it up too? I heard you absolutely adored that pup...?" he asks.

Ray swallows softly, before her brows knit together.

"I did adore him... That's right. I... really loved him. But it wasn't meant to be."

"Wasn't meant to be?"

"Yeah..." She meets his gaze. "There was something I wanted."

She smiles at him again, her expression purely cherubic and sweet despite her words.

"I wanted something for my family... Something to 'call my own'. But, for some reason..." Her expression falls quickly, growing dark. "...Things never play out like they should."

He ponders her statement, something lighting up in his own mind. Already, he can feel the cogs turning in the back of his head.

Her peepers... are perfect.

"Never play out like they should, huh...?" he notes aloud, setting his clipboard down in his lap and leaning forward again to meet her eyes levelly. "So, Rachel... You want something to call your own? You want more things to 'call your own', do you?"

Her expression grows puzzled. He rises from his chair and moves to kneel at her side, taking her cold hand between his own.

"Rachel... my mother took her own life," he confesses. "My eye... is what killed her. Your peepers... bear a striking resemblance to the ones I last saw of my mother's. Dark, tranquil... and most of all, beautiful. I'm in love with your peepers. I hope the dark glow in them sparkles for eternity."

He offers her his own kind smile, his hold tightening.

"A steadfast glow that will grant all your wishes in the world... Right, Rachel?"

Their image lies burned on the screen, where Ray and Danny gaze at one another in perfect harmony. His smile is bright and happy, where her expression remains dormant.

Crack.

With a heaving, loud swing, Zack's scythe slams down on the television, cutting the electronic into pieces with rage. His shoulders heave with exertion, his gut in pain but his chest feeling like wood.

He can't erase what he's seen. He can't stop thinking about the shitshow he just witnessed— or what it's trying to tell him.

What it's implying about her— about Ray.

"...That's fuckin' sickenin'," he growls out loud to the empty room. "What the hell you showin' me this for...?"

Is this... supposed to tell me somethin' about Ray?

He doesn't want it to make sense, but even his own stupid brain can figure out two plus two. The puzzle pieces are starting to fit together, but what it's showing him isn't what he wants to see.

The handgun, needle, thread, and that corpse doll in the one room...

Rachel Gardner...

...'Ray'.

He understands. He can't deny the facts of it all now, but it explains itself.

His scythe is hot and heavy gripped to his palm, and his head hurts trying to deal with all of this shit— but it's obvious now. He can't believe he didn't see it before.

...So, this is her floor, huh?

Which means, the killer here is...

Her name springs to mind. All of this floor, being the 'essence of Ray' and important for him to learn about her... Now he gets it. He doesn't like it one bit, but he's not in the dark anymore.

...Guess I'll get goin', he finally decides. His feelings about Ray feel strung out and haywire, confused, and he's not sure what to think now. It bugs the crap out of him, trying to understand himself amongst this bullshit. But he's got one destination. To find out why she lied, to find out what she plans to do— and then end this.

If that eyeball freak still doesn't let me into that room, then he's got another thing comin'...

It's time to face Ray... and get answers.