43- Pictures

"If I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing." - 1 Corinthians 13:2

A gasp before anything else once Francine recognized where she was. The sound of her shifting feet splashing was barely an interruption to the overwhelming dread, hardly there to break horrific silence. Limbs outstretched and head bobbing with heavy breath, it was undeniable that the woman was standing before the one and only projectionist-

"N-Norman!" she croaked, unbearable weight upon her tongue as she uttered a name unexpected.

Norman mirrored her stance in his own way, surprised- maybe even shocked if he was capable of such emotional or mental depth- but not terrified as she was. As the world twisted its way around Francine, she had much more to contemplate than the projectionist did, the being who simply was at hand upon her arrival. While she fell from one existence to the next, to him she just plopped in like a drop of rain without a cloud in sight. A mystery to them both, but with drastically different outlooks.

The machine attached to his neck all too humanly titled in curiosity as her skull angled further and further back alongside his slow approach. A few sounds: her sharp yet hushed breath, the clicking of the projectors- including his own-, and the sloshing of the shallow black pool beneath and over the warped man's boots. He didn't stop until the source of his light was inches from her face, her lower eyelids squinting up but unable to close as absolute astonishment faceted them into place.

The longest moment of silence, rays of his sight crawling around the woman and making painfully obvious how every last muscle in her face had tightened in utter trepidation.

…A sudden, slightly more distinct click! and Norman's gaze dulled alongside a sharpened demeanor. Somehow a screech from his chest's speaker conveyed mildness, and his shoulders rolled back and his arms lifted to repeat his strange hello.

This greeting, of course, was not received as lightly.

Just like their last meeting, Norman had put his hands to the woman's face, looking for any vibrations- signs of sounds he could no longer create himself- to enrapture him. As they found their way, she found herself panicking…and the passing of time gave her more reason to.

Eyeballs shook in their sockets as Francine looked upon the projectionist, his light not being the only cause of her squinting. His fingertips felt her struggling lungs, hums of desperation in her throat, and finally, words from her lips.

"Im… it's… that's not- that's-…." His thumb felt the corner of her mouth as she eventually found the only word that could explain all this. "…Impossible," she hardly stuttered, amazement glossing over her eyes.

And that it was. Now, surely it was incredible- inconceivable- that when she first set off to find Bendy, a lean of rest made her stumble into a ghostly hall unknown with no sign of her entrance. It was the same when the endlessness stopped being from forward and back and suddenly began side to side, and especially so when the floor broke open beneath her feet just as the ink demon bestowed upon her a letter from long ago. But this? This was confirmation of something she couldn't fathom.

Her being in Norman's grasp once again suggested that the building itself had reshaped around her, as if being soaked in the ink caused magic to seep through the wood and make it pliable.

And suddenly that realization overtook every other horror being in this monster's arms had brought. Abruptly his touch was too invasive not only into her personal space but her thoughts, as they were already suffocating among themselves alone.

"Stop!" she demanded, her voice taking a tone not too different from that of a child begging a sibling to refrain from poking them- bar the emotions that come with reality seeming to crumble around her. Such confidence, however, didn't take long to entirely wane, for alongside her speaking she had firmly gripped his wrists and tried to push them back, and his response reminded her that she was truly within his clutches.

Indeed, she was certainly a toy within his hands as her touch distracted him from one part of her body to another. Norman's fingers retracted from her face and swiftly maneuvered to hold her wrists in return.

Now, anyone watching would soon be able to tell that the projectionist in this moment wasn't far from a fascinated toddler, captured by sensations and touch and wishing to investigate them simply for his own satisfaction. As his right thumb smoothed over the palm of her left and their other hands found his fingers wrapping past her knuckles, he either couldn't feel her racing pulse or opted to ignore it. A hold of naïve enthrallment was nothing besides a nightmare for her as she recalled the way he had ripped open the very door they stood beside now not too long ago. She wanted to yell, but the culmination of this ordeal seemed to have stolen her voice.

But somehow, the silence of terror began to allow some logical thought; it was likely staring right into the face of whom she had come to…"visit" that had brought up an idea. And the importance of this possible revelation gave her the courage to try to reposition her right hand into something more explanatory.

Norman saw her quivering eyes just behind the photograph, the paper blocking the bottom of her face as she could not hold it within clear sight. She had remembered why she was here and of the piece of the past still in her possession, and even though it wasn't much…she finally felt a sense of direction.

It made sense to see this encounter as only an extension of her journey- or at least it would make sense of why Bendy seemed to bid she go so shortly after giving her the beginning of the answer. Maybe the rest laid with the man that possessed thoughts but no words. Maybe…maybe somehow, he could help…was intended to help.

His light blinked and came back brighter as the photo looked back at him, and the woman felt his grasp grow gentler as his mind was drawn to other things. Then there was another slight tilt of his projector accompanied by a simultaneously soft and sharp sound from his chest, almost like a pet bird making a noise of inquiry as something new is placed into its cage. His illumination slid over the two people with such brilliance that it was almost only their outline that he could see, but…

As the woman felt his clasp linger off her hands to be replaced at the corners of the photo, he seemed to be hypnotized by the man and woman in black and white. It was…tender, even. So magically, the man with no eyes could gaze at the image in front of him, and a face with no expression somehow seemed to melt for people long gone.

Of course, her heart melted too and so she was also swept away- having never expected such sentiment from the projectionist- but after a moment or two of watching him study the photo dearly, it grew to be the time she do what she came here to do.

"Do you know who they are?" she asked quietly, wanting to interrupt his trance without disturbing him. But ah of course, he could say nothing in return as he heard nothing, and Francine had a frown of dismay cross her lips as she remembered he was not only mute but deaf.

There had to be something though. There had to be.

"Hold on," she explained more to herself than to him, using one finally free hand to pinch the top of the paper and coax him into turning it over. Norman did so, and her face lit up even without his light as he seemed to recognize-

And oh how loud did he scream.

It was so abrupt, so different from him even when he had scared her the most, and his shriek seemed to pierce every corner of the maze and rattle every drop of ink upon the floor; she could still feel either its distress or its outrage no matter how far away she fled. By a miracle, she eventually stepped through the exit of the labyrinth but didn't stop bolting until she reached the top of the stairs to the elevator.

Francine exhaled a sigh to relieve both anxiety and worry as she hit a button upon the wall's panel. Maybe the projectionist couldn't handle Joey's name but reemerging into the angel's halls reminded her where she had heard it before; she would need to press on without his help nor his blessing.

And certainly she didn't seem blessed to walk the path she had chosen, Norman's cries gradually muting away as the elevator rose and obscured the warren he hid among.

She swore the lights didn't seem to blink in nearly as much of a frenzy as this than the last time she was in here.

Back in his lair, the projectionist began to hold his "head," twisting and turning almost as if he could shake off his distress; amid his writhing, the photo fell to the puddles.

And then the ink took it back.

When Sammy first found his faith, it was everything. All that was, all that would be, and all that was now. Bendy was inexplicably the encompassing aura of his entire universe, and so it was only logical for both his mind and for his soul to trust that this entity was the one to believe in; it is almost effortless to believe in the person or thing that seems to make your world what it is.

But the existence of one's god is inevitably painted by their worshiper's brush. The being that represents all that everything is can easily be reshaped and rewritten by even the most fleeting of emotions.

But Sammy was strong in spirit, and as his life changed little over such an extensive, unnatural period of time, so had remained his faith.

To feel it shaken was utterly frightening. And as many do when they aren't sure about the nature of being, he mindlessly looked for answers.

What did her phone seem to contain? Answers.

Answers to questions he never asked.

Blessedly, the first app he picked by accident was her photo album. Now, before all he had witnessed the phone do was glow and perform; maybe it would have been commonsense to assume that still pictures could exist within it as well, but Sammy was totally off-guard nonetheless.

Or maybe the surprise was in learning he wasn't the only one among the two one keeping secrets.

Why didn't she ever tell him about her family? Sure, he knew vaguely the existence of a "Gabby," but she seemed to have allowed his memory to drift away so that she may find peace with however long they'd be apart. But just as he had attempted to hide his "family"- the residents of the studio forced to share this cursed fate- she had hidden hers. But even as she abandoned them and along with all she used to have, it dawned upon him that she still kept them in her heart.

She confined inside a great, great care for the people she left behind. He could see it in their smiles, and they had returned it. In their holds around her waist. In the way their eyes pinched with joy, with happiness, with-

A word he hadn't thought about in a long time came next, one that was previously reserved only for worship. It was so mighty, so overpowering that he could no longer stare at the people who radiated it, spreading this spell into the air through the screen's glow.

He forced his chin up to break from this enchantment only to see that as he had done before many times in his life, he had unconsciously wandered into other parts of the studio without his recognition. Somewhere entirely new once again, he was placed in these halls in search of something. There had been occasions before where he had been called to retrieve what Bendy brought from the outside, but now was the time he find something within.

And for the first time in many, many years, Sammy acted upon a longing to rediscover the life that was stolen from him, the people he used to love.