10. Vulnerability

[ Meeting 103-2; Unknown. ]

The rush of memories left Meg feeling breathless, hopeless, full of absolute horror - both at him, and at herself.

That was what had happened between them, and that insight led her to the knowledge that it wasn't the only sexual encounter they might've had. And furthermore, the fact that she'd liked it… That fact reminded her what a cruel creature Evan - no, the Trapper - really was.

When Meg came to the present, gasping and choking and feeling tears burn the corners of her eyes, she saw him looking at her with furrowed brows; probably his best attempt at concern. Evan said nothing, simply waited for her to speak, but he was hovering over her cautiously, as if trying to protect her from… well, anything. But the moment Meg looked at him, all she could see was his thick, hard member; the cruel twist of his face under his mask; the cold, sick pleasure in his husky voice. The feeling of him gliding against her. Torturing her. Sending shockwaves through her body.

With a cry, the red-head scrambled out from under him and scurried away as quickly as she could - right until she got to the edge of the terrain they were on, peering down in horror over the edge. Below them was… nothing. A vast, empty plane. Fear clutched her chest when she realized she was truly trapped here with him, the man that had killed her friends, the man that had… that had… touched her in a way that left fire burning in her veins… the man that had taken such pleasure in her misery.

But a man who'd also endured his own torture… just to spare her.

Conflicted feelings rose so violently in her chest that she keeled over onto her stomach and vomited. Not much came out of her; so she continued to dry-heave until her stomach and her throat couldn't take it anymore. All the while, Evan hadn't moved a muscle, remaining on his knees and watching her with an enigmatic expression. Feeling raw from head to toe, Meg wheeled on him, enraged. "HOW COULD YOU?" she exploded. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

He was infuriatingly silent. Whether he didn't have an answer, or simply chose not to speak, Meg didn't know, but she felt anger and hatred churning in her stomach, spilling furious word-vomit out of her mouth. "You make my own body betray me; you take sick pleasure in humiliating me, hunting me, torturing me; and then you - you save me! You look at me with those eyes!" Her voice went low - still filled with anger… and now vulnerability. "You sketched me."

A long silence stretched between them. Evan's voice eventually stirred her from the whirling emotions in her head. "Yes," he finally rumbled, voice wavering just slightly. "I did."

She hadn't ever heard such emotion in his voice; it was so startling that her eyes softened and she looked more confused and lost than ever. Tears broke and streamed down her cheeks. "WHY?" she demanded, voice cracking with grief.

He still didn't - or couldn't - answer her.

Meg turned away, struggling to her feet and looking anywhere but at him. She couldn't - wouldn't - look at him. It brought up all those confusing and awful feelings. She was done here. No more curiosity. She regretted her decision to pursue those questions, because they'd landed her here.

The Entity seemed satisfied with the conclusions she'd come to, and offered her a way out. Meg took it, unwilling and unable to glance back at the monster she left behind.

As much as Meg hated what she'd seen and regretted ever coming onto the MacMillan estate, she couldn't seem to force herself to get rid of the coal sketch of her likeness. It still laid in her tent and she sat there, unwilling to speak to any of the survivors no matter how concerned they were, and she stared at the damn paper.

She stared at it until she couldn't bear to look any longer and she sat up abruptly, throwing herself out of her tent and beginning to jog away from the campfire without a glance back. She needed to run. To feel the wind in her hair, the grass under her feet, the burning in her lungs. Her jog broke into a dash and she got lost in the sensation of being free.

Well, as free as she could be in this nightmare.

Meg had been so consumed by her thoughts that she didn't realize where her feet had taken her until they crunched in the snow and she found herself staring up at Ormond Lodge. Apprehension filled her and she turned to leave, but raucous noise made her freeze and she couldn't seem to move her feet. A glance over her shoulder told her that the Legion, all four of them, seemed to be having quite a bit of fun trashing the Lodge and drinking an unknown drink out of cans and crushing them over their heads.

What was worse - goddamn Frank himself seemed to have spotted her. The red-head turned to run but she could hear his frenzied footsteps not far behind her and cursed her fucking terrible luck. All that bullshit with Evan had gone down not too long ago and now here she was getting herself in the same fucking mess.

Well - almost the same. She doubted any of the Legion would look at her the way Evan did… or sketch her with charcoal… or save her from being killed… or touch her so that wanton fire burned in her veins…

Meg shook her head to snap out of it, but the small distraction was enough to seal her fate. Her foot caught on a scraggly tree root and she face-planted in the snow, groaning and sluggishly attempting to scurry away. Frank grabbed her by the back of her jacket, hauling her to her feet; she tried to escape but he still had a firm grasp on her clothing. She finally looked over at him to see the killer bare-faced and smirking smugly at her. "Well… well… well."

"Evan knows where I am," she warned immediately; it was a bold-faced lie, but she told it with such a straight expression that the lithe teen gripping her allowed his expression to falter for just a moment as he recalled what had happened in their last match.

Quickly his facade was put back into place. Frank didn't relinquish his grip, but he also had no weapon on him. "Now now, Red, who said I was going to kill you?"

Meg scowled. "Sorry for assuming the worst, considering the circumstances," she snapped.

Ugh, there was that smirk again; if he were anyone else, in any other situation, it would have been disarmingly sexy. As it was, it just made her stomach turn - because she knew what was coming next. "Let me go," Meg demanded.

"What's the word I'm looking for - no."

Meg growled before opening her mouth to scream for Evan - though she knew it wouldn't do any good, he didn't….

Frank clamped a hand down over her mouth and black-rimmed hazel eyes narrowed down on her dangerously. "Stupid bitch," he hissed. "You summon that big oaf here and we're all dead. So shut your trap and just come with me like the good little survivor you are. A party awaits."

"I don't WANT to go to a party," Meg said vehemently, tugging against him as he tried to pull her back toward the lodge. "And Evan is not stupid -"

"Yeah, no more retarded than you I guess," Frank interrupted carelessly, still tugging her along. Despite how compact he was compared to giants like the Oni, Myers, or Evan himself, he was still deceptively strong and had no trouble overpowering the red-head, forcing her to join him and the others at the lodge.

The other three members of the Legion all looked up; though their faces were covered with masks, Meg could clearly tell they were watching her. "Don't look too excited," she mumbled, face flushing with embarrassment.

Frank shoved her inside, grabbing a can of whatever they'd be drinking and tossing it at her. It nearly hit Meg's head as she fumbled for it, feeling anxiety rushing in her pulse. What the hell was going on here? Was she dreaming? "She's shaking like a rabbit," one of the females said; the one with presumably short hair, considering it didn't hang down over her chest like the other one's did. The teen's voice was low for a woman, and tinged with cold cruelty. "I like when they shake."

"Now now, Julie," Frank chided with false sweetness, grabbing the back of Meg's hoodie again and forcing her down into a ratty old chair that expelled dust upon receiving her weight. Meg coughed up a storm, clutching her can anxiously as the obvious leader of the group addressed his right-hand woman. "Little Red here is our esteemed guest. Besides - if we decide to harm a hair on her stupid little head, that bald, metal detector piece of shit will come running like a fucking dog."

Julie tilted her head, expression indecipherable behind the mask. Clear annoyance laced her voice. "So you weren't lying after all. Who knew." That masked visage turned on Meg, who stiffened up. "Is numb nuts here telling the truth?"

Meg had a feeling that although Frank was the leader of the group, he had little to no power when it came to Julie. The thought of the masked woman bullying the little shit who'd dared to lick her was immensely pleasing and Meg found herself holding back a giggle despite her fear.

The whole room tensed. "W-What are you giggling at?" the other girl, the one with the long pink hair, asked almost nervously. Her shy and awkward demeanor didn't seem to fit in with the rest of the group at all.

Meg's eyes narrowed on her. "You know, I may not remember what exactly happens in most trials, but I do remember you being a little wuss," she said, an edge in her voice. "Why do you even hang out with these bloodthirsty idiots?"

Frank burst out laughing; the sound was both extremely annoying and mildly contagious - like she wasn't sure whether to smack him, or laugh with him. "Susie, you are a fuckin' wuss," he howled. "Little wuss bitch. Red here would make a better killer than you -"

"Frank, she called you a bloodthirsty idiot," the fourth member of the squad interrupted, his voice low. His mask had a sort of skull on it and he was dressed in all black; seeing his hands, which held a can of whatever they were drinking, Meg could tell that his skin was almost as dark as his clothing. "You realize that, right?"

The leader of the four paused, then shrugged it off with a forced casual demeanor. "She can call me whatever the fuck she wants," he said, voice almost lackadaisical. Approaching the dusty old chair Meg sat in, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair, effectively boxing her in. The red-head shrunk back into the old cushions, feeling her heart hammering in her chest - although she did her damndest to give him the nastiest glare she could. "I get to hear her scream when I kill her. I get to hear that cute little gurgle she makes when I gut her so slowly and intimately. I get to see the light fade from her eyes. Don't I? So why should I care if she calls me a fuckin' idiot? The real idiot here is a little red-headed bitch who thinks she's not in absolute danger right here, right now." His voice lowered, and although the others could still hear, Meg knew he was speaking directly to her. A shudder ran through her at the intensity of his gaze; an almost animal desire reflected there - although whether it was for her body, or her blood, she didn't know. "Because Red… the only thing between you and death right now is our goddamn whim."

Meg sucked in a breath, hating that her angry expression had slipped and she was showing him every ounce of fear she was feeling. And he ate it up, too, because his lips twisted into an almost maniacal grin before he backed away as if nothing had happened. Flouncing back against an old suitcase, he kicked his feet up and joined the others in merely hanging about, sipping at their drinks and occasionally kicking stuff. As Meg looked around, she noticed the whole resort area was wrecked; probably due to the four rowdy teens having no respect for anything and deciding they wanted to take their anger out on the property. "Why am I here?" she found herself asking, breaking the silence between them all.

"Don't sound so ungrateful," Julie hissed, clenching her can in her fist and denting it. "As numb nuts here said, you're a guest at our party."

"This is the worst party I've ever been to," Meg muttered.

"Maybe you'd fuckin' loosen up a little if you actually drank your beer instead of sitting there like a stupid little vegetable," Frank said, eyes roving over her. Then he sat up, getting to his feet. "In fact - why don't I be a good Samaritan and help?"

Meg stiffened up. Her desire to rebel and her fear were battling in her mind, and she watched anxiously as he came over to her. "F-Frank, don't," Susie warned timidly.

"Shut the fuck up." Although his comment was directed at Susie, his eyes never left Meg. Coming back over to her, he boxed her in with his body like before and reached for the can of beer. At Meg's resistance he yanked it out of her hands viciously, cracking it open and grinning from ear to ear. "Head back, Red," he commanded; Meg only glared at him.

"Fuck off," she growled.

His grin faded and his eyes flashed dangerously. A hand darted out, grabbing her chin so hard it brought a squeal of pain out of her and her whole body acted, writhing in the chair and trying to get away. Frank pressed against her, his hard body keeping her in her place - and worst of all, the others said absolutely nothing, merely watching with interest. That smirk returned and the hand on her chin went up into her hair, grasping and yanking on it to tug her head back. "I said, head back," he growled, keeping her tilted up, the can hovering over her face. "I guess you aren't as much of a fuck-twat as I thought. You can listen. Good little girl-jock. Now; open wide."

Meg clamped her mouth shut, feeling angry tears burn the corners of her eyes. Somehow, this was worse than being put on a hook. To be toyed with and humiliated like this…

Her mind went to Evan - how he'd done the same long ago… but how that guilt seemed to flash in his milky eyes, and how he'd done what no other killer had done - he'd saved her. She wondered, truly, if he'd save her now. If calling his name would do any good whatsoever. The hand in her hair moved back down to her chin, grabbing it and forcing her lips to part with a not-so gentle squeeze. Another whimper of pain came from the red-head, her whole body trembling as Frank pressed her into the cushions, that twisted little smile on his face. He was relishing in each shift of her body, each pained gasp, the fear in her eyes. He loved it.

Soon the liquid came down, filling her mouth; before she could spit it out the killer's hand covered her mouth, forcing her to swallow. It tasted disgusting, and the lukewarm temperature made bile rise in the back of her throat. Tears streamed down her temples and the moment he uncovered her mouth to pour more in, Meg let out a blood-curdling scream. Would anyone hear her? Another survivor? The Entity itself? Evan…?

"Ready for round two?" Frank asked with a snicker. "What a good little dumpster. You don't even need a funnel or anything." When the next batch of beer came pouring out, it filled Meg's mouth and ran over her chin; she could feel it choking her, burning in the back of her nose, strangling her as she tried so hard to cry for help… but could only gurgle. Swallowing more of it, she gasped for air and screamed again - although when she did, Frank paused and stared at her, a brief flicker of shock on his face.

She hadn't even realized it when she screamed, "EVAN! EVAN, PLEASE! HELP!"

Meg looked almost as shocked as he did - and quickly he put a hand over her mouth, clamping down so hard on her that she bit her own tongue and tasted iron. "You fucking bitch," the killer hissed, eyes filled with rage. "You better be glad I don't cut that filthy little tongue out of your head and eat it like candy. If Mister fucking Clean comes wandering over here, I swear to god I'll gut you like a little oinker and make you choke on something other than this beer."

Meg said nothing; she couldn't. She couldn't do anything other than whimper and uselessly struggle under the weight of his body. And the others just watched. They might not have been as openly bloodthirsty as Frank was, but they were certainly just as cold, because they didn't seem bothered to lift a finger to stop him.

And Meg's heart sank further and further with each passing moment, because she knew as Frank forced her mouth open for more, Evan wasn't coming to help her.

No one was.