Chapter 8:
Warnings, disclaimers, see Chapter 1. Thanks very much to Rem-Cycle for the continued and insightful reviewing -- enjoy!
The Centre, 1982
Blackness. Bobby had been locked in his cell, the lights had gone out, and the food had stopped coming. Then the noise had started. It was indefinable, grating, loud, and utterly obnoxious. Bobby had not slept in days. He lay on his bed, nursing his wounds and thinking to himself: fucking stupid Raines, fucking stupid Kyle, fucking stupid SIM. And fucking, fucking Stupid Bobby for getting himself into this mess. Trying to be a hero. Yeah fucking right.
Bobby had lost count of the days – it was always hard to tell in the cell, he had not seen the actual light of day in months. But now there were no boundaries, everything was night. No one had even been past his cell in what seemed like days. Thanks to Lyle Bowman, Bobby was now more than slightly claustrophobic. The fact that he could no longer see the walls began to wear on him – they could be closing, and he would have no idea until they crushed the life out of him. Half of him knew this was a paranoid fantasy, a product of his food-deprived, sleep-deprived brain. The other half wouldn't put it past the Centre to try something like that. Shrinking rooms. Fucking hell.
He was in quite a bit of pain. The thrashing the guards had given him aside, Raines had also allowed Kyle to get in a few choice blows. Now, his head was also pounding from hunger. He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to prevent himself from flying to pieces. He leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the wall, reassuring himself it was still there, trying to block out the ever-present whining shrieks that surrounded him. He did not even have the energy to get up and into the vent, to try to escape, some way, any way. Fortunately for Bobby, this did not matter.
He felt two feet land squarely on his shoulder and jumped up from the bed, snarling – he fell to the floor and extended his arms, cursing the darkness.
"What the fuck is going on?" A hand grabbed his, thin but strong.
"Who are you? What do you want with me?" Bobby tried to keep the panic out of his voice. He jumped again as he heard a voice next to his ear.
"Hello." It was just loud enough, and close enough to his ear, that he could hear it below the continued and accursed cacophony Raines was inflicting on him. Bobby shut his eyes. He knew the voice.
"Angelo?" A giggle.
"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me. What are you doing here?" No response. Bobby sighed.
"Angelo, this is not a fun game. Why don't you just tell me what …"
Bobby was cut off as he felt a hand on his face, soft, and far too small to be Angelo's.
"Emma?" he asked, softly. It was her, he knew it.
"Thank you, Bobby," said Angelo, but it was not his voice. It was comical, a little higher than it should have been, and more, well, lucid than Angelo seemed to be.
"Thank you for what?" Bobby asked Angelo, bewildered.
"For what you did in the SIM lab. You've delayed the project for a week at least." Bobby was beginning to get the strangest feeling.
"Did Emma tell you about that?" Bobby asked, cautiously.
"I am Emma."
Ah. Well. This was kind of fucking weird.
"What do you mean you are Emma? You're Angelo."
"Angelo is an empath. I can speak through him." This was weird, but it began to make sense. Then again, it could be the hunger talking.
"And you… can't speak." Bobby felt Emma's hand on his arm.
"No."
"Why not?" Silence. Bewildering. Her hand was still on his arm, and it was a little unnerving.
"Well, so, what, you came here to thank me?" Bobby attempted to restart the conversation.
"Yes, and to tell you something." Bobby waited expectantly.
He nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt both of Emma's small, soft hands on his face as she pulled him down to her and kissed him gently on the lips. He felt her move back. What the fuck was going on?
"There's no getting out of this. I know that." Angelo's voice, Emma's words. Bobby had still not quite recovered himself.
"I just want you to know where I stand." She wants me to win. That would be kind of sweet, if the whole idea wasn't so appalling. He remained silent.
"I know what you're thinking. Angelo knows too. But you haven't been here very long. We both grew up here, Kyle did too. You'll discover that you have no power, that they'll do what they want with you. You can't stop it." Bobby was beginning to feel sick.
"We have to go. But remember what I said." Bobby quashed the impulse to stop them. He wanted to say something, but couldn't. He started as Angelo hugged him again. Kind of glad he didn't try to kiss me too.
He could hear the vent clank shut behind them, barely audible with all the racket. Bobby sat down on his bed with a huff. Jesus fucking Christ. So she wanted him to win. It bothered him, though, the hopelessness, of powerlessness that he had heard in her voice. She had given up. She didn't want to try to escape, didn't want to find a way out. She had stopped caring. And she had advised him to stop caring too. Not yet, Bobby thought darkly to himself. Raines had taken his innocence from him; Raines had unleashed a monster in him – now the monster was ready to turn on its master and find its own way.