A/N: I'm really sorry about any errors in this chapter, I just really wanted to get it up fast.
Thanks to TNPD, RT, RavenForever, xXxSarahxXx, Momo-chan, DarkAngelGuadianLight, mischeif-maker, and pixievix for reviewing. I'm in a real hurry, so that's all the appreciation I can show to each of you at the moment, but always know that you guys totally rock for your devotion to my work and your awesome reviews.
The winner of the contest in RavenForever. The connection between Finster and Mrs. Dettwieler was April Winchell who did both of their voices. I know what you're all thinking "that's stupid", because I always feel the same way with trivia questions like that. But I always thought it was interesting, kind of like how in Peter Pan Mr. Darling and Captain Hook are traditionally done by the same person in an act of symbolism. RavenForever, choose your prize, a hint for this story or a sneak peek at my next fanfic. Choose carefully!
I have no recommendations in music for this chapter...aww...so sad.
Um...I gotta gooo! ENJOY!
Chapter 23: A Desperate Run
Gus sat with his hands clenched together, glancing up every so often, although he couldn't really make out the faces of any of the other people in the room, but he knew who each of them was. He sighed, studied his feet some more, then the floor, wondered how a man with such horrible eyesight could have even found such a beautiful woman as his wife, let alone married her.
The events of that night seemed out of place in Gus's mind, a mystery within itself. He couldn't sort out what happened, not exactly in his mind. He recalled the water...slipping into its chill embrace, pushing his way forward...whispers...
"Gus?" Theresa called him back from his reminiscing. He startled back to some sort of alertness.
"Sorry..." he mumbled.
"You said you were, released?" Gretchen stepped in, "What do you mean by that? The psycho, so to speak, let you go?"
"I..." Gus closed his eyes, "I have to start from the beginning...from when I first cut the rope...when I first..."
"Go ahead then Gus," TJ told him, in that careful reassuring voice he'd always had, "No one will interrupt you. We're all listening."
"Right," Gus fidgeted, "I was going to escape. The water was my way out...at least, I thought it was..."
-----------------Almost A Day Before from Gus's Point of View------------------------
I could hear the sound of something...dripping...water. The world was so dark...and blurred. I couldn't make out any shapes without my glasses, so I simply swam in the direction I hoped led to the lake. The water was like ice, clinging to every inch, ever crevice of my already pained body. I thought...for a moment I thought that it was too easy, that my escape was too easy. I had to feel my way forward through the water, kicking my feet to stay afloat.
My hand found something...soft...floating through the water. I pulled it closer to me so that I could see it, then thrust it away again in disgust. A dead bird. It was a dead bird, it's head severed from its body, its feathers torn from its wings. Mutilated beyond species recognition. I had to bring a hand to my mouth to fight the rising bile, and I forced myself away from the defiled animal. I moved through the water only to feel something...another object. But it wasn't soft, not like the dead bird. It was smooth, delicate. I felt my fingers around the object, tracing its many curves and contours, only to find the rough edge and draw my fingers back in pain. They were bleeding. I brought this new, foreign objects closer to myself, examined it.
This one was...this object was a doll. The hair was brown, from what I could tell and completely saturated. The dress too was soaked through, stained with the dirt from the water, faded, I couldn't tell what color it had once been or what it had once looked like. The broken part, where I'd cut my fingers, was one side of the face. Where the eye, cheek, and half of the nose had once been was nothing more than a jagged edge. It appeared to have just been bashed in. The doll looked as though it had once been quite lovely.
"That's Brenda." I froze in the water, felt myself sinking beneath the surface. I had to kick to push myself back up, but I didn't know what to say. The voice was soft, quavering, and cool and disconcerted. It was somehow different then the pitch of my tormentor, but similar in a definite way. When I didn't reply, the newcomer took that as a cue to continue, "She was...very bad."
"How so...?" I stuttered, somehow finding what little courage I had. I could hear this person move, walking along the wooden floorboards of the boathouse.
"She did very bad things, nobody liked her," was the careful answer. My tormentor had never answered my questions before, acknowledged that I was a living being with a conscience, so I took this opportunity to get some answers.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Clara."
"I don't...I don't know who you are..." I whispered. The name held no familiarity. She laughed. It was slight, melodious, and odious at the same time.
"Did you do bad things too?"
"What?" I was taken aback by the question. It didn't make sense at first. Did I...had I done something wrong? I couldn't think of anything.
"I think you did," Clara continued, "I think you were very bad."
"What did I do?" The sounds stopped, everything was silent. I was even starting to believe that she'd left, or that I was only hearing things and no one had been there at all.
"Shh..." Clara whispered, close to my ear. I started. How had she done that? How was she so close? I could feel the movements in the water; feel the ripples. She was beside me, "You can't go that way," it was such a small voice.
"Why not?" I could hear my heart pounding, hear her short soft breath.
"You can't," was all she said. I could feel her touch against my skin. I reviled that touch. It was almost...inhuman. "Nobody liked Brenda. That's why she's dead." I chilled at those words. Dead. Did this Clara want me dead too, was that what she was trying to tell me?
"She was killed because no one liked her..." I began. I hope at least someone likes me.
"Yeah, just like that bitch Mary Anna," Clara hissed. I stopped breathing, my heart stilled in my chest. "Nobody liked her either."
"Mary Anna..." I whispered.
"We were friends, Mary Anna and I. We were best friends," Clara went on, I could hear her running her, maybe it was her fingers, through the water.
"What happened?" I asked, "You said nobody liked her. Didn't you like her?" Am I talking to Mary Anna, or not? Who is this Clara?
"I did. But then...then that bitch..." Clara seethed, splashing the water with anger, "She betrayed me. She took...she took what was mine..."
"Um...what was that?"
"Everybody liked me," Clara went on. She seemed to ignore my question, but I didn't push it. She was speaking to me, answering my questions; I didn't want to ruin things. "I wanted everyone to like Mary Anna as well. I felt sorry for her. He liked me...and she wanted him." I didn't know what she meant. I had to keep going though, keep her talking, no matter how afraid I was, or how my body and heart told me to run. I knew that I had to get these answers that we all needed to know.
"Who was he?"
"The boy," her voice lightened, the anger dispersed, "He was the cutest of all the boys. And he liked me; I could always tell when a boy liked me. We're together now, you know? He loves me...we...well, I can't tell you about that," once more her voice took that darker note, so full of loath and hate, "Mary Anna, she wanted him. She used me to get at him! But I fixed her...I fixed her real quick. No one...no one takes what is mine." She fell silent. I heard a clamor outside, and movement disturbing the water's surface, splashing me, soaking me. Something...noises...I couldn't even begin to describe those noises. I felt...something was in the water, something beneath the surface. I searched, but I couldn't see anything, just dark shapeless forms.
"What's going on?" I demanded, but before I could receive an answer I was pulled beneath the water and red overtook my eyesight, everything was red...I couldn't fight what held me, I couldn't reach the surface. There was pounding, something pounding and I could feel the vibrations in the water. That's when they hit me. The shards of glass, they had to be glass, and the heat, the unbearable heat. I'm being cooked alive! I kicked out against whatever held me, forced my way to the surface of the water, my lungs ready to burst.
I could hear laughter. Not the girlish giggles that I'd often heard, but uproarious laughter.
"He's back," a voice whispered in my ear.
"Who? Who's back? Who's he? The boy?" I demanded, looking for Clara, but my eyes were stinging, and I had to constantly blink them, attempting to flush them out with my own tears.
"No," she moaned, "It'll be fine. He killed Brenda."
"What? Brenda?"
"Yes," she squirmed and I could feel the movement, "He didn't like her the most. She wasn't...she wasn't the right doll."
"I don't get it..." I began, but again, I was pulled beneath the water. Red, more red. Crimson clouds and puffs of scarlet smoke? Am I seeing things? I couldn't tell, couldn't breath. The world was a blur.
It's a joke, really. I couldn't fight anymore. These stories they tell us of happy endings. I figured that the best way up was down, to figure out what was holding me. I pushed beneath the water, searching the murky landscape. I couldn't see the bottom; all I could see were objects, odd stones in a way. Oddly shaped. I swam deeper, unable to find what kept pulling me down, maybe it had been my subconscious, unwilling to face whatever new predicament was there to greet me at the surface. Of pretty princesses and lovely dreams come true. I dug one out, one of those smooth white stones, pushed the dirt from it, studied it. A broken piece of a doll's face. Dozens of dolls lined the bottom of that small inlet of water. And...photos, I could definitely see the old photos.
I stayed under until I was desperate for eye, kicking at the sandy floor and hurling myself to the freedom of air. I gasped for breath, felt the world spin out of control. I'd stayed under so long, I felt so lightheaded. And the red still stained my vision. Darker, everything was growing darker. Was the cold of the water getting to me?
"There are some fires that water can't put out," I heard Clara say from...somewhere. I rubbed at my eyes; they were stinging like mad. La, la, ring around the rosy...I didn't understand what she was saying, my head spinning. I tried to swim for somewhere solid, for the boathouse floor, but my hands found something soft, and rough at the same time.
"Wha..." I murmured.
"They're scars," Clara silenced me, "I was in a fire as a child. It was Mary Anna's fault. Nobody liked her. Do you know what death looks like?"
"No..." I stammered.
"It looks like a bird," Clara murmured, practically purring, "A bird soaring through the air gracefully only to slam into a pane of glass and die. They're so...fragile...they bleed so easily."
I closed my eyes, reopened them. The world, for a brief moment, was clear. I could see everything. A fire, enveloping a young girl, a bird falling to the ground, a doll shattering into so many pieces. No ones ever happy.
A little girl stood on a hill smiling up at no one that could be seen.
A tiny doll, teetering on the edge of a high brick wall.
A loving mother, a stern father, and a smiling daughter lined up in a row.
A rushing flood, carrying away their hopes and dreams.
A gush of blood and broken feathers floating to the earth.
A little girl cried on a hill over no one that could be seen.
"I wish you could see what I see," Clara told me, "Then you'd know. But you'll never know...because you can't see."
"See what? Describe it to me," I pleaded, wanting to know more.
"I can't...it's not right. The fire took it all away," Clara said.
"What? What did the fire take away?" I found the wooden planks with my shaking hands, tried to pull myself out of the water.
"The fires spreading," Clara told me, "I'm sorry. I tried to stop it, but I couldn't." She was crying now, I could hear it in the break in her voice, "Words...they're all just words...I tried, but no one would listen to the words...or they couldn't see the words...the words within words. It's all just a game...a really...it's nothing."
"Clara, I need..."
"I'm NOT Clara!" she snapped. I shook my head, tried to grasp what was going on. Now she wasn't Clara? Who the hell was she then?
"Mary Anna?" I attempted.
"No...wait..." she whispered, stunned, "Brenda...Ashley...no...I am Clara. I'm Clara."
"If you love someone, let them go..." Clara mumbled. I felt the cool metal strike my head and I slipped to the wooden floor. I couldn't understand what was going on. "All children are beautiful," Clara was saying, and I felt her hands grasp my ankles, slipping me back into the water, "All capable of murder." She bent near my ear and I could feel her breath, it was cold. "A graveyard where the children play, and sing a song of death. A stone hearth where the fire burned, and now the bones are at rest. The fire's already burning, it's always been burning. Don't touch the fire...don't play with matches...I have to light the fires...they're fading, but they'll never die. They're coming back. I'll save him."
"Who?" I managed to gasp.
"But...he didn't break her."
"Who?"
"The doll. Not Brenda, no sir. She's dead."
"What?" I breathed, feeling my consciousness slip away.
"I want you to know something. I don't blame you. I think it was the fire. It was always the fire. It I'm going to protect him, from the fire. That's what I'm going to do. Everyone else will just suffer," Clara's hands slipped beneath my shoulders lifting me up slightly and dragging me along the wooden planks, "You'll be fine. Can you swim?"
"Yes..." I mumbled, but I wasn't aware of anything anymore.
"It doesn't matter," Clara sighed, "It won't save you. I can't save him."
"The boy...?"
"No," Clara said with finality, "He...I want to save him but...but...he killed Brenda." And that was the last moment I understood as my body slipped into the water and I was carried on the current out of the boathouse and into the open air.
-------------------------------------0
Gus fell silent, sighing slightly and closing his eyes to let the tears fall. It had all been so muddled in his head and he still couldn't see everything as clearly as he would like. He felt alone, isolated, the soft breathing of his companions nothing more then wind whistling through empty air. The memories were so confused in his head, and he wasn't certain if he could answer any of the questions that were asked of him. Ashley T. shifted slightly in the chair she was sitting in and the noise brought everyone back to attention.
"Is that...was that all?" Ashley T. asked.
"Mmm..." Gus nodded.
"Curious..." Gretchen mumbled from where she stood, her delicate fingers stroking her chin thoughtfully, her eyes closed.
"So, there are three new players to the game," Vince spoke up, "We don't know who that boy is, the him this Clara kept talking about, and then Brenda. Who's this Brenda?"
"That was the doll," Ashley Q. clarified for Vince, and everyone shot her a look of disapproval, "What? It was!"
"I think that what Gus has can clear that up for us as well," Theresa spoke up, prodding her husband gently, "Show them." Gus fumbled in his pocket, searching until he finally removed an interesting parchment, obviously having spent a time beneath the water.
"I found this...I found this in the place that I being held. It was on a table," Gus explained, handing it over to Gretchen who had crossed the room to take it. She opened the paper, frowning, flipping it over. She narrowed her eyes to curious slits then opened them wide in gross realization. She held the paper up and everyone gathered around. It was a picture of two little girls who couldn't be more than three, four years in age. The first one was easily recognizable; at least that's what they thought at first with her blonde hair and brown eyes clutching a noticeable porcelain doll. But they're eyes went wide in much the same manner as Gretchen's had when they looked to the other little girl with her brunette hair and deep brown eyes. From her face, the little brunette haired girl appeared to be Mary Anna, but she couldn't possibly be. Gretchen turned the picture over, her brow creased in concentration.
"Writing," she explained in a distracted mumble, "Blue ink. Faded, mostly washed away. They're names. Mary Anna is the first one I think..."
"And the second one?"
"Brenda," Gretchen sighed, "I can't figure out what the rest is. I could take it home, to my lab, reconstruct the message there."
"That still doesn't explain who these new players are," Vince threw up his hands in exasperation.
"I think the boy...I think that's me," TJ spoke up, swallowing back his emotions.
"That's what I thought too," Gus told him, sounding slightly perkier than he had in awhile with this confirmation of his sanity, "From some of the things she'd said." TJ was silent again though.
"I don't like all this talk about death," Francis muttered from the corner of the room he'd staked his claim on, "Or more precisely, the dead."
"And dead birds," Ashley B. put in with a pronounced shudder.
"A graveyard where children play...a stone hearth where the fire burned..." TJ mumbled.
"You got something, Teej?" Mikey asked, his face pale and his voice sickly. TJ shook his head, looking to the much larger young man.
"No...I don't know," TJ shrugged, "Not yet." The gang raised their eyebrows at their former leader. They knew him well enough to know he already a hunch, but they decided to leave it alone. He would share when he was ready.
"In any case," Gretchen made her way to the doorway, "The floodwater should have cleared by now. I'm going to see if I can get a ride with one of the National Guard back to my home and see what damage was done...if any..." She disappeared through the door.
"I'll come with you Gretchen," Mikey spoke up, following after her, "I want to know what this message says. And I still feel that none of us should be alone."
"I have...there are things...Bruce," was Ashley A.'s morose explanation as she too slipped out of the small room.
"I have to get back to my room," Ashley T. mumbled, looking to her friends, "Ashley B., Ashley Q., will one of you help me?"
"Certainly," Ashley Q. stepped forward.
"I'll go see if Ashley A. needs...well...anything," Ashley B. volunteered and they too disappeared out the door.
"Back to the maternity ward for me," Theresa laughed in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood and pulling herself up, "Come on, Gus, there's someone you need to meet and people we need to call." They made their ways to the door when Theresa paused, looking back, "Randall...do you want to come, maybe?" Randall stirred, having found himself his own secluded corner and sunk into a silent depression. He met her eyes a bit stunned.
"I...um...thanks...but I, maybe later," he told her, "I have to go check on my dad." Theresa nodded.
"I understand." Gus looked quizzically at her.
"What happened here?" he started suspiciously, but the smaller Theresa pushed him out of the room.
"I'll tell you later," she said. Randall, as well, left. The three remaining looked amongst themselves. Francis, feeling a little odd, straightened and moved slowly, hesitantly to the door.
"I'm going to go..." he said over his shoulder, leaving the room. Vince looked to TJ wearily, leaning against the wall.
"Don't you have places to be?" TJ muttered, sinking into the hospital pillow and counting the tiles on the ceiling.
"Yeah," Vince told him, "But I..." he looked down at his hands, "I was worried about you, Teej."
"You're kidding, right?" TJ snorted, "You hate me, remember?"
"I kept trying to...I gave up," Vince shrugged.
"Now's not the best time..." TJ started.
"Now's the only time," Vince snapped, "Too much time has already passed, too much time hating you...or wanting to hate you..."
"Vince, don't," TJ commanded, "I don't deserve this, not right now...not after everything I've done."
"No, I blamed you for so long for something that was never really your fault...not entirely," Vince cried, "I've ignored you for so many stupid reasons that aren't really reasons, just crappy excuses." TJ closed his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Vince," TJ whispered.
"No," Vince argued, "I'm the one that's apologizing, you are not taking this."
"I screwed up, Vince," TJ snapped, "You can't forgive me, you can't apologize to me! I don't deserve it!"
"It's not about deserving it, TJ," Vince interrupted, "It's about needing it. We both need it." Vince's voice broke, "For the longest time...for the longest time...I was searching for that part of me that I lost so long ago...I thought I could find it on my own, but I was wrong. TJ...if we're looking for the people we once were...we have to do it together."
"Vince, you don't get it," TJ choked, "You just..."
"TJ, I will always know you," Vince told him, "And I forgive you for everything you've done, and I never need to know what it is. And I...I'm sorry, for everything I've done. I want to go back, can we please...I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror again."
"I...Vince...I..." TJ closed his eyes, "I'm sorry." The door opened once again and a face slipped in.
"TJ," Mrs. Dettwieler cried, running to her son, "Are you alright? We've been searching everywhere frantically..." She thrust her arms around him.
"Mom..." TJ gasped. Mr. Dettwieler peeked in as well.
"Vince," he greeted, "You're parents are in the lobby yelling at that nurse. I think you'd better get down there." Vince nodded, making his way out the door. He paused.
"TJ," he started, "It's not worth it, hating yourself. You'll always lose that way." With that said, he closed the door and disappeared down the hallway.
Ummm....END A/N: I'm gonna be late for work!
Please excuse all grammatical and typing errors.
Thanks for reading.