17. Lines Drawn

[ Meeting 107-3; the Campfire. ]

Meg had no damn clue why she'd bothered to stay by Evan's side while he remained unconscious. The silence had given her quite a while to think about what was going on, what she'd agreed to help Claudette do, the insanity that surrounded them… and Meg's own personal feelings on all of it.

She'd come to the conclusion that somehow, in some way, she cared about Evan. It was the only explanation for her erratic actions and dumb decisions. Even though his past was drenched in blood, even though he'd looked her in the eye and told her he felt nothing for her, she couldn't help it.

And that was why she sat here now, at his side with her knees drawn to her chest, waiting for him to wake up.

Meg had told Claudette she would escort her to Coldwind, but that their journey would have to wait until Evan woke up. She doubted any of the others would appreciate her leaving a killer at the campfire unattended - she knew (mostly) that he wouldn't hurt them, but they didn't.

So she sat. Oddly enough she was never summoned to a trial like plenty of the others were; and even as people came and went, and the remaining survivors patched up those who came back with wounds, Meg sat still, right next to Evan's body.

She'd finally rested her forehead against her knees and closed her eyes for a brief rest when he stirred. At first Meg was so tired that she didn't see his eyes open - but eventually the shifting of his body caused her to lift her head, peering at him with sleepy blue-gray eyes. Evan slowly reached up and grabbed at the mask that had been haphazardly put on his face, bringing it down to rest in his lap. Meg sucked in a breath, biting down on her lip as her gaze met with his bare face. It seemed that no matter how many times she saw him, he still managed to take her breath away.

She watched his expression shift from unconsciousness to confusion to shock. He was clearly as befuddled by his presence at the campfire as everyone else was; those who were around peered at him almost owlishly, waiting to see what he would do. Meg could tell just by looking at him that Evan knew the full extent of the eyes watching him and what they meant; all of his movements then were slow and deliberate, as if he didn't want to startle anyone. The massive man sat up, shifted to look around fully, and then focused back on Meg. The intensity of those white eyes had an involuntary shiver rolling down her spine. "You're finally awake," she managed. "Took you long enough."

He merely gave her an irritated grumble. When his hand reached up to scratch at his head, Dwight burst from his tent, wielding a branch in shaking hands. "D-Don't try anything, pal!" the bespectacled boy whimpered, looking much less threatening than he wanted. "I-I mean it! David taught me a few things, I-I won't hesitate to -"

"Enough," Evan growled, swatting the stick away. With a squeak Dwight returned to his tent and the tension in the air thickened.

Stifling a small smile, Meg scooted closer to Evan - so close that the hulking killer looked her up and down, surprise reflected in his eyes, and his broad shoulders stiffened up. "I can't even sit next to you, now?" she asked bitterly, causing an angry frown to curl his scarred lips.

Evan's jaw tightened as he stared down at her. When their eyes locked, the campfire, the other survivors, everything melted away, leaving the two of them alone with each other. That understanding passed between them again and the red-head's expression softened. "Really, though… what the heck took you so long to wake up?"

The killer's expression darkened. "Memories. Memories so… sharp… and insinuating… that I am not sure… if they are real."

Meg tilted her head curiously. "What do you mean, not sure if they're real? W-What, uh, did you see?"

He looked away, seeming uncertain - an expression she didn't see on him often. "It's… nothing."

The girl frowned - it wasn't hard to tell that he was lying - but she let it go for the moment and finally hauled herself to her feet. "We're in," she said, stretching and wincing as her injuries pulled. They still hadn't fully healed from her previous encounters; must've been some special punishment the Entity had conjured up.

"What?"

As Evan stood up next to her, he rose… and rose… and rose. Until she had to tip her head back to look up at him, her nose nearly coming level with his nipples. She consistently seemed to forget just how gigantic he really was, despite the evidence being right in her face at all times. Meg was so close she could feel the sweltering heat of his body, could hear the low, rumbling breaths deep in his chest, could see beads of sweat developing on his muscled arms. Every part of her was drawn in, and she found her hands moving of their own accord, raising toward his pectorals - and stopping short of his skin, like they always did. Hadn't she always called him a coward? And here she was the one being a coward.

Then again, he had told her how he felt - and she needed to respect that.

As Meg looked up at his face, however, she could see something in his eyes… something brimming there that certainly didn't seem like hatred or apathy or anything of the sort. Maybe admiration… even desire. She'd seen that look on the faces of others; boys from high school, maybe even Jake once upon a time. But none seemed to impact her like those emotions in Evan's eyes.

Abruptly Meg took a step back, clearing her throat. "T-The survivors," she said, trying to get back on track. "We're in. Tearing this whole damn place to the ground. Getting the hell out of here. We're in." As he nodded his understanding with a new expression that was something similar to apprehension, Meg continued. "Do you think any of the other killers would… would help us?"

His jaw clenched and unclenched. Meg had grown so fond of that little gesture; but the expression on his face was suspicious. Was there something he'd remembered that he wasn't telling her? Or was he beginning to change his mind? Setting her hands on her hips, she fixed the man with a sharp look. "Are you gonna go and back out on me - I mean, on us?" she demanded. "After everything that's happened? Don't tell me you're -"

"No." He shook his head, hands tightening into fists. "I have not… changed my mind."

"You want out of here as badly as we do, don't you?" Meg prompted, biting down on her lip. "You want to escape this place." A pause. "... What are you going to do in the real world?"

He watched her, his jaw working in that charming way it always did. "Another time," he finally grunted.

Meg sighed slightly, running a hand through her hair and taking another step back. He was still too close for comfort; the natural instinct to reach out and touch him was almost overwhelming. "I'm going with Claudette to Coldwind," she finally said. "She wants me to guide her there. So she can talk to… the Hillbilly."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

There was something in his voice; something similar to… protectiveness?

Focusing on the conversation at hand and refusing to get distracted by her own delusions, Meg continued. "I think she sees something in him…" the red-head shrugged, feeling somewhat bashful all of a sudden. The words came out before she could control them. "Kind of like… kind of like I see something in you."

His shoulders tensed; muscles in his arms flexed. Jumpy. Scared…? "You called me… a monster."

Her heart sank. Her voice was quiet. "I did."

"You… meant it."

"I did."

"You… don't anymore?"

Meg had averted her gaze in shame, but the question had her looking back up at the massive man. The moment they locked eyes she felt her breath catch and all those confusing feelings rushed back up to the surface. She remembered the horrible things he'd done; the way he'd placed her on a hook or sank his blade into her skin… the way he had tortured her with white-hot, blistering pleasure only for the Entity to separate them before he could go too far. Meg could remember all of those things clear as day; but she also remembered the way he'd been punished for saving her. The way he'd helped Jake find and free her from the Legion's grasp. The guilt and pain in his eyes as he spoke of his past.

Evan wasn't a monster. She couldn't place why or how she knew. She just did.

"No," she finally whispered, voice quivering. Eyes glassy. "I don't."

The others around the campfire hadn't been satisfied until Evan was fully escorted off the premises. Only then was Meg able to grab Claudette and sneak away again, this time to Coldwind farm. The skies overhead shifted from cool colors to warm colors and they emerged from the endless forestry into a field of corn. In the middle of it all was a large farm house that looked like it'd been abandoned for years. This scene was a familiar one; during trials, killers of all kinds had done horrible things to them.

A shudder ran through both girls as they made their way closer to the center of the area, but their fear was filtered with anticipation as well. The Hillbilly's connection to Claudette had seemed to change the dynamic between them, and Meg had to admit she was pretty hopeful that he would help them. He certainly wasn't the brightest crayon in the box but he was strong, he was fast, and he had a fucking chainsaw. If anyone could help rip up the Entity's realm, it was the Hillbilly - Max, as Claudette had called him.

They heard the almost grinding sound of his breathing before they even saw him and, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck raise, Meg grabbed her friend's hand and spun around to face the killer. He held his mallet in a tight grip, the weapon half-raised - until he saw Claudette. His empty golden eyes roamed her dark skin, his expression seeming to soften a bit. The mallet lowered - and although both girls were still on guard, they found they could finally release the breath they'd been holding.

Claudette, still holding on anxiously to Meg's hand, took a hesitant step forward. "M-Max," she said, dark eyes lifting to look up at him. The petite girl had to tip her head back in order to meet the lumbering killer's gaze. His eyes never moved to Meg or anything else; they remained glued to Claudette, as if she was the only thing in the world. As Meg watched, she was struck with a conflicted feeling.

Evan looks at me that way… but he said he feels nothing for me.

What was she supposed to believe?

Claudette's voice brought her back to the present. "M-Max… I know that we are c-connected. I don't know w-why - but… I believe we're meant t-to work together. T-To help each other. If we can tear this place down - weaken the Entity - we could get out of here! We could return to the real world - to our families."

He continued to stare down at her, sounding like a growling coyote with each breath he took. Something in his posture told Meg that he was uncertain… but listening. In a rare show of bravery Claudette reached out and took hold of his arm. The Hillbilly visibly flinched, eyes moving down to their connected skin briefly. The dark-haired girl merely looked up at his scarred, deformed face with an expression Meg knew all-too well: compassion.

She knew there was another reason for this little trip.

Claudette didn't just want the Hillbilly's help: she felt something for him. Whether it was of the romantic sort or simply the compassion she showed to all poor creatures, Meg wasn't sure, but there was something there.

The Hillbilly's distorted face began to stretch as he opened his mouth in a strange attempt to speak. Though the sounds were warbled, the two girls easily knew what he was trying to say: "alone."

Even Meg felt a small pebble of empathy for the killer. That was why he was hesitant, maybe even scared; because in the real world… he was alone.

Claudette frowned, her grip tightening a little on his arm, giving him a comforting squeeze. "You won't be… n-not if I have anything to say about it." After the two stared at each other a moment longer, she whispered, "please… Max."

He nodded slowly. The smiles that graced the girls' faces was enough to cause his face to contort a little as well - and Meg soon enough realized that he was trying to smile, too.

The MacMillan Estate was eerily silent. The ghost of his father still whispered, occasionally, but now more than ever Evan was left to his own thoughts as he traversed the grounds, back to the main house.

The CLAP of a trap on the edge of the grounds grabbed his attention. Someone had come here willingly. Purposefully. Evan's first thought went to Meg; was she back already? Was she safe? Had she been able to enlist the Hillbilly's help?

The hunter began a quick pace toward the source of the noise and the sight that greeted him halted Evan in his tracks. Through the holes of his mask he saw none other than Herman Carter, leaning on a tree with his arms folded over his chest and a grin perpetually plastered onto his face. The Doctor had never bothered to come to his Estate before, and he couldn't say he was happy to see him now. Evan's brows furrowed, jaw clenching in annoyance at the sight. "What… do you want?" he demanded, grip tightening on his cleaver.

A giggle came from the other killer. "Consider yourself enlisted, Evan-boy," Herman said suavely. "Things are coming to a nasty little head here in our perfect world and we must rise up to defend it."

Evan's shoulders filled with tension and ice slid down his spine. The dream he'd had.

It wasn't a dream.

Danny had come to visit him, and he had agreed to help. His first instinct was to blame himself. How could he have agreed to something like that?

He'd been a different person, back then.

"No," he growled immediately.

Herman's expression contorted only minutely. His empty grin forcefully remained, but his eyes hardened; put aside the facade of warmth. "Now now, Evan-boy, you made a promise to the little Ghost-runt. It wouldn't be very honorable to go back on your word."

"Ironic that you… talk about… honor." Evan brandished his cleaver threateningly; though the Doctor was a very bulky man, and quite tall, Evan had him by a few inches and a few pounds. Not to mention he was the only one with a weapon - then again… the Doctor had that electricity at his disposal. Still, Evan was confident he had a shot. "Herman… leave."

Herman leaned off the tree, tilting his head. "I had a feeling you might need some convincing," he said smoothly. "How about this, Evan-boy: you do what you agreed upon like an honorable man, or we kill that delicious little red-head you like so much."

Evan stiffened up. "You… can't. Survivors can't… die."

That grin grew impossibly wide. Of all the killers Evan had had the displeasure of ever interacting with, Herman Carter was certainly the creepiest. It was the words, not the grin, however, that chilled the Trapper to the bone: "Well, see now, the thing about the Entity is… it wants to keep us here. So if my dear Lisa whispers with it… asks it to help us preserve this place… we have a strong feeling that it'll oblige."

Evan's eyes widened. His entire body felt as frozen as if he was in a block of ice; muscles wouldn't respond, feet wouldn't move, his mouth wouldn't open. He couldn't even breathe. He only stared at the other who grew increasingly pleased with the situation. "It… wants to keep… survivors here… too," he finally managed. "It wouldn't… sacrifice her."

"Oh - it wouldn't?" Herman giggled. "It wouldn't sacrifice one measly little, ahh - what do you call her? Oh, that's correct - the Little Rabbit. You don't think the Entity would get rid of one little rabbit in order to keep the rest of us here…? You forget, Evan-boy - survivors can be replaced. She can be replaced.~"

Evan's voice was low; filled with absolute fury. "She can not."

The Doctor shrugged. "Well, the fact of the matter is, whether you think she is valuable or not - we can kill her. And we will."

Evan stared at the ground, trying to control his breathing. He always had pretty good control of his emotions; but the moment Meg was put in danger, all logic went out the window. His only concern was to protect her.

Protect Meg.

Was her life worth everyone's freedom? The whole reason Evan had agreed to help was… because of her. If she died… did he even care to help the others?

His gaze finally lifted to the electric blue eyes of the other killer. "What… do you want me… to do?"

Herman smiled. "Do what you do best, Evan-boy. Hunt. Hunt anyone who stands in our way."