Guys...I am so sorry. I'm so sorry it took me over a month to update this. I've been going through the transition from high school to college (where I am right now), and...it's been rough. Things are getting better, granted, but...yeah. It hasn't been easy, and I haven't had time to write...until now. I'm going to try as hard as I can to keep up an alternating schedule with this and Becoming a Guardian (as in, this will be updated this week, next Monday is Becoming a Guardian, and the Monday after that is Into the Dark, and so on), but I can't promise that things will go perfectly. Still...I'm back now, and for those of you that may or may not still be there...please enjoy :) But first, some long-overdue reviews!
Thanks so much to Prince Maggie (Our little Jackie Boy is safe at last, and now the healing can begin :), Milly34k (Thank you so much! :), and Rhapsoddity (Welcome back! And yes, the torture is over! ...but Jack's still got some suffering left to do ;) for reviewing! Honestly, thank you so much, and thanks so much to anyone who's still with me :)
With that, on with the chapter!
Chapter 19: Broken
From the Journal of Arios Fletcher
So far, I have been unable to decipher what exactly could be happening to me, unfortunately. It seems that I have been blacking out more and more frequently, often coming to my senses in my room with no memory of how I got there.
To my limited knowledge, this seems to have been occurring for around a little under a week. The only reason I believe this to be true is due to the strange carvings that have been gradually showing up on the wall above my bed, appearing to show each consecutive date (I have assumed that, on any given day, the last date written is the current one), as well as a possibly related phrase positioned next to every one of them. These carvings look as though they were written in my handwriting, yet I have no memory of putting any of them there.
The inscriptions, in order, read as follows:
"Captured, unconscious"
"Boiling water and needles, anti-sleep spell activated"
"Complete isolation begins"
"Complete isolation continues"
"Complete isolation continues"
"Complete isolation continues"
Naturally, such phrases are...remarkably disturbing. At this time, I am unsure of their exact context...but they appear as though they might be somewhat related to torture drawn out over several days. I can think of no other possibilities.
But...what does this mean? Why am I (as I assume it is my own hand that carves these messages) documenting someone's torture? And who is the victim? Is it possible that, during the periods of time I cannot remember, I…
...I shudder at the thought. I would like to leave and investigate, but...each time I step closer to the door, a wave of terror washes over me, and I lose myself once more. All I can do at this time is write down my thoughts and findings here, lest I begin to lose even more of my memory…
I suppose the only silver lining here is that my previous craving for Fear has become distant, as though it was never even my own to begin with. For the first time in years, during my waking moments, I am starting to feel more like myself again…
But I cannot shake the worry that the time I cannot recall is spent acting as someone completely different.
Several more days have passed without my knowledge. It has now been roughly a week and a half since I first blacked out, and more phrases have appeared on the wall to semi-explain what has happened during the lost time (at least, I believe this is their purpose).
"Complete isolation ends, hallucinations persist"
"Magic: suffocation, intense fever; boiling water; hallucinations persist"
"Magic: marionette limbs, induced panic attacks; hallucinations persist"
"Magic: suffocation; boiling water and dagger; hallucinations persist"
"Magic: induced intense pain; boiling water; hallucinations persist"
...I must admit that it took some time to work up the nerve to record these phrases. On the wall, they are written coldly...clinically...apathetically. Almost as though they are objective doctor's reports rather than wall-scratchings of a sadistic madman.
...perhaps that is because of my own influence as the son of a doctor.
But that is precisely why I found copying them so difficult...as disturbing as they already are, the fact that they appear in my handwriting only increases the worrying effect. I...have little hope that the author of those messages is merely a bystander recording events he witnesses. The familiarity of the phrases is too great...though my mind does not recall these actions, my body has not forgotten. I have no doubt that the torturer performs his deeds using my hands...I believe that I may be possessed.
As for what to do...I am at a loss. I can now sense that there is a monster within me...every time I attempt to combat it, it merely wrests control of my own body back from my hands. It knows my every thought and action, and it clearly does not intend to let me go. After all...I theorize that I am fueling it.
It doesn't need to let me out of its control for any stretch of time. Given how quickly it is able to overtake me once more, it likely has no issues with sustaining its possessive power. However...it allows me to regain consciousness every once in a while. Perhaps even over the past several years, it has lain low, remaining somewhat dormant, but still influencing my actions...it would certainly explain my crass behavior and desire for Fear.
The monster is not leaving the inscriptions on the wall for no reason. It clearly means to disturb me and trigger a fearful reaction within me. I am left with words that are ominously vague, and yet startlingly clear. It knows what I have been fearing for a while now-that I am not in control. It allows me to be aware for just enough time to frighten me thoroughly, then pulls me back into the darkness so that it may once again borrow my flesh.
Based on my observations, and from what I have studied about the monsters of the past...I think I have figured out what has taken hold of me.
As unbelievable as it seems...I believe I am possessed by a Fearling.
…
…
...my father is dead.
No matter how many times these words run through my head...they never become any easier to swallow. They shake me to my core and turn my hand unsteady. They wrap themselves around my heart like fingers and gleefully crush it into nothing.
My father is dead.
My father is dead.
My father is dead.
And it was my hands that robbed him of his life.
It has been just over two weeks since my first blackout...four more inscriptions have appeared on the wall.
"Magic: suffocation; boiling water and needles; hallucination persists"
"Arms sliced, wounds cauterized; hallucination persists"
"Magic: marionette limbs; boiling water and fire charm; hallucination persists"
"Magic: induced intense pain, false clairvoyance charm; boiling water...Doctor Eliminated"
...yet I do not need the carvings to tell me my father's fate. The monster within me relinquished a small fraction of its consciousness to me the moment its dagger sunk into my father's flesh. I witnessed that brief moment...then nothing.
I do not know where I was, nor do I know if there were others with us. All I know is that the creature...it forced me to end my father's life.
...I can bring myself to write no longer. The Fearling's influence could return at any moment…
...and I require time to mourn.
()()()()
Jack was confused.
It had likely been several hours, and yet his mind had still not returned him to what he knew was his reality: lying on the floor alongside his deceased fellow Guardians, listening to their cries as they curled their blood-soaked arms around him. Of course, they had still followed him, and they remained by his side to that moment, but he appeared to have somehow found himself in an entirely new location.
Usually, his hallucinations didn't bother to take him this far.
Rather than the hard, bloodied floor that he had previously known, it seemed that he was now lying in a soft bed. A soft, familiar bed. Was this not the room he had first awakened within when he had been rescued from death in the desert sun? That seemed like an eternity ago…
And of course, the very man that had brought him there was now dead. What an odd thought.
The strangest part, though, was the voices. Jack was used to voices, of course-they whispered in his ear almost constantly now, but whether that was from the madness or the Fearling's influence, he couldn't say. However, usually, they were quite clear, as, obviously, they all came from inside his mind. The voices he heard now, however, sounded distant, as though he was underneath a frozen lake and whoever owned the voices stood just atop the surface.
He couldn't even see the speakers, though that was only because he had elected to keep his eyes shut for most of the time after he had discovered where he was, due to the lighting being much different from what he was used to. The dark-vision glow in his eyes had dimmed long ago, and he was now completely accustomed to total darkness.
At present, the voices, as they did often, seemed to be discussing him.
"Crikey...the kid looks...dead…"
"I...I'm so sorry I didn't find him earlier...maybe I...I could've prevented this…"
"L-Lily, stop, please...th-the only one to blame here is Ari...er...E-Ebon, that is."
"But…"
"Simon is right, Lily. Fearling was dangerous...you were lucky you were not caught and subjected to same fate."
"Yes, but...if I had found him sooner, maybe he wouldn't be so...so…"
"...broken?"
"Yes…"
"Mhm...what is done is done. Our next task will just have to be to fix this…"
"But, North...how do we do that…?"
"Good question…"
"..."
"Um…"
"Lily…?"
"I...I might be able to find some charms that will lessen some of his symptoms...and maybe we still have some calming draught around here somewhere…? He's no doubt traumatized, so maybe it'll put him in a state of mind that'll let him talk to us a little...for a bit, at least. It...It won't fix everything, but...it's a start…"
"Charms and potions, eh? Well...go right ahead and use 'em, sheila. Frostbite's gonna need all the help he can get…"
"R-Right…"
Well, that was interesting. Jack's mind had apparently decided to go all out and create the most heart-wrenching scenario yet. He had experienced "rescue attempts" before, but none of them had actually succeeded. And yet here he was, listening to the Guardian's voices (minus Sandy, of course) discussing helping him as though they hadn't all been killed while Ebon forced him to watch. As though they weren't currently lying around him, their blood surely beginning to stain his imagined sheets.
He heard the muffled sound of glass clinking in the distance, then that of footprints approaching him.
"Jack…? It's...it's me, Lily...can you hear me…?"
He offered no response.
"Listen...I'm going to need you to drink something for me, okay…? It's nothing major, it's just a medicinal potion to help you calm down a bit...I promise, it's harmless, and it'll only do you good…"
He was supposed to drink something? The fake Ebon had made him do the same thing a few times, only he was rather upfront with the fact that it was poison designed to burn through his body until he was left screaming in pain for several excruciating minutes until death finally took him. It was never very pleasant.
Of course, what had happened to him the one time he had refused to drink was even less pleasant, so he figured he should simply comply.
A few moments later, he felt smooth glass touch his lips. Although, he noticed that, unlike the fake Ebon, who had practically forced the vile liquid down his throat, the fake Lily seemed to be waiting for him to make the choice to drink himself.
Strange.
Knowing he'd likely be hurt more if he didn't, Jack slowly began to sip the cool liquid from the glass vial he had been offered. Oddly enough, though he waited for the agonizing pain to begin, it never seemed to come. Instead, he felt his muscles relax ever so slightly, and the wails of the deceased Guardians became a bit more muted. He could still feel them grabbing onto him, but their grips seemed to slacken a bit, and the other voices beyond the four of them increased in clarity.
"Jack…?" That was Lily's voice, right next to him. "How do you feel…?"
For the first time in a while, Jack opened his eyes, but he still did not dare to speak. He hadn't done so in a while, actually. Perhaps he had forgotten how.
The last time his eyes had been open, it had only been for a moment so that he could see where his mind had brought him, and the only people in the room he had been able to see clearly in that brief second had been the dead Guardians around him. The rest had appeared to him as nothing more than blurs that he had hardly spared a second to wondering about.
Now, however, he could see that his mind had outdone itself this time. Not only was he allegedly lying in bed in the room in which he had first met Dr. Fletcher, but Lily, Simon, and still-alive versions of the Guardians were all present.
Lily, of course, was sitting beside him, the emptied potion flask in her hands as he watched him look around, expression worried. Simon sat on a second bed that had been brought into the room, an equally concerned look on his face, though it did not escape Jack's notice that the archer looked rather worse for wear. He was thinner than Jack remembered, and though he had several thick blankets wrapped around him, his lips were tinted blue and he shivered every now and then.
Jack supposed he didn't have to worry, though. This wasn't the real Simon, after all.
The sight of the living Guardians, however, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. There they were, gathered at the foot of his bed, watching him worriedly as they stood tall and strong and unmarred by the gaping wounds he knew they should now bear. The dead Guardians cried softly in his elfin ears as he stared at the vibrant hallucinations.
Then, without warning, he lowered his head and softly wept.
The illusions did not seem particularly surprised. The living Tooth stepped quietly over to his beside, opposite Lily, and put her hand gently on his. It almost felt real.
"Jack...we're so sorry we couldn't find you sooner…" she said softly, voice exuding a mother's warmth. "But...it's going to be okay...you're safe now, I promise…"
In a way, this fake Tooth was very similar to the one who had visited him so often before. Perhaps they were one and the same? They were always trying to comfort him, hold him close, tell him that things were going to be alright...they had a tendency to attempt to spread false hope, even though Jack knew that he was never going to be free.
"She's right, Frostbite," the living Aster added, his accented voice uncharacteristically gentle. "We got ya outta there...and ya ain't goin' back, not ever."
This was new.
The fake Aster from before did nothing but shout accusations and insults at him, belittling him until he had no other choice but to curl up on himself (a difficult task for one hanging from the ceiling, but made much easier when he was moved to the floor) and sob. He could never quite remember why Aster yelled at him so much, but he had always figured that he had to have deserved it somehow.
This was the first time Aster had actually been kind to him. Perhaps it was a different fake Aster? Or maybe he was merely trying to lull him into a false sense of security before verbally attacking him once again?
The joke was on him, then. He hadn't felt any sense of security in a long time.
Not bothering to respond to either of the illusions, Jack turned his tear-filled gaze towards the other two living Guardians. Fake Sandy seemed to be acting about the same as he previously had, with his worried eyes and gentle smile, but the fake North's behavior had changed; for one, he was finally looking at Jack. The man no longer seemed to look as though he'd lost something. Instead, he looked as though he'd found what he had lost, but was devastated to learn that it had been broken before he had reunited with it.
Jack supposed that was fair.
"Jack…" the living North asked quietly. "You can hear us, yes…? Can you talk to us…?"
That was an excellent question. Could he talk to them? He had not talked for a long time...he wondered if he still could.
Experimentally, he opened his mouth slightly. Before he could even attempt to make a sound, however, his voice caught in his throat, and a feeling of dread suddenly washed over him. Almost expecting to be struck, cursed, or shouted at, Jack quickly snapped his mouth shut and looked away.
Talking wasn't worth the risk.
The room fell silent for a few moments.
Finally, Aster broke the silence. "Well," he exhaled, crossing his arms. It looked as though he was trying to mask the worry on his face. "Guess that's a yes ta the first part...and a no ta the second."
"The calming draught didn't work all the way, then…?" Lily asked quietly, looking down at the bottle in her hands.
"I-It's not your f-fault, Lily…" the still-shivering Simon told her. "W-What Ebon did...it hurt him. Bad."
"Right…" Lily whispered.
Everyone went silent again, and Jack lowered his head in what could have been either shame, sadness, or fear. The boy could see what they were thinking, and even if they were only hallucinations, he still knew that they were right.
He really was broken, wasn't he?
Jack's been saved...but how will he recover from all this? And exactly what the hell happened in his absence? Tune in next time to find out ;) I promise I'll try not to disappear for so long this time! I hope you guys enjoyed, and be sure to leave a review to tell me what you think, and if you have a soundtrack suggestion for me! I'll see you next time, because I am NOT giving up on this story, no matter what college tries to throw at me :)
'Til then, Sapphire316, out.