15. Revelations

[ Meeting 107-2; Unknown. ]

When Meg landed on the ground with a thud, her back screamed in agony and her legs were tingling painfully with the impact. She heard a groan not too far away and managed to lift her head enough to see Evan's body near her own - and… something red. A lot of red. Her vision blurred and she lowered her head back to the dirt, closing her eyes. Where the hell were they? Where were Dwight and Jane? Michael?

Finally she seemed to regain her balance enough to slowly lift herself off the ground, sitting up and feeling her whole body protest the movement. When she focused on her surroundings her eyes widened in awe and a gasp left her.

All around them were ghostly images of all their companions in the Fog - both survivors and killers. And almost every single one of them had red strings connecting them in some way - a few of them, she noticed had multiple. Some that Meg hadn't even seen up until now. Momentarily forgetting about Evan and their current predicament, Meg's eyes attempted to follow all the red strings, connecting everyone to each other. There were quite a few she hadn't noticed before - not only was Kate connected to Quentin… she was connected to Ace as well. Jake was connected to… to that girl. Susie. And although the Wraith was connected to the Nurse… he had somehow been connected to Nea as well.

Although Nea didn't talk too much around the campfire, preferring to be alone for the most part, Meg had remembered her commenting more than once about how she had this sort of… game with the Wraith. Nea was known for being extremely slippery and hard to catch, and Wraith seemed to be one of the only killers who could ever give her a good run. In fact, Meg remembered more than one match being extremely easy because the bell-ringing killer had given up on the other survivors to focus on chasing Nea.

This world - the Fog - and the people in it… were much more connected than she'd ever imagined. Meg noted even more strings popping up - between the Pig and the Ghostface, as well as the Cannibal; between Jane and the Plague… between Laurie and her killer - Michael. Even Cheryl had been oddly connected to her killer; the Pyramid Head, he'd been called. He had been terrifying to face off against.

The only figure in the entirety of the Fog that Meg saw no strings attached to was the Clown. Bile immediately rose in the back of her throat at the sight of him; he was by far the most vile and perverse of all the killers in the realm, and with disgust she admitted that the lack of connections wasn't surprising in the slightest.

A groan drew her attention from all the ghostly figures and Meg looked over at Evan as he stirred, slowly picking himself up off the ground. It was then that she noticed the red string between them - and no one else. Meg had no other connections… and neither did Evan. And the string between them was bright; brighter than any of the others.

It had been the first.

Meg drew her knees to her chest, watching him apprehensively as he came to and analyzed his surroundings. He took a minute to look at all the figures around them, before finally focusing his attention on her. The pair locked eyes and stared at one another silently for what seemed like forever. Finally she blurted, "how come I couldn't see the string, and you could?"

He hesitated. "I… don't know."

"Why are we here? Where is here?"

"I don't know."

"WHY are we connected?"

"I don't know."

Meg's voice rose to a yell. "WHY did you kill all those people?!"

Evan's shoulders went stiff, his whole body rigid as he sat on his knees, watching her. He fell utterly silent, other than the rough bear-like sounds of his breathing. Meg felt tears coming unbidden, stinging the corners of her eyes and forcing her to blink them back; she wasn't sure where the last question had come from, but it had been lingering in the back of her mind ever since his revelation. And she couldn't stop thinking about it. About him. And Meg was still shocked by the conflicting feelings still mingling in her chest. She should hate him. She should despise him for the horrible things he'd done, and yet - if she said she didn't care about Evan… she'd be lying to herself.

The thought that she could care for a vicious, brutal murderer made her feel sick to her stomach.

Still, she needed answers, and despite the oddity of their surroundings, all those ghostly figures staring at them, Meg found herself digging her heels in and demanding those answers with a hard stare. Finally Evan's shoulders slumped and he averted his gaze, masked face turning away. He either wouldn't look at her or couldn't look at her. "I did it… because I am… a monster," he rumbled quietly.

"BULLSHIT!" Meg's raised voice surprised even herself. Still, she pressed on. "A heartless monster wouldn't save my friends. A monster wouldn't save me. A monster wouldn't nearly KILL himself trying to keep me out of danger! So what is your game, you dumb turtle?! Do you love me or something?! Is that why this… damn string is here?!"

The hulking man tensed up once more and his head abruptly jerked to stare at her, intensity in his white eyes behind his mask. His jaw worked, clenching angrily, before he ground out: "no."

Meg faltered, falling silent. A new lump formed in her throat and she swallowed it down, feeling the familiar burn of threatening tears.

He watched with growing regret, unable to look away, as the red-head went quiet and fought back tears. "I-I see," she said, voice oddly quiet and trembling with emotion. "So that's it, then." Every passing second made him want to hit himself. To punish himself for saying or doing anything to possibly hurt her.

But how could he tell her the truth? About his feelings - which he wasn't even sure what they were - or about his past? It was easier, so much easier, to pretend he didn't care and to leave the past packed away. It was easier to dismiss it all and label himself a monster. Being a monster was simple. Painless. You hurt, you maim, you kill, you put the maggots in their place.

Evan wasn't sure he was ready to put down the mask. He wasn't sure he was able to.

He merely watched her, desperately wanting to look away. To avoid the pangs that burned his chest at the sight of her tears. "I can't possibly believe that you killed all those people just because you wanted to," she protested, voice weak - almost like she wasn't so sure herself anymore. So weak. So pathetic. So heart-wrenching. "Please. Tell me the truth, Evan."

With that, she crawled over to him. The ghostly silhouettes all around them watched, silent as the grave, as Meg stopped right in front of him, sitting on her knees, and reached up to pull his mask up and away. Hard white eyes looked down at her, lips pursed so tightly that they stretched the angry white scar that trailed all the way across his tanned face. "P-Please - you… you dumb turtle," the red-head practically whimpered, those tiny ineffectual little hands come up to rest on his cheeks. The touch lit Evan on fire and he fought with himself, unsure whether he wanted to pull her closer or wrench himself away. Her insults held no threat anymore - as if they ever did - in fact, they had become an almost affectionate nickname.

Meg loomed ever closer, tears staining her cheeks as those pretty blue-gray eyes searched his own for something. Perhaps his true feelings? Something other than the lies he'd been giving her? His gaze wandered over her face down to her lips. Those soft, delectable little lips that had given him the utter pleasure of wrapping around his own finger at one point. Lips that had screamed at him, lips that had gasped and moaned so deliciously, lips that trembled when she gazed at him. Lips he'd never felt the pleasure of kissing - lips he didn't deserve to kiss.

"You stupid girl," he growled, abruptly pulling away from her and struggling to his feet. His wounds had stopped bleeding, but were still painful - the Entity's doing, no doubt. Immediately Evan looked away, unable to look Meg in the eye. "We don't have… time for this. We need to… figure out how to… get out."

He didn't see her expression but he could hear her voice - cold steel. "Alright." In his peripherals he could see her get slowly to her feet. "What are you talking about? Get out of… here?" She sounded deeply wounded; angered. He couldn't blame her. "I don't see a way off this ghostly little rock, do you? Got any bright ideas, you dumb turtle?"

"I meant… out."

When he finally looked at her, he saw her staring at him with wide eyes. "You mean…?"

He nodded, grunting. "I think… the Entity, it's… weakening."

Meg pursed her lips. "How am I supposed to believe anything you say?"

"You don't… have to," he rasped. "Look around. The… collapse."

She looked away. Evan found himself wondering why he was so concerned with getting out; then he realized it wasn't himself he was concerned with. It was her.

Always her.

"If we… work together - we can… break it. And maybe we'll… get out. We have to… work together."

"Work together?" Her brows scrunched and she looked at him with utter spite in her blue-gray eyes. Spite that shielded the hurt. "I'm just a stupid girl, remember?"

He growled. "Now isn't… the time."

"And it never will be, I guess." Meg's lower lip trembled. "Answer me one thing, then - if you don't care for me - then why does this stupid red string connect us?!"

Evan tensed up. That really was the question, wasn't it? He tried to convince himself he didn't care - that his reason for protecting Meg was sheer rebellion. He had become so tired of all this that he had instinctively searched for some way - any way - to show his displeasure. To hurt the Entity as it had hurt him. That Meg was simply convenient.

But that didn't explain the red string. He knew what that line of thought really was - an excuse.

Because deep down, though he tried to deny or snuff it out, Meg was important to him. His voice was quiet; pensive. "Because you… are the Little Rabbit. And I… am the dumb turtle."

Understanding flowed between them. In that moment, surrounded by the ghostly visages of their friends and enemies, Evan and Meg connected. Truly connected. Though their feelings had gone unspoken, and maybe always would, they had an understanding.

Then Meg went still, wrinkling her nose in an attempt to force back the tears he could see threatening the corners of her eyes. "I-I guess that's true," she conceded with a sniffle. "Well… Do you have a plan, dumb turtle?"

Evan worked his jaw behind his mask, thinking. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the ground began to tremble violently, knocking the pair off their feet. Just as they struggled to stand, Evan instinctively reaching for the red-head to protect her from any impact, the world was once more flipped upside down.

When Meg landed, wind whistling in her ears and blocking out all noise, she felt a heavy thud beside her - she knew it was Evan. Her first thought was pain. Her second was concern - concern for Evan, despite the multitude of reasons she shouldn't care. Squinting, the red-head tried to focus her vision and began to sit up with a groan; why was it so damn bright?

As her vision cleared and she rubbed her head, Meg realized, looking at all the faces of her horrified friends, who had all scurried from their seats and stayed a good distance back, that she was at the campfire.

And Evan was with her.

No killer had ever broached the small space the survivors lived in; it was their sanctuary, their one brief reprieve from the torture of the trials. The only place they had where a killer could not hurt them.

And Evan was here, right in the middle of it. Had the Entity purposely taken him here? Or was this… the Entity weakening, like Evan had said?

Claudette broke the wide circle of survivors to move over to Meg cautiously, putting the red-head between her and the killer's body. It seemed that no matter what was currently going on, that fear of killers was now so instinctual that it would take more than a few good deeds to ease the terror. No one else moved or said a word; Claudette simply took out of some her ointment and began dabbing it on the various cuts and scrapes littering her friend's legs. "Don't worry about me," Meg protested softly, shifting away. "Worry about him."

Claudette looked up from her work, her brows furrowing. "You're our friend, Meg…" she replied equally softly. "He's not. H-He's not even supposed to be here…"

"But he is," the red-head retorted, shifting onto her knees and crawling over to the man's massive body. As she reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder, the others all stared. While the red strings of fate had been popping up all over the place, connecting survivors and killers alike, no one had gone nearly as far as Meg had. Some survivors looked at her with shock, others mild interest, and some with outright disgust.

"It's a bloody trick!" David suddenly protested as Meg's hand met the killer's tanned skin; he started to move forward but Jake held out an arm, shaking his head. David only seemed to half heed the other boy's silent warning; with a scowl, he said, "the twat is a bloody killer. We can't trust 'im far as we can fuckin' throw 'im!"

Meg's breath hitched and she shifted her eyes from the unconscious man on the ground to her friend. David had always been a dark horse, one of the few survivors - maybe the only one - who actually seemed to enjoy the trials on occasion. But his hatred and distrust for the killers ran deep, as to be expected, and David had always been a damn stubborn mule regardless. Meg knew changing his mind about any of them would be nigh impossible. Blue-gray eyes shifted down to look at the brute of a man. In the fall, one of the strings holding his mask together had snapped and it was hanging loosely on his face, threatening to come off at any moment. Shifting him gently, the red-head wiggled the mask off and set it aside.

Her hand went up to touch his face - and just before her fingers met his skin, a voice interrupted her. "The red string," Kate murmured. "Sweet Jesus - it's glowing."

Meg looked down and could see that her blonde friend was right. The string connecting Evan and herself was glowing, almost pulsing with life; and she wondered what it meant, if anything at all. Evan had simply said they were connected. Nothing more, nothing less; but Meg couldn't quite grasp that. It had to mean something more. Did it mean they were meant to be… together?

The thought was startling and Meg finally drew her hand back, having some semblance of self-control, especially in the presence of the others. Instead she nudged Evan's shoulders, trying to stir him. "Evan?" she muttered, leaning over him. "Please - wake up."

But he didn't.

A quick check to his pulse filled Meg with a surprise sense of relief; she could see his breaths and feel his heartbeat, but his eyes remained closed. A presence startled her; it was Kate, who'd come over to crouch next to her. "Is that his face?" the songbird question, blue eyes roaming the killer's visage with surprise. "Why - he looks almost… normal."

Meg nodded quietly. "Handsome, even -" Kate continued, earning a displeased grunt from Ace. "Or - like he could have been handsome in his previous life… poor soul. I bet my left foot he doesn't even wanna be here."

Meg looked up at her friend with a soft expression. Kate had always been one of the most open-minded, free-spirited people she'd ever known - so of course it was the sultry blonde who seemed to accept things first. Resting Evan on his back (with some effort - because holy hell he was heavy), Meg replaced the mask tenderly and got up, beginning to explain everything she'd seen to all the others - who still hadn't come e closer, considering there was an unconscious killer in the middle of the campfire site. A mixture of increasing horror and hope dawned on the group the more Meg talked about what she'd seen, what Evan had told her, and her own theories on the matter - the mere possibility of escaping this nightmare realm was enough to put a fire in the bellies of many of them.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Nea growled, clenching her hands into fists. "Let's burn this damn place to the ground. If the Entity is really as weak as the meat-head on the ground there says… then let's finish the damn thing off and get out of here!"

"I don't think it'll be that easy," Adam cut in. "It may be weakening, but it's still the Entity… it's still in control of this place. That control is slowly being relinquished, the evidence being the merging of realms and the multiple killers roaming around - as well as the Trapper here landing right in our camp site -"

"Evan," Meg interrupted. All eyes turned to her. The stares would have been enough to make anyone else blush in shame, but Meg only met their gazes with determination. "His name is Evan."

"Well fockin' forgive us if we don't feel like callin' a bloody killer by his name," David spat, lip curling beneath his mustache. "You may have a lady-boner for that sonuvabitch, but the rest of us are thinkin' with our bloody fuckin' brains, Red."

Meg's jaw tightened. A small part of her wanted to come to Evan's defense, considering he'd saved not only her but a few of the others as well, but she knew it'd do no good. The prejudices ran deep, deeper than a few good deeds could fix. And she couldn't blame David or anyone else. Evan had slaughtered them multiple times; she couldn't expect them to simply forgive and forget. She hadn't entirely done so, either - but while she knew he'd done horrible - even unforgivable things - she had also seen that look in his eye… the way he watched her. The shame in his posture when he'd told her. The regret in those milky white eyes. Eyes she had imagined, on more than one occasion, as a dark forest green color, just as he'd described. Deep green eyes that stared down at her as his fingers brushed her hair behind her ear.

Jake of all people came to her rescue yet again. "Some of these killers may feel just as stuck here as we do," he said, a gloved hand rubbing his chin. "It's a long shot - and I don't like the idea any more than anyone else - but perhaps we can temporarily work with the ones who are willing - just to get out of here. Then we can split ways and we'll never have to look at any of them ever again."

"You're only entertaining the idea because you've been talking to that Legion girl," Jane retorted, hands on her hips. "Have you forgotten that she's killed just as many of us as the Trapper here? Or the Plague? Or the Clown?"

Jake's jaw clenched. "She's not the reason I'm considering this," he replied tightly. "I'm considering it because I want to leave this place."

"Whether or not we work with killers, I believe we should make some sort of plan based on what we've learned," Adam chipped in. "If the Entity is weakening… then I say we keep doing that. And eventually… hopefully… we'll land back in the real world."

"B-But how?" Dwight, who'd been standing behind David and clutching at his sleeve, poked his head over the burly man's shoulder. "We don't even really know what's been working and what's not!"

Meg pursed her lips thoughtfully. "My best guess…? The trials." Blue-gray eyes went down to watch Evan's chest rise and fall slowly as she mulled over her thoughts. "The trials are where the Entity sets us in a realm with the killer and lets us all out to play, so to speak. Otherwise, killers aren't allowed here at the campfire - and I guess it assumed we survivors would never go seek out any of the killers in their realms. Not until that day I stumbled upon the MacMillan Estate…"

"... Wait, what?"

Quentin's voice broke Meg from her thoughts and when she looked up, she found that the others were all staring at her in shock. Meg's face did flush this time; she'd forgotten that she hadn't told any of them about her meetings with Evan… or the sketch that sat in her tent, protected and untouched. All the survivors knew about was the time Jake and Evan had rescued her from Ormond - but they had all assumed that was possible because things were already tipping sideways by that point. Quentin stepped forward, looking a little braver than before. "You went to MacMillan Estate - outside a trial? Before everything went to hell? I wasn't even sure that was possible until that day at Ormond - not that I've ever truly wanted to find out…"

Kate, who'd stood to her feet by now, moved over to the boy, their shoulders brushing. Meg's eyes briefly flitted over to Ace, whose sunglasses were glinting in the fire light. She couldn't gauge his expression or if he was watching them, but he couldn't be happy about the arrangement. Kate, Quentin and Ace weren't the only triangle of red strings that had formed, but they certainly were the most confusing one. "None of us have, sugar," Kate replied quietly, gaze switching to Meg. "So how on God's green earth did it happen?"

"I was running," Meg began hesitantly. The others nodded in understanding. This was the norm for the red-head, although until that point she'd never ventured out of the woods surrounding the survivors' campfire. "And I guess I just… ran too far. And you know how curious I can be -"

"Stupid's more like it," David grumbled.

"Listen here, beardo," Meg snapped, "plenty of us would say your desperate desire to brawl with the killers is pretty damn stupid, too." David gave her a nasty look but Meg was allowed to continue her story. She spoke about how she'd gotten stuck in that room with him, all the drawings she'd seen - how he'd seemed so tired. Unwilling to even tell her to leave. All he'd done was give her that charcoal sketch - and quickly Meg went over to her tent, carefully grabbing the brittle paper and bringing it out. Some survivors stayed near the edges of the tents, unwilling to go near Evan's body; others moved in a little closer, curious.

"He can draw?" Nea muttered incredulously, staring at Meg's likeness on the parchment.

"And very well, too, from the looks of it," Jeff responded quietly, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Who would've thought…"

"D-Do you think maybe… you coming across MacMillan estate… do you think that started all of this?" Cheryl asked, running a single finger over the drawing. The blonde girl had always been shy, but ever since a red string formed between the Pyramid Head and herself, she'd been even more withdrawn. As if trying to come to terms with what was happening. Cheryl (Heather as she liked to be called sometimes) seemed to be one of the only survivors that didn't care to go back. From what little she'd told the group, she (and her killer) came from a place that was even more horrifying than the Fog; and if the Midwich school they sometimes had trials in was any example, Meg could see why she didn't want to go back.

"I don't know," Meg mumbled. "Maybe. I remember Evan saying… that he'd always seen the red string between us. I hadn't seen it until recently… but he could. From the very beginning."

"What do the red strings mean?" Quentin asked, his hands clutching together anxiously. Like Meg, he was a curious person, though much more cautious than his red-head friend. He preferred to safely do research rather than investigate himself. But the red string phenomenon had everyone confused. No one knew why they'd popped up, or what they meant; they had guesses, theories, but nothing more. "If the Trapper could -" he paused, gaze moving over to the still man. The teen shuddered, quickly looking away; Meg could see him tense up beside Kate as he remembered the viciousness with which the killer had brutalized him. Meg hadn't realized it then, but now she could guess that the reason Evan had punished him so horribly was… jealousy. She remembered with a shiver how he'd shoved Quentin's head down into that trap… how the teeth had bitten into his skin… the terrible squelch of his skin ripping. It had been cruel; cruelty born of jealousy. Selfish, childish jealousy.

Kate squeezed Quentin's shoulder gently. His voice trembled, but he continued: "i-if he was able to see the string from the beginning… then that could possibly change the dynamic. I've done a lot of research in my previous life on these kinds of things - it's nothing more than a legend of sorts, but a lot of stories talk about the 'red string of fate.' When it connects two people, it means that fate has bound them together in some way; though it's up to the connected people to figure out how. I guess what I'm saying is… it really is up to us to decide what to make of this."

Meg took the sketch back to her tent, safely tucking it away and racking her brain for ideas. The trials. It all revolved around the trials. Right…? Or - as Cheryl had questioned - had it all started when she approached Evan…?

"Who's in a trial right now?" she asked as she came back to the group, attempting to gather her thoughts and form a plan.

"Bill, Ash, Steve, and Nancy." Jane counted the names off on her fingers. "They've been gone a while. Must be a tough one…"

"I thought I missed the smell of clove cigarettes," Meg muttered, rubbing her head. "Well - for now, let's just try everything we can. Maybe the best way to show resistance is to just… not participate. The killers have been all out of whack lately too - maybe, just maybe, some of them will help us."

There were many mutterings; some of agreement, some of reluctance. Eventually the survivors dispersed - when Bill, Ash, Nancy, and Steve came back, they were tended to with utmost care and the situation was explained as soon as they arrived. Though none of them were enthused about having the body of a killer in their sanctuary, they eventually just retreated to their tents and left well enough alone. Meg sat down quietly next to Evan, who still breathed deeply, slowly. This time, however, she noticed that his sounds seemed a little less like a bear… and just a little more like a man.

Resting a hand on his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat beneath her palm, the red-head stared at the fire and mulled over everything that had been said and the decisions that had been made. The presence of another disturbed her from her thoughts and she looked up to see Claudette sitting down beside her, looking extremely nervous; at first Meg assumed that she was afraid to sit so close to Evan, but she quickly realized the dark-skinned woman was anxious about what she was about to say. The way she twiddled her fingers and opened her mouth like a fish out of water only to be unable to manage a squeak was proof enough. Meg's brows furrowed. "Well, spit it out," she pressed, not unkindly.

"I-I had an idea," Claudette stammered, breath coming in short gasps, "b-but it's… i-it's insane. I thought maybe the only person who'd be open to c-considering it would be… y-you."

"Thanks," the red-head grumbled, unable to fault her friend for her thought process. "Well… what's the idea?"

"C-Could you… could you t-take me to Coldwind…?" Claudette's eyes averted, fear in her voice.

Meg frowned. "Coldwind? Why?"

"I-I wanted to see i-if maybe…" the dark-skinned woman gulped. "I-if maybe… The Hillbilly - er, Max - w-would… help us."