Chapter Twenty: Brink
Brittle, like the tendril of rope upholding an ancient wooden bridge prone to collapse, was his sanity. Blooregard Q. Kazoo felt contemptuous towards everyone, particularly Berry and her cohorts. His muscles ached, his limbs yearned for liberation, and the whiteness of this damn white padded room assaulted his eyes. Nausea, loneliness, and loathing etched in every cell, he squirmed futilely. For one agonizing week, he'd returned to this infernal, godforsaken hell hole. Solitary confinement, the worst possible punishment. Couple that with Berry occasionally extracting him to torture him over visiting his creator, the passing of bodily fluids in a metal bucket, and showers at gunpoint, he would have considered suicide were he that type of creature. Given Mac's inattentiveness in the past few days, he doubted he'd notice.
It wasn't that Mac stopped caring, but that he was so busy, he couldn't expend energy necessary for telepathy. They caught emotions on the fly, but nothing deeper. Unfortunately, to Bloo, who had nothing else to cling to, he considered it deliberate neglect. He avoided mentioning this to Berry since she already knew when he indulged in telepathy and would have naturally made a nasty comment about Mac having another lover. Bloo's patience and sanity where it was, he'd find a way to break out of his straitjacket and seriously hurt her.
Bloo longed to hurt all of DIE's employees, but none more than their head. If he indeed snapped, he'd kill her. He imagined various ways she'd suffer; screaming while she ran around her office ablaze; bullets disabling every part of her body until, begging for mercy, she received the final one to the brain; whips scouring her back and tearing chunks of blood, skin, and bone from her appendages until he cracked her neck; kicking her out of the window and watching, laughing his head off as she was shot to death, blown to pieces by her cohorts; he had envisioned more gruesome deaths, but Mac pushed at their link. Somehow, he doubted he'd be pleased to discover his lover was envisioning violent murders, regardless of who he wanted dead.
Finally, he grunted. What's the matter? Run out of other things to do besides ignore me?
Outside, Berry snickered and he envisioned strangling her with her hair. Never had the sound of someone's voice driven him far enough up the wall, he hit the ceiling. To think, between her torture sessions and berating, she'd tried to seduce him. Couldn't she get it through her thick skull he was gay? Not bi, not straight, but completely and totally gay. The only person for him was Mac, his beloved creator. No one else stood a chance.
You know that's not it, Bloo. A light breeze, like a caress, passed over his mind. They'd accomplished this in the past two days. Since they couldn't touch, they imagined holding the other. The semblance of affection brought frustrated tears to his eyes. He wanted the real thing, damn it, and he wanted it now. He hated it here, hated everyone and everything. Why had he been so stupid?
Berry and Bendy's argument filled his ears. Rumors spread about Bloo visiting Mac and, faster than blinking, whispers about Berry's incompetence and insanity accompanied. Many deemed she'd grown soft, letting Bloo live after obviously betraying her. They claimed no imaginary friend was worth the effort and since she hadn't killed him, she was losing her touch. Such claims irritated her incessantly and, when she discovered who spearheaded a particularly nasty one, she assassinated them instantaneously. Bloo, personally, didn't think she was losing her touch- he was very grateful to be alive, despite his rampant loathing.
"You're wasting your time," Bendy snarled. Meanwhile, Bloo discovered if he bent over double, his teeth just reached the main belt confining him. If he twisted around, maybe he could undo it. With Berry and Bendy directly outside, maybe one would hit the release button accidentally, stomp off towards her office, and leave him free to roam. It was a long shot, lamentably.
What, now you're ignoring me? I can't sleep at night because I feel your pain, I'm trying to get you rescued, and you won't even talk? You can't take five seconds and tell me what's going on? Mac snapped, grating his nerves. Didn't he understand how important this was? Maybe this time, one would finish the other off and give him sorely missed entertainment. Not to mention if Berry died, maybe he'd worm his way out of this.
No, he wouldn't. Because if Berry died, Bendy would kill him. His stomach churned and he glanced at the metal bucket, reeking to the high heavens. He gagged, but decided the smell was a sufficient deterrent to vomiting. Feces smelled bad enough, never mind vomit.
"It's none of your damn business who I deal with and why, inferior," she snarled. "If I say there's possibility in him, you have no right to protest. You are beneath me for a reason."
Blood bath! Bloo cheered, accidentally sending on a thought he'd intended to keep private. Break open each other's heads! Ha, hah!
Excuse me? Bloo, what's going on? he sent and, irritated, Bloo did the only thing that came to mind- he opened himself up completely to his creator. A tingle coursed down his spine and he blinked, biting back a gasp. It felt like there were two minds in one body, both seeing and experiencing everything he was. The scents, the fatigues, everything passed into their bond. If he closed his eyes, Mac saw the darkness on the back of his eyelids. It was uncanny.
Mac's presence heavily over him had more than its advantages, too. Between their combined strength, he wrestled the belt back through the loop and undid his ties. Thank goodness for shabby made straitjackets and thin, wraith-like people. He was free, albeit stuck in that stupid room.
Casting the jacket off, he nudged the hand flap open to see Berry fling Bendy into the unlocking device. There was an audible click, unheard by either party; the duo continued to dissent violently as Berry shoved him into her office. He waited until the door clicked locked before, scarcely believing his good luck, he shoved the door open, ran down the stairs, ignored any stares, and sped outside. No one, not the snotty little suck ups, the desperate loyalists, or Berry herself would stop him.
Oddly enough, no one stopped him, but when he finally reached the convenience store, he didn't see him. He spurted erratically, narrowly avoiding DIE members and the few stragglers. Patches of shiny ice caused him to skid, but he righted himself before he fell. Where was he? Damn it, he was supposed to know where exactly to meet him. Not to mention the connection they'd shared suddenly dropped in frequency, meaning he sensed him, but that was it. Someone or something distracted him and irritated Bloo.
Finally, he discovered unless he entered the forbidden territory and returned to Foster's, he'd be empty handed. DIE officials marched in single file in front, but one of the many side passageways lay close by. If he retraced his steps to DIE, then he'd encounter Berry's wrath, but if he visited Foster's, he'd meet Frankie's. By now, she'd certainly learned the truth and would know he was the reason for Mr. Herriman's attack. Then again, compared to Berry's style of physical abuse alternating verbal, he thought he was safer with the younger Foster. Even if Frankie tried to hurt him, someone would restrain her. No one dared control Berry.
Swallowing hard, glancing at the guards cautiously, Bloo sidestepped an overturned garbage can, darted down an increasingly narrow alleyway, slipped under a door open minutely, and then started down a long, winding corridor. Hand on the wall, he ignored the mud lining and descended into the depths of Foster's. Ironic, considering religion's standpoint, that protection was underground and fear and destruction in one of Berry's skyscrapers. The further from the sky one was, the safer they tended to be. Heaven and Hell were transposed.
Nearing the door adjacent to the kitchen, a rush of sound, like a miniature explosion, reached him. His Mac sense tingled along with his "Frankie's pissed" sense. Then again, he hardly needed the latter, considering it was her he'd overheard ranting and raving. Still too far away to discern actual words, he garnered his name, Mac's, and a 'rendezvous", but that was the extent. However, if she'd been screaming for a while, he understood why he hadn't met him. Yet this was the odd thing- if Bloo didn't know any better, he could have sworn Mac was screaming back. But that couldn't possibly be because he never argued with her. She and Mr. Herriman argued more than she and Mac- Mac was too even tempered to start up.
He inched closer, laying his ear against the door. A palm reader scanned his particular imaginary genetic code, but thankfully concealed his presence. He wanted to know what fresh hell he stepped in before he found himself flat on the floor with a knife at his throat courtesy of Frankie. That and whatever irked Mac this much clearly had to be interesting material. When he lived here, getting Mac angry with him had been sort of a hobby, like some might read or watch television. Pushing his buttons made him happy, simply because you really had to shove and get them stuck. Lately, that hadn't been the case, but then again, it hadn't been him causing his anger.
"I don't want that thing here!" Frankie snarled, and, through a slender glass pane, he saw her gesticulating wildly. "He'll finish what he started!"
"You don't know that for certain," Mac retorted, red in the face. "I met him and he didn't kill me. You don't understand what he's going through. You think just because he hurt Mr. H once he'll do it again-"
"And you don't have any proof he won't," she countered. "The only way he's getting in here is over my dead body!"
Bloo stifled a snicker- she must have died when he first scrambled into the tunnel. In which case, he was arguing with a corpse. It sounded as good a cue as any to enter, but her next words halted him in his tracks. Hand still on the knob, he listened, shivering. He'd never heard her speak so callously and cruelly about him.
"Mac, the next time I see your imaginary friend, I will pay him back for what he did to Mr. Herriman. And, unlike him, I'll finish the job," she snarled and Bloo's blood ran cold. Fingers trembling, he wrenched his grip from the knob and retreated, dumbstruck. Maybe he hadn't made the right choice. Maybe Frankie really would kill him and he would have been better off with Berry. Then again, that was banking on the latter not listening too attentively to Bendy's insults and deciding to spare him for another day. There really was no safe haven for him anymore.
"You'll have to go through me to do it," he hissed. "He might have confessed, but that doesn't mean he's the same creature that did it. There are two sides to every story, Frankie."
Frankie tapped her foot impatiently, pivoted, and shut the curtains to conceal them from view. However, since the curtains covered the living room/den entrance, Bloo still saw them. Frankie's face had reddened too, but not as much as Mac. The two encircled each other like combatants in a boxing match. Left hook, right hook, who would win? At least Mac managed to keep his head in the game. He hadn't noticed his imaginary friend's entrance, either.
"Don't recite my grandmother's words. I don't care what he has to say-" she retorted and the sound of a cane striking the tiles alongside a limping hop silenced her. Madame Foster gestured towards the door Bloo hid behind and, pressing a button on the wall, slid it open. Exposed, he stood there like a deer in the headlights while Frankie glared hatefully. He wanted to run, but his body wasn't moving.
"I do," Madame Foster replied calmly, hobbling over to his side and leading him by the hand out of the kitchen and into the living room. Bloo, like a child reliant on his parent, followed obediently. Mac, after glowering at Frankie, proceeded; Frankie, arms folded across her chest, furiously wrapped her hand around Mr. Herriman's paw and half led, half jerked him towards the couch. The imaginary rabbit balked in protest, but she either ignored or didn't hear him. Her grip on his paw was iron-like and quite painful.
Wilt and Eduardo were, thankfully, elsewhere. Wherever they were, Mac hoped they hadn't overheard. Wilt hated disagreements, particularly between two close friends. He would have begged both parties to stop, which would have resulted in them exploding at him. Once everything was said and done, he'd be the one apologizing.
Mac, seizing Bloo's hand possessively, sat on the loveseat. Bloo, exceedingly uncomfortable with the nasty looks Frankie sent his way, unconsciously scooted closer to his creator. Wrapping an arm around his waist, he hoisted him onto his lap. Bloo wished he hadn't- he wanted to sink lower, not be raised, since it would be harder to spot Frankie's furious gaze.
Frankie, still grasping her lover's paw, directed him towards the couch directly opposite. Underneath his glove, his paw turned white thanks to poor circulation. She released it at long last (he massaged feeling back into it) to wrap an arm around his waist. Madame Foster frowned, noticing the coupling and an "us against them" occurring. Her granddaughter looked fit to kill Bloo if given the proper equipment and the permission. Mac, by contrast, held his creation stiffly enough to deflect any shots. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a butcher knife.
Madame Foster, sighing, selected the only chair left, a padded, high backed roll about standing before the two couches. Its position made it possible for her to examine either side without facing one entirely. In this whole mess, though she couldn't help but be furious with Bloo, she reserved judgment until she heard the whole story. She only wished her granddaughter would follow suit. This was her imaginary friend and she wasn't as enraged. Then again, experience had taught her that saving anger until it's productive was the best policy. Frankie clearly hadn't learned that yet.
"Bloo, without lying or exaggerating, tell us exactly what's happened," she said firmly, eying Frankie capriciously. Mr. Herriman whispered something in her ear, she rolled her eyes, but bided her tongue. Good. Things would progress better uninhibited.
Beginning quietly, he detailed the nightmare Berry coordinated (she'd revealed this later on, during a torture session after he'd met Mac the first time) to force him to believe Mac would betray him. Frankie opened her mouth to interject, but Madame Foster, gliding the chair, rapped her smartly on the hand. Rubbing her bruise, she shut her mouth again. Bloo, wavering, continued.
He explained his initial doubts, how the mission had nearly not happened, his misgivings during the actual attack, and plunging himself in the way of the knife. Shutting his eyes, he monotonously told how the DIE members had left him for dead (Frankie muttered something about doing the same if she could and Madame Foster once again rapped her smartly on the hand) and how Berry, of all people, had saved him. Then he told them of her madness; her obsession with her dead lover; attempts to make him straight; her ruthless, cold blood murders before his eyes; Bendy; solitary confinement, and her abuse. Reaching up gingerly, he rubbed off the makeup to reveal many bruises lining his face. Mac gasped, then, tracing them tenderly with his finger, swallowed hard. Eerily, he spoke listlessly, like this had happened to someone else. The actions, the deaths, everything overheard or experienced, like a novel instead of real life.
Disturbed, he glanced at Madame Foster, but she remained stoic. When Bloo finished, silenced reigned. Other than trembling hands, there was no indication Bloo cared about this at all. Mac shuddered; the first step towards madness was callousness towards other's well-being. Had he been so desensitized to death, he didn't care if someone died in front of him? Didn't that make him similar to Berry?
"I see…" Madame Foster said slowly, rapping her cane on the couch's arm to silence Frankie's impeding objections. "Mac, do you have anything to add?"
Taken aback, he stammered before begrudgingly telling her about Goo and her fanatical ideas. She nodded, indicated she needed time to ponder the issues at hand, and left the two couples alone. Bad idea.