Honey hit his back like a snowball hits a brick wall.
It was jarring. All the breath left her in the collision, her bones rattled, her muscles ached, and The Shape - didn't budge an inch.
On the list of things she didn't think through, this was number one.
Her arms were still linked about his waist, tightly hugging him to her chest as Claudette wiggled free his own grip and fled to freedom with a thank-you on her lips. Honey accepted it in all her fears, unwilling to release Myers for all the same reasons she'd been unwilling to watch herself murder David, not quite prepared to face the consequences of her failure and his loss.
He wasn't going to be happy, that was an easy supposition. He was never happy.
Maybe if she was quick enough, though, she could slip into that inky black sanctuary and find some freedom from this whole place alongside Claudette.
As if he too had not only realized this, but expected it, The Shape flipped the hatch with a stomp of his boot, effectively locking her out of whatever safety she'd hoped to find within its empty hold.
"Crap," Honey muttered to herself.
The Shape stood still for a moment longer, allowing the moment to weigh even heavier upon the girl's shoulders before he finally looked down at her.
Honey could feel his gaze upon her like fire. It was full of hate. Whatever kindred feelings had been shared between them in the death of another had all been washed away with the life of the escaped. Never had another killer been so bold as to step between him and his victims, never had one so royally fucked a trial beneath the Entity's stain like she had. His grip tightened about the stem of his blade, the rubber of the handle creaking with his enmity.
Slowly, Honey released him, opening her arms up and stepping back a comfortable distance. She recognized the look in his eye, the measured straightening of his shoulders, each subtle motion a new letter on the board of 'Y— F-ck-d -p.'
She took another step back and bought a vowel.
"Oh."
A glint of light danced along the blade's edge, capturing her essence in its bloody reflection. Her gaze snapped back up to him and she quickly stammered out a, "Now hold on a second-" like she had anything to follow it up with.
She paused, realized this, and admitted, "Okay, I have no excuse."
He forced her back another step, his approach slow, but imposing.
Honey glanced down at her hands and all the bees that had congregated there upon her sleeves and in the fur of her coat. Then she looked back up at The Shape.
She couldn't fight him, that was clear, but she wasn't completely hopeless against him either. She had heard the stories all through her youth, knew the powers that possessed her grandfather and brought fear to every household in Chicago. If she were to live his legacy, then certainly she had been bestowed more than just a heirloom coat and hook. What other reason would the Entity bring her here if not for that?
She looked down at her hands again and squinted. Of course.
If she could not find her escape on the reliance of a bloody hook - then maybe she could rely on THEM.
She threw up her hands, she wiggled her fingers, and put all of her confidence into the proclamation, "Go bees!"
The bees did not go, because they were bees and did not understand her.
"Oh come on," she groaned, "do something. Swarm! Sting!"
They did neither swarm, nor sting.
The Shape tilted his head to the side.
She shook her sleeves.
No matter how much she tried to coax them into attacking, they wouldn't, and remained cozily tucked about her collar and cuffs.
The Shape stepped forward.
"Fuck," she said.
She took a few extra steps from him before pivoting on her heel and running in the opposite direction, not knowing where she would be running to, or what safety she could hope to find, but knowing of all places she wanted to be, in front of him was not one of them.
"Useless, stupid bees," she grumbled, "what's the point of being The Candyman if I can't even do Candyman things, are you listening to me?" She asked, shaking her sleeves.
The bees bumbled about cheerily ignoring her frustration.
"When we get out of here," she promised them, "I'm going to super-soaker you with RAID. You hear me? A whole goddamn super-soaker!"
They buzzed in response, like a toddler happy to hear noise.
The world darkened around her as The Shape gained on her in his patient pursuit. His shadow preceded him, swallowing every hopeful footstep that carried her down the street as she cursed the bees, cursed David, and cursed herself most of all.
But as they say, there's no sense crying over spilled milk. Or blood for that matter. Actions have consequences, this one just so happened to be at the hands of the Bogeyman and he wasn't just going to put her gameboy up on-top of the fridge.
Maybe if she looped around a few cars and bushes she could throw herself at the postern. The tip of her hook was just thin enough to slot into the crimp of the hatch. With the right angle and enough force, she might be able to snap it open.
She just had to outwit the coyote on her heels.
She glanced back. The street seemed impossibly long and impossibly dark behind him, but the hatch was still there, glittering beneath the street lamps in its taunting stillness. It was possible, in the same way it was possible to be drafted into the NFL, unlikely but with just a dash of chance. It was enough to convince her to try, after all, there wasn't much else of an idea coming to the forefront of her mind.
Looking back for far too long was an unrecommended choice of action. Honey slammed into the grill of a parked Chevrolet C10. It resounded with a hollow twang and threw the poor girl on her ass. She bounced off of it in a daze, staring at its headlights as her brain tried to catch up with the sudden stop to her momentum until it finally announced 'Oh! A car!' at the ping of an internal light-bulb.
She attempted to get up, but her legs refused to support her, her entire body still reverberating with the vibrations of the impact. The Shape hooked his fingers into the fabric of her coat, wrapping the back of her collar up in a fist as he lifted her up off the ground.
Honey watched the ground fall away from her in a dizzying swirl, the Bogeyman's breath at her back. That blade peeked out amongst the lamp light one more time, threatening whatever passed for her life within this god-creature's game. He turned her around to face him and the mist drank in her fear.
She thought about kicking him, slapping at his face, screaming, and shouting like every other horror movie victim. But it was a useless effort, so showed David and so showed all the movies that predecessed him. So she threw her arms up in defeat - and allowed herself to slip completely out of her coat.
The Shape paused for a moment, clutching an empty jacket covered in bees and blood.
Honey twirled about his legs like the world's smallest quarterback and threw herself into the pavement, "That's an heirloom," she called over her shoulder, "so don't ruin it!"
He dropped her coat.
She beat down the street with determined steps and reached the hatch. With a swing of her hook she buried its blade into the sunken frame and yanked hard. It didn't give.
The Shape gained on her.
She planted her foot into the crook of her blade and gave an even harder hatch sucked in a long, deep breath as the hook wedged its way inside. Finally, it gasped and popped open, inky black tendrils crawling out from its depths. With one last look to Myers, Honey offered a salute, and dropped herself into that uncaring abyss.
