72- Change
"But if it is by the finger of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you." – Luke 11:20
"Francine…" a voice beckoned gently through the doorway, "…Are you alright?"
Sammy tilted his head as he called the first of two names this studio had given her, the pipes above seeming to hum a bit more loudly than when he saw her last. This entire situation was…bizarre, and that was a word that defined every experience in their shared disciplehood in the first place. After their dance, she left in excitement to roam the halls- something about being "too energetic" to stay still- and when she came back?
Not a word.
She simply passed him by without even a glance, walked down the hall, and sat upon the saferoom's gurney. So of course, he'd wonder what he did wrong.
And as he laid eyes upon her, surely it must have been a wound that cut deep.
Feet placed upon her bed and pink bag held to her chest, the woman was curled into herself, arms wrapped around fabric with bent knees just passed. Her head was tipped down and he couldn't see her face.
But the way her backpack shuddered within her embrace said it all.
"Did…" Oh god. He let her go. He trusted her- and he knew he could- but it was his mistake to trust everyone else. As Sammy finished entering this makeshift bedroom, so was he slowly committing to ask her something truly terrible. "Did something…happen?"
And for some reason it felt oh so awful for him to come closer, one step at a time till he loomed over the woman.
And she didn't answer.
"Francine….?" The man began to fall to his knees, the flat eyes upon his mask urgently searching for hers as their heads became level. And so painfully slow, so painfully barely, she lifted her forehead and showed a sliver of her weary gaze.
…He hadn't seen her this hollowed in a long, long time, he soon realized. And just after seeing her so, dare he say, happy in his dancing arms, it made him all the more sick. What if…what if she had found Alice again? In her horrid need to know, Francine asked Alice yet again what she knew about the prophet.
What if the reason she seemed so upset in this moment- in his presence- was because she now heard the awful things he did in the last, precious moments he had of being alive?
But if that was so, then she did not say.
She merely stared.
Now from her point of view? There was a lot of reasons to stay silent. She wasn't even sure what to say. What could she say?
As she remembered her promise to Joey, she knew it was nothing.
Despite how much it was to keep locked away- secret upon secret now death upon death- even in such great distress she still felt a newly ingrained instinct to abide by her word and give none of Joey's.
And so until she could find a way to excuse it all, all she could offer Sammy was the minimum- a look back into eyes that weren't his. In the following quiet, upset choking them both, something about that gaze of his seemed more and more…meaningful.
An expression filled to the brim with helpless misery upon her grew sharper and sharper with each passing thought, each saved memory. At first, Sammy's voice, again remembering the phrase that made her realize she was not the first on death's doorstep here. It was mixed in with pointless little spots of her life- flickers of the first girl she fell in love with giving her a bright smile, a small hand that was hers holding that of a version of her father much younger than she saw him last, and of course…Gabby proudly giving her a periwinkle, pink, and orange-yellow scribble that he dubbed to be the best portrait of herself she'd ever see-
But then among these faces and voices, almost out of nowhere…-
…Joey's.
Recollections of their time together- so little compared to that with the others yet so very poignant- echoed in her mind. And her most recent moment with a man dressed in light was somehow the most unsettling of all in this world of darkness:
"Joey," she could hardly believe herself telling him, "I think Henry and Boris-…I think they were here."
"I know."
And as she wandered her own memory to try to piece it all together, she found herself stumbling. Something felt…off.
Wait a second.
…
…
He…
Lied.
As her mind began to speak to her- distress making sense out of the blue- she realized he blatantly lied not even a minute after he said he didn't know where Boris was at all.
Her nose wrinkled as it snuggled into her bag, now pressed tighter to her chest. Why would he lie…? There's no reason to lie about that…
Right?
But just as she pushed that thought away, something else came:
"It keeps me away from everyone else. Traps me. Confines me in body, mind…heart…and voice. Somehow, you broke in."
And despite how much she wanted to ignore it, something tugged at her heart. Wouldn't let this go. It's just being paranoid- looking for answers in places that would never hold them-
And yet, she noticed…
She…broke in.
And that's when drifting thoughts became something more.
" You've been here for a bit of a while, my dear girl. And I haven't once heard you talk about what you were like- only…what others were like."
How would he know how long she's been here if he was trapped like he said he was…?
"Calm down. Now I don't want you to fret over things we can't understand. It won't do you any good- not at all."
And he…he…-
He didn't want her to ask questions…?
"Frankie, the demon…has been kind to you-... it sounds like…Impossibly so. And so has my-...his studio, in your presence."
Dear God in heaven, what the hell does that-?
"I can only assume he died like everyone else."
"…How do you know that?" she had asked. That first ray of light the young woman finally began to shed on this mystery- not even knowing it.
"I know, my dear, because I saw it," he informed her gently, in contradiction to what this all had to mean. "I didn't have a choice in the matter."
He.
Saw it.
He saw Henry die.
…Joey…- the studio…- the demon…-
As Sammy saw her become more and more disquiet with something in the air he could never fathom- her breath steadily venturing into hyperventilation- he finally got the sense that maybe he should be panicking too. He didn't notice the way the dust motes in the studio's aura seemed to freeze in place, the way the shine upon his slicked-black skull no longer moved with his dripping body- the way it wasn't only the breath in their lungs that stilled.
The darkness that began to cling to the walls.
"Francine?!"
The woman by that name jolted up with a gasp, her eyes so wide Sammy could almost step through them.
And indeed as she sat there, his hand firm on his shoulder- clutching in hopes to grasp whatever was pulling her mind away- she saw more than she had ever seen before.
The pulse in her heart shook and shook and shook until she could feel it sicken and sour ferociously as it boiled up to her jaw- her lips- her fingers-
Sammy stared down, hoping the unwavering gaze of their eternity's lord among them upon his mask could help calm her through whatever trauma she was suffering through once more.
He could never be more wrong.
With Sammy ahead of her- that scarred face of Bendy was matched by one after another of all the toys, clocks, posters as her eyes darted across the room.
The faces of their god had been watching her everywhere.
Everywhere.
Every step she had ever taken.
And then she settled back onto he that embodied their lord's everlasting watch- Sammy Lawrence and his marred mask of faith.
His staring.
Staring.
Seeing.
Seeing.
SEEING-
Sammy let out a cry as suddenly, the unthinkable happened. He felt his grasp become utterly ripped off her shoulder and wrist captured and jerked sharply away from where they stood, the sound of thin wood clattering to the floor after in one single, swift blow-
…Francine had slapped his mask right off.
That short run from the bedroom to the bathroom lasted an eternity to a man now blind thanks to the violence of the woman she called a friend. His shoulders slammed into the wall of the first stall as he clumsily slipped with her ceasing flight, clumsily skidding to a stop. He couldn't decide if his breathing was louder or his racing heart. As he clambered his way back to full height- about to yell her name once more for an entirely different reason- his teeth felt a palm press roughly, frenziedly over them.
"Sammy-!" Her voice was hushed yet so very, very harsh with an emotion he could not name…as it was one he never heard before. Just as he felt his own racing pulse, he could feel his both through her desperate touch and the unsteady voice coming what must have been not even an inch from him. "Sammy- I- SHIT-… I need you to listen to- I need you to listen to me." With words quivering like an earthquake came a fumbling grasp for the arms at his side, forcing him to tense far more than he ever knew possible. "I- I haven't told you everything. I was- I was scared to. But I found something out- I found out something- the, the mask! He can SEE! Sammy, he- he CAN-"
And up until that moment, no one had noticed something had changed with each passing word from her trembling lips. In Francine's panic, she didn't notice the shadows shifting on the walls into new but oh so familiar shapes, and with her back turned and the man with no eyes facing behind, there was only one single sign of what was to come.
Drip.
That was the last sound before he heard her scream…only for the shriek of her voice to be taken in a second, not even an echo ringing to prove that she was ever in front of him at all. The rough, burdened breaths of his lord ripped through the air much like his claws did ahead of him, snatching away yet another human being. There was a sharp muffle of her screeching as one hand smothered her mouth, surely dragging her wildly, viciously by the head and torso. Her hair stuck to the musician's oily, cursed skin as it flung violently back with the sudden force.
The air was emptier yet so, very full of something inexplicably way too much for any mortal soul to bear, and every syllable cried- every drop that began to pour down until a drizzle turned into a hurricane with each leap Bendy made to capture his prophet's sacrifice- became louder than sound itself. Oh, so familiar. Oh, so glorious dreadful like watching heaven tear open and pour out its oily rain and broken veins till blood both red and black shed.
It was happening all over again, and somehow it felt even worse.
Indeed, as the demon dragged her into his portal in one fell swoop- feeling her fingers gasp desperately at his suspenders before being pried off almost as soon as they came and failed to never let go- he could hear Francine scream.