49- Speak

"For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in thy name, he hath done evil to this people; neither hast thou delivered thy people at all." – Exodus 5:23

There was one thing Joey said that would haunt her forever. More than knowing he was alive. More than knowing that he was the one that did this to them- to her. More than knowing that he couldn't fix it no matter how hard he tried…and that he'd been trying for almost a century.

"Has anyone ever…been able to leave?"

After an eternity of silence standing along the shores of ink- the quiet, vast puddle of spirits lost to the ink machine- Francine had finally spoke. His hand still in hers, she blinked and turned her head to look at the founder of purgatory.

And she could feel him tremble slightly, uncontrollably, limp in her grasp.

And he couldn't make himself look back at her.

…Either that or Joey was putting all his concentration into assuring he would not.

Francine saw his free palm come to hold the brim of his hat, fingers clasping it, and the ginger old man let its shade fall over his eyes.

She could still spot a gleam from this shadow that masked him, the glistening ink upon two circles of glass.

"No."

And it was almost indescribable how much a single word said and felt to their ears. Unbelievable the drop in her chest, the loss of something inside her she couldn't name.

"But that doesn't mean we still can't hope, dear…!"

And a grimace of a smile had forced its way up his lightly wrinkled face. He still wouldn't look, but his voice, unlike before, allowed a bit of the optimism he used to embody to return…if only as an impossible dream to keep them from plummeting into despair for who knows how long to come.

"There will always be a reason to, you know. Otherwise…" A meaningful pause drifted the air. "…I don't think you'd ever be here."

Was it genuine hope, or just an attempt to console a woman who now knew that which had taken everything from her? She couldn't discern, and so Francine was left only to stare; the lull of a gentle, half-lidded expression that washed over her face still wasn't enough to pull Joey's gaze back in.

And he slowly but abruptly shifted his feet to turn around so the tides barely lapped at his heels instead of his toes. His hand slipped out of hers to do so and Francine, even in the exhaustion of revelation, managed to follow suit to gaze upon-

"The ink demon…" As Joey addressed the beast that watched over them, the dark being remained silent. Even his watercolor aura- the stains of grey that swirled around him like he was a drop of paint in a room full of water- had constricted. He did not drip. He merely watched.

And as Francine finally pried her eyes away to look at the man that had summoned agony incarnate, she saw that he was watching the demon back.

The tip of his brim lifted alongside an upturn of his chin, the artist of short stature looking up to this hellish cartoon. His eyes now unobscured, she witnessed them narrow again- a piercing gaze at that which imitated his most beloved creation…but certainly was not what his pen had intended.

The woman once again was at a loss to identify this emotion about Joey this moment, and nor could she distinguish how it made her feel to see it. All the same, Joey finally whispered; it was a wisp from his tongue somehow still rough passion…or spite. Like an autumn's wind, it was both light and bitter all at once.

"Someday, he will set us free."

Maybe Francine had a god after all.

The end of an adventure, the beginning of new dread. A rushed decision to chase Bendy for answers had brought her to a man that gave them at the costly price of being sworn to secrecy. As Francine walked her way back to the apartment- an anticlimactic return- she became more and more burdened with discomfort and hollowed hopes. For some reason all this had felt so…empty. She knew now but-…but…

She stopped mid-step in an ordinary studio hallway- or well, as ordinary as it could be here- folding her arms and frowning at the floor beneath her feet.

Knowing wasn't so great after all, huh?

And now as shock started to fade, she began to wonder why she reacted as she did. Speaking gently, holding his hand, allowing him to lament rather than take up the conversation with her rightful complaints…with a rightful fury.

As well as she had kept it at bay, she was deeply upset. Who wouldn't be facing that which took her whole life away, that took away the lives of at least three other human beings long, long ago?

But somehow, she was again the one to bestow mercy. Maybe that was her own curse here; her newness to this gave her the strength, the gall to force others to stare in the face their own wretched pasts and fates…in hopes that maybe doing so would make their lives a little better- existing a little easier.

Yet they could not offer her the same.

No- no. That was off topic. She can't dodge this question. Why had she been so gracious to Joey? It was bothering her now; he had selfishly dragged them all down with him, so it wasn't like she was entitled to give him anything. So…why?

Maybe she had been too tired to be angry. Maybe she had been too exhausted to bother with a grudge…at least for now. Maybe deep in the depths of limbo, it was pointless to waste timeless time doing anything but trying to heal- a lesson to be learned from falling between the tormenting dynamic of the prophet and the angel.

Regardless, something inside her had begged that instead of shout, she listen to the answers she had demanded. And as she did, there came a thought-…

To imagine…never speaking to someone ever again, as Joey was destined to do?

Francine wasn't sure yet if she should be grateful she had blessed him with the simplest of joys- someone to listen to you. She herself had to admit she couldn't survive a day without that, suddenly mulling over the way Mr. Drew's honey eyes softened as he looked at her in all her delicate mortality; she felt that maybe…maybe…he really was sorry.

And maybe, since there was nothing more he could do but to ensure he would never hurt anyone again, that was enough.

But it wasn't that simple-

And just as she had begun to confront what was inside her, she was reminded all too soon that there were things outside that would question her, too.

Francine and Sammy had wandered back into each other's' lives without intent- without a knowing purpose- and neither were aware how much the other had discovered in their absence.

How much each now needed to keep secret.

Faint, simultaneous gasps and raised heads to gawk upon one another, an unconscious connection between two people that had been utterly changed inside out since they met last.

The disciples stood across from each other, feeling the consequences of separation and reunion. Chests already heavy were filled with another sensation-

The raw awkwardness of having to forgive hurt feelings.

"I-"

They both had begun to talk at once and so their voices abruptly canceled each other out, neither wanting to speak over the other. Both Sammy and Francine retracted just a little from where they stood, flinching back as if mere interruption was a deadly sin. Indeed, they had been separated by their own outrage, but time apart had prepared them to be glued back together; the wisdom bestowed upon them gave plenty of reason to think less of a momentary disagreement within a possible eternity to spend together.

After the man that shined with oil opened his inky lips in surprise, Francine could see barely through the broken hole of his mask that his expression had begun to lax; a sigh in that smooth voice of his filled the gap between them, and it called to her heart before anything he would say after.

"Francine, I-"

And while he had spoken first, she was the first to act. Francine suddenly ran across the distance between them to throw her arms around his sides and bury her face in his chest, uncaring about the ink that inevitably stained her clothes, hair, and skin with his touch. Her whole life was ink now anyway. Who would give a shit if just a bit more got on her shirt again?

Not that she even thought about that just yet. Right now, her mind was preoccupied by an ache seeping to her very core that maybe couldn't be gotten rid of until the day she died…but it still beseeched for this nonetheless.

For a friend.

There was a hesitation she didn't notice. As the woman of flesh and blood threw herself at a man made from liquid gloom, the latter was caught midsentence and his mind seemed to freeze alongside his tongue. A lot of things…a lot of things this gesture meant, felt, and reminded him of. Arms strapped to his sides by her hold, Sammy's fingers parted with tension as he looked down at the top of her head. She sensed his stare but did not look back.

Maybe that's how Joey felt when he couldn't either, she guessed.

And as the mundane of abnormal living took the disciples back, offering rest for two souls weary with revelation and secrecy, it eventually allowed them to find at least a moment of peace in each other's arms. Francine wasn't sure if she would ever care again how cold his touch was. The way her heart swelled as he finally gently, cautiously patted her head with his hand more than made up for it.

And maybe it was making him warm inside too as her round, pudgy shape stood next to him, despite the weight of something in his pocket reminding him that he used to have a real body with which to return a hug.

A blink and he was alone once again, just as he had belonged.

Just as he had belonged.

Joey Drew's mouth stretched side to side with a downward curl, its pull opening a sliver of his mouth to part in disbelief. His fists clenched so hard that they shook.

And as he quivered with incense and fear, so it seemed that the ocean did so in tandem as it laid behind him; flat, pooling ink was agitated with an unknown power and slowly- starting from the blurry horizon and then dominoing its way to the shore- waves began to rise and fall.

Unsettled.

"Ink demon…" Joey uttered the monster's title once again, that thing still standing ahead. Wordless. Actionless.

Just here to watch him suffer.

And as the creator glared back, trying to burn every second of misery right back to that which had inflicted it upon him, Joey's voice was very, very different from when the naïve young woman was here, again addressing the warden of his studio's self-destruction.

"…Why did you bring her to me?"

He begged this of Bendy, mixing both demanding and helpless pleading into a brew of complete and utter indignation…despite knowing the creature would never tell him. But it was such a taboo- such a betrayal- that he still had to ask.

Because he was afraid. Afraid of her, for her, of himself, for himself, and of the ink demon.

Afraid of the consequences.

Unknown to everyone including himself, something was always ready to crack within Joey's fragile soul. It had been back when Henry had left and again when he came, and it remained up until Francine reminded the childless father what he had lost forever and ever.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

And all the demon could do was smile as it did.