86- A Rock in the River
"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him." - 1 John 3:1
What sensation could have matched this?
Drip.
What horror? What…magnitude of godliness?
Drip.
…Ungodliness.
Drip.
Sammy heard the demon at the end of the hall, the loudness of the streams of ink rushing from the ceiling giving no hint as to if the beast himself was nearing or if it was only his darkness.
But what did it matter when it meant he was here all the same?
Indeed, that was true as with each lurching, dragged step, the ink demon approached from the end of the hall, light from the next room streaming onto his back. That horrible grin bleeding black from its teeth was barely lit by what made it past him, clearest when the wall sparked as his shoulders nearly brushed into exposed wires with his ragged, unstoppable march.
Even without sight, Sammy felt his eye sockets clench like they had lids to close shut. His melting spine threw itself against the wall behind him as his lord embodied everything his prophet feared about him instead of revered.
And so, despite that spark of a past life revitalized, Sammy knew all he could do was pray.
"My lord!" he choked out that well-worn plea. He had always pleaded for him in time of need, just one way or another. "Ink demon!" He didn't even know what to ask for. What could he have, even? Francine was gone through the floor- evidently where he could not as he stamped his feet where she was surely was and only found solid boards. Alice- he had hated her for decades and yet cared for her even longer- a long lost friend lost all over again, and for what?! A world falling apart in the clutches of a man that had known everything about him without sharing a single thing about himself.
…And yet he had shared all. The ink demon was always watching.
These things Sammy contemplated as somehow the shreds of meaning he had through his god were torn from his hands, left bleeding and empty. This god before him now, who had never given his seer the courtesy of even a single word, leaving him to find on his own all that he wanted…This being that Sammy could feel envelop him, dread and goosebumps like fingers clawing down his back, like poison in his lungs that made it hard to breath. A gasp, a gasp, and a gasp. Sammy raised his hands to his face, feeling his glasses skew with his desperate grasping- bouncing as his fists shook with each shallow bit of hyperventilation. He laid in wait, in the nightmare of a martyr, waiting for his deity- his cause- to surely kill him once more. It was then, wide-eyed and so, so afraid, that Sammy Lawrence finally asked himself something that had creeped upon him like the looming shadow of his master, step by step.
…Was his faith gone?
He fell to his knees, kneeling before a god that was there but that he didn't know if he wanted to believe in anymore
Was his faith gone?!
The well was run dry, the everlasting flood of hope and dreams for something better, all dashed away as the one with promised came forward with none.
What else did he have left to do but rot away?
And it was like this, a man of ink so distraught he melted right onto the floor as he curled upon it and sobbed, that the creature he adored and despised stood over him and listened.
Sammy did not question why he paused.
A groan heaved itself out of Francine's mouth, sight fading in and out as she grit her teeth with the intense discomfort. She had felt relief, though; she was no longer falling.
But where was she?
The woman lifted her head, seeing floorboards beneath her, her own hands shaking as they tried to raise the rest of her, too. Her stare stayed upon them just a second longer- just long enough for her eyes to shoot open and for her breath to be stolen as something reminded her that this time falling down was not like the others.
Drip.
Right in between her palms, splattering its darkness in tiny specs upon her skin. She let out a startled yelp, sitting up to see what was surely the most incredible thing this studio of wonders held in store for its visitors.
All around her, ink was falling down, down, down. Slinking from a black ceiling- a mass of liquid encircling her. She turned her chin up and followed the streak moving past, and she soon found there was a reason she hardly heard a plink of its hitting the floor.
There was no floor.
She was laid upon the smooth portion of a wooden foundation ripped apart, jagged at the edges. Despite her weight, it did not tilt with the flail that inevitably came with her scream at such a discovery. It was floating- baseless- amid nothing, and as she grappled the edge tight in terror, her hair framed her face and dangled down with absolutely nothing beyond below.
Just black. Like it was the ends of the earth.
And she was so afraid.
The woman put a hand to her heart, feeling it beat faster than she could ever imagine, and wondering if Joey had led here just to die, she began to hyperventilate just as Sammy was at that very same moment. Her head turned every which way, and as if they came to calm her, she saw flickers of light- inexplicable, fuzzed orange.
Her shoulders heaved still, but her focus returned as she finally had something to keep her in place. Unwilling to stand up only to fall off, she crawled to the edge of her small island to look closer.
It reflected back in her squinting eyes and seemed brighter and brighter as its presence amid the void brought her steady.
It bloomed, it bent, and it withered.
…
…
"…Right," she exhaled, a tremor in her voice. This wasn't for no reason. Nothing had ever been for no reason- she knew that now. Every step- every detail fabricated like a story written as she walked into it- was entirely purposeful.
Even if he didn't know why.
And so with a gulp, Francine made herself stand up, watching the blankness around her and the ink swarming through it for what to do next.
She saw nothing more than her board and the candle, the latter who knows how far away.
There was only one thing left to do, and unlike every other time she had chosen to step where she didn't want to, in this vast realm of darkness…she finally felt like she was supposed to be here.
She glanced up as if who she addressed was up in heaven.
"Joey?" Said softly, because she didn't need to yell to be heard.
The woman with faith took in a breath and closed her eyes.
She lifted one foot and set for to put it past the wood beneath her.
…
One eye alone opened, twinkling as she saw a second board beneath it that wasn't there before.
She exhaled.
"I'm coming, Joey."
She clenched her fists and put her gaze back level with the flame that gave her hope.
"Just hang on and help me if you can."
The demon was there to help, or so it was fated to. Whether or not that was the actual fruition of his existence had, of course, been long, long debatable. What kind of loving god watches idly by as his people rot away? Smiles as they drag half-severed body parts behind them as the will to live left them melting apart? That only lifts his chin up to the melody of anguish screamed and prayed as his kind begged to him for mercy if only in true death?
A jealous god. One that through a world of pain found something justifying. How much did Joey hate himself, and how much did Joey believe he needed to suffer.
A perpetuation that dragged everyone down with him the more he heard their hearts and bodies alike ache. Even the wisest ones of all can be the most ignorant; the most empathetic can have the least care about other's feelings.
And what was the demon if not Joey's contradictions, the keeper of this tossing, turning purgatory?
And so the beast watched, smiled, and lifted his chin as his most beloved prophet was pathetic on the ground before him once again, completely and utterly sobbing as he lost grasp of all that gave this man hope.
…Again, that is.
Below the demon, Sammy was no different than before. No different the other times he was afraid, even from the very beginning. As how close they were came to be known, Sammy squirmed back, gasping shouts of the utmost fear.
Not unlike when Bendy first held him by the shoulders and blinded him till he was pacified.
No, this was not unfamiliar to the old, dark spirit as in either condescendence or heavenliness, he merely stood over he who trusted him most of all, once again the weeping willow giving his shade, his drips like the gentle, withering cascade of the tree to descend all around Sammy Lawrence and shelter him from evils he could not unsee.
A pitiful welp, he was, in the presence of someone so big, so glorious! No wonder he learned to abide in the demon; who else could have such power, such care, such prestige for those of his everlasting kingdom? Joey had always been saddened to hear Sammy sing such gospels of dismay; he would rather give him something to believe in.
Whether or not the demon had consciousness to agree was irrelevant, as he regardless simply did as fate untethered had designed either way.
So just as before, as the shepherd without a sheep knelt among a room of wolves and wept for what was missing, his god reached over and took away what caused his distress, as any being of benevolence should.
Knowledge was to leave Sammy like wind carrying leaves off the branches one by one as the ink demon knocked the glasses right off his face.
Like a trail in a land of sprites encased in hidden magic, Francine toddled one step at a time through the darkness to chase a will-o-the-wisp promising something beyond. Arms stretched out for balance, she at first looked down to make sure there would be something beneath her at every step, but eventually concluded that the answer would always- imperatively- be yes- she was safe.
…Safe as she could be, traversing over the nothingness at the world's end.
Might as well not make herself panic looking down at it.
She bent with her palms on her knees as the blur of distance finally left like a fog only when she drew especially close, it's flame flickering like all the others before. The candle was simply…there- like a streetlamp or a lantern inside an inn to let you know its safe to rest here. She blinked at it, having expected more, but upon looking up again saw more of the same having suddenly apparated while she had glanced away. The fires of the candles were numerous, their soft smolder emanating a weaving path to follow. Upon squinting past the quickening drips of ink from above, she could see something at the end.
Not a single question in her mind to follow it, and so she did.
Despite feeling more and more certain of the pattern of wood keeping her upright, with each candle she began to feel worry on top of worry. The ink was, indeed, falling faster every time they caught her eye, and she was starting to see other things, too, as she neared whatever waited for the her up ahead. Pages, and inkwells, bits of cutouts- the demon's smile still gracing a visit even as it was ripped apart-…wait.
As one stream fell past the woman's shoulder, something plummeted beside it, its tip slathered with the murky liquid but still light enough- and light colored enough, like candlelight itself- to be readily noticed.
…A flower petal, just like the ones in Joey's vase.
It make her breath shake even more, somehow- so out of place, not anywhere else in this whole studio before- and it turned out to be rightfully so as she turned her head back forward to see she had finally reached the door at the end of this abyss, nothing to its left nor its right but surely something within beckoning for just her.
With dying brown vines with withered yellow leaves wrapped around it, Francine opened the last gate as Joey allowed the girl into his soul.
Sammy heard the tink! of his spectacles hit the floor, mouth gaping and head crooked after the demon swiped so viciously at him. He heard the splatter of what was surely his own liquid flesh hit the surfaces around him, and the prophet felt numbness wash over the spirit inside him.
His mind, for the longest moment, was left blank.
…
…
…
Face vacant of any protection- of any way to cover up what he always hated about himself- he turned his chin up to the ink demon, the being that wished to grant him the bliss of faith without the wretchedness of a past life getting in the way
Four fingers reached up the side of his head, nothing crossing his temples to get in the way, to encase thoughts back into his mind.
His lip trembled, an exhaled gasp shaking with it in its release.
"You…" the prophet could hardly speak, sockets trembling in his skull, too.
Those fingers balled into fists. Something was missing, and it left him hollow. It was the weakest, quietest utterance in his whole life.
His hands lowered, limp on his lap.
"You…" the man slowly began to comprehend, "You…took them…!"
Complete disbelief.
…But then suddenly the dents in his head narrowed, and it was not awe that was within his eyeless gaze but a deep, uncovered fury.
"Those are MINE!"
A last straw, the demon's attempt to sooth and control failed. Sammy shouted and leapt past his former saint to grab what was rightfully his. The demon's expression didn't waver, but his aura surely did.
Sammy Lawrence from then on would always remember who he was, what he wanted, and what he was waiting for, and no one had the right nor ability to control him for another second.
As the man dived for the broken glasses, they tangled only in his fingers for a second before he felt himself thrown violently away, a poster tearing Bendy and Boris in two behind his back. The man grimaced, hands clawing the surface behind him as he heard his lord's pained, hoarse breath get faster and faster- the drips more and more present- and maybe even the ground itself tilt back like the whole hall was being rattled in someone's hands.
This was when he knew it was the beginning of the end.
The door, despite existing, tried to fight against her touch, the things wrapped around it having to crack apart as she gripped the doorknob tight and shoved her weight to break it open.
"Come- ON-" Her grunt devolved into a shriek as it finally gave way, unprepared to catch herself from falling.
But what a good thing she still managed to.
Francine's arms flailed, gripping onto the edge of the door to hold herself to it as instead of another platform made for her, something else came forth instead.
Someone else.
It was like a storm in slow motion, in impossible directions in impossible ways. Boards of wood torn from their foundations swung in the air; candles had their flames sweep far, far further than such little wicks should reach- like whips of yellow, red, and orange that curved along with the invisible hurricane; books and ripped papers and so, so much of Bendy- his visage thrown about as toys, pictures, and in flickers of cartoon projections shooting across from their projections, somehow visible without a still flat surface.
And the plant stems on the door, dead and like straw, were still so very alive. Like dendrites of a cell, they crawled around the chaos in a gigantic sphere- encasing it. Keeping it separate, untouchable.
Both to contain and keep out. No wonder it didn't want her in.
Still did not.
Francine's feet tripped underneath her as her trance was broken, the thin, hollow straw strong enough to nearly shut it on her fingers. She yelped, managing to fumble back on the other side of the door's knob the desperately bring herself upright.
Beneath her fingers, she both saw and felt the vines shudder like they had a sense of touch, and she witnessed this tremor travel down and away. Her eyes followed, and she finally acknowledged him.
The sight of him made her eyes wide, brow curled and mouth gaping once more with a doleful gasp as she bore witness to a man that was never supposed to be found.
Joey stood upon nothing- he merely was left in the air, center of the massacre and focus of the disarray. He was so…pathetic in his great, great power; knees were pulled into his chest; one hand was wrapped around himself as if he was afraid he'd spill apart; another covered over his face.
She couldn't see his face as he curled up like a lost child, and she saw the deceased flowers wrap and grow around him, sprouting blooms already brown and thin with age over and over again as they grew so fragile they fell away to join the wind. Her eyes did not deceive her- they held a glow and like the Adlewood tree released its dark, toxic sap. The ink glittered in yellow radiance as the runny shadow slid onto the old father's skin and dyed his cream suit with more and more of his sins.
It was horrifying, but it confirmed her suspicions about the nature of his control.
Those stained petals drifted past her face, nearly indistinguishable from the pages that flew around, too.
"Joey?"
At first soft, quiet and said more so in shock than to be heard. His silence, though, created the latter.
"JOEY?!"
Nothing happened.
She realized, then, that he had taken her this far, but there's only so much he knew to do when they finally approached what hurt him most of all.
Her eyes glanced all around, at the remnants of things he loved like shattered memories thrown about in the distress of his own mind.
And at realizing this was what he left for her to use, she called for him one last time as the woman backstepped once before jumping right in.
Sammy was hit one more time as he made another blind reach for his glasses, hearing them skid down the hall. He skid after, but not by choice. As he hit the floor once again, the blow upon him seemed, too, to direct gravity; the other side of the room fell and he slid right along with it. Another grunt as he met its end, feeling other objects behind his back and by his sides. Panicked, he threw things aside as soon as he found they weren't what he wanted back, hearing the stomp of his god come closer and closer.
Why did he want them so badly to defy his lord?
But more importantly, why did his lord want to take what was not his?
Those glasses were…everything, in a way. They made him human. They triggered Sammy to realize he was human.
No wonder he was still crying out at the idea that he whom he trusted in was trying to take that away.
The musician screamed as he was picked up and thrown by the arm, yet again tossed about like a ragdoll.
"Why?!" he managed, "WHY?!"
He dared to raise his head, his soma dripping onto the wall and to the floor to join the aura and body of his master.
"WHY CAN'T I HAVE THIS?! WHY WON'T YOU LET ME HAVE THIS?!"
The ink swallowed over the pile of things, the useless glasses appearing in his massive ungloved hand. Whether or not he was distracted as his eyeless gaze fell upon him was uncertain, but it gave Sammy enough time to pick himself back up.
No, having not seen the demon do this, it was nothing but his own fury at the leviathan's silence and cruelty that made Sammy throw himself at his lord, ready to fight for what he had left.
Francine cried out, too, as there is nothing else one can do with the sensation of throwing oneself off the cliff, to feel your stomach flip over and over with the freefall and the sensation of wind striking past your hair and right between your ears.
For a split second, she began to have an idea that this was a terrible, terrible mistake. Her jump wasn't nearly as far as intended- if any forethought went into such a stupid act at all- and her weight began to be redistributed, her body tilting as time passed in the tumble. But then, she grimaced; something tore into her stomach as they crossed paths, the sound of her shirt ripping clear as day as a sting came from the same place.
But every moment of pain is an opportunity, perhaps, and so with another shout she grappled what hurt her and held on for dear life.
Francine had never, ever, had so much strength in her weak body as she managed to crawl onto the piece of driftwood floating in space, a second of refuge in a hurricane. Even her eyelids trembled with the adrenaline as she directed her look down. She couldn't see past her own chest to wherever the wound was, but perhaps that was a good thing- meant it wasn't that big. Even though it was in a similar spot, it wasn't nearly as bad as the pain in her abdomen when Sammy found her for the first time.
Her locks blew into her eyes with the gust of this storm, but she could still see past them a way to that old man.
She reached her arm forward and clung to the next thing that came by, dragging herself closer and closer as many times as need be.
Of course he was no match for the ink demon.
-First, merely a shove away, like Sammy was a child trying to fight an adult keeping away a dangerous thing he mistook for toy-
But that wasn't the point, was it?
-Then, as Sammy merely came forward again, his savior swiped him aside entirely, that giant white glove more than enough to move the man like a fly. He picked himself right back up-
It wasn't a fight to win. It just wasn't. What the demon had…was simply his.
-Instead of going for the beast again, Lawrence tried to judge by sound alone in a swarm of noise and carnage and things always moving where the ink demon's black hand could be. He charged in, and he missed, barreling past instead, leaving himself vulnerable for the monster to take him by the shoulder and toss him at his feet. The ink in Sammy's back conjoined with the pool made by his lord, puddles whispering in his ears-
The demon took what was not his.
-Sammy clung to the hand holding him down by its wrist, gritting his teeth. He reached up for his glasses again, but nothing met his touch-
Joey took everything that did not belong to him in the first place- everything. Sammy finally wanted something back.
Francine was finally close enough she could almost touch him, but the object she clung onto was fast on its way away. With one last yelp, she hoisted herself over to Joey himself- reaching out without knowing if he'd drag him down too- and the sensation that came with that was nothing but extraordinary.
All the woman had to do was hold his shoulders, and the weightlessness about him…came about her.
She felt the bottom of her shirt lift up the tiniest bit, showing the blood that had begun to stain the dull blue cloth. Her feet needed no support, and her legs kicked slowly like they waded through water. She couldn't see it, but the slight, golden aura about him in that second outlined her too, her strands of hair going from being whipped about to being gently tugged up and down, much like his locks from underneath his hat.
Another thing unnoticed is that the blooms that choked from his head to his shoes seemed to drift more towards hers, too.
"Joey!" His name, dumbly said one more time as she waited for him to react. But nothing came. His hand was on his face, and there it remained. He would not look back.
"Hey, hey HEY-"
She gripped tighter, nearly on the verge of tears. No. No, he had to be able to hear her, he HAD to! After all this-!
Just as he was about to give up, she tilted her head past the shadow of his top hat's brim, and through his hiding fingers she should see trembling, glowing eyes.
They were so afraid.
She shook him in her hold, her own illuminated gaze fixated on his until Joey chose to return it.
And slowly, slowly…they did. Honey irises glinting with a power beyond his own met hers; they were so wide, so hardly there with her as everything was falling apart.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered, more horrified than ever before. Her heart sunk again as he again looked down into the darkness below, the ink streaming slowly from the weeds caressing around his hand. "After everything I've done…nothing. I could do nothing."
Mr. Drew blinked, some of the liquid on his forehead tricking down.
"All these years…and I could never do a single good thing after all…!"
His eyes closed.
"I was wrong. So very, very wrong. But you already know that."
Eyes half-lidded, staring at nothing.
"I was never, never faultless at all. I've never done anything right. I've never-"
"JOEY!"
Eyes wide open, looking at her.
Her expression, in spite of a fear matched between them, was stern. Francine furrowed her brow and glared; none of that was going to help them. Drew had literal decades to roll around in his own misery- heaven help her if she let him whine a another, single fucking moment, God almighty.
She had lost too damn much and had to suck it all up for him to pity himself a second more.
His hand fell from off his face, returning to his legs to hold himself. He was really, truly, childish, and they couldn't afford him to be.
The phone in her pocket may have been weightless, but what was inside was far too heavy to leave behind.
She jerked him one more time by the shoulders, as if it would wake him up. The woman shook her head side to side before beginning to not plea…but to convince.
"Listen," she began again, "…You can let us GO!"
And the old man whose winkles on his face came from laughter long ago rather than age had them carve even deeper with a frown that reached glittering eyes. He shook his head right back, the kind of look when someone tries to convince their daughter someone just died and they won't be coming back.
"I can't…!" he squeaked. All that confidence, all that grandiosity and sureness…gone. He was a shell, and his contents were breaking open and spreading all around her and out of reach. "I've tried, dear, I could never-"
Francine allowed him to touch her face one more time, a lingering, barely touching caress of the cheek that did not last.
"…I've hurt you," Joey admitted, maybe for the first time with sincerity, "I've hurt everyone. So many people, Frankie-!" Another hopeless, hollow shake of the end, vines wrapping around him more and tighter- one coming over Francine's right hand. "I can't save them. I never could. I tried- and it all only became…worse."
She saw both his hands gradually let go of himself to feebly come to her own fingers, begging for something without knowing what.
"I can't let anyone go."
And this…this was why Francine was here, and this is why Joey had allowed her to find him. Like all the times before, he contradicted himself; he both fought for her and against her presence.
Now she knew why.
"…Joey."
She pulled her hand out of his grasp to instead cup his own cheek.
"You already have."
The disbelief in his expression had no words, and her palm felt his jaw drop into it.
"No-" Mr. Drew retained a grip of his version of reality, "No, no, dear- please- please don't say that…!" Terror tinged his voice, as he knew only bad things came from hearing such distressing things. "I haven't- I can't- Frankie, darling, please believe me-!"
But his emotions didn't sway her; her gaze stayed firm and she kept herself still.
"You can't control what you want, can you?"
Such a simple statement. Secret upon secret, this was the last thing he didn't want anyone to know.
It was true.
"No," he returned with hardly a sound, "Never. This studio…reacts to me. It does not obey."
His eyes begged for mercy as he confessed his worst sin.
"I can't stop myself from hurting everyone."
Tears welled up, absorbing the golden fade about them, twinkling like stars as she stroked her thumb and broke them apart to fall across his face and beneath stained, shining glasses.
And then she told him a secret she realized too.
"But you can!"
And something intended for hope only made him more terrified.
"No, NO! Frankie, STOP-"
"You HAVE! Joey- Joey LISTEN!" Francine tilted his face back towards her, having tried to look away as his only means of escape. Both hands cupped his face now, making the ancient soul look her in the face. She repeated what had to be true again, calmer and certain it was key to their deliverance:
"You let Henry go."
And everything around them- every splinter, thread, and bead of ink- it all froze in place at the drop of a pin. His hands came again to hold her wrists, and he took an eternity to swallow what she had dared to utter.
"…Why would you ever say something like that?"
The room tipped upside down, he could tell. The sensation of being turned around was known to all that were in the puddles, twisted together like they were stirred in a cauldron. Ink sloshed around him, like a ship at sea filling with the waves that are bringing it down. He groaned, but the nightmare of a spinning tempest in a locked room- electricity sparking behind his shoulders from bare wires- was nothing compared to the force coming after him.
He skidded on the floor as his lord tried to pin him to it.
But Sammy- by heaven's grace- felt the ink demon's grip weaken, and he rolled to his side, releasing himself from whatever wrath was coming his way. Francine…whatever she was doing-
The thought was broken as he began heading to the other side of the hall again, identified because he could hear sparks from the metalworks around him that his dear friend mentioned before. Instinctively- or perhaps catching the sound of a sharply raised fist- the man ducked, still grazed by the demon's hit but not facing its full brunt. He took the opportunity to return it with a punch of his own, feeling knuckles land somewhere on the behemoth before he was tossed back yet another time.
The director managed to skid to a halt instead of simply hit a wall again, and as he gasped for breath, he could hear the tingle of electricity right behind his back.
The altar for Joey's son wasn't too far away.
"Because it's true!" Francine insisted, "Listen- it's the only thing that makes sense! If Henry isn't here- I mean, I haven't seen him- then where the hell is he?!"
Mr. Drew stayed silent at the mention of his son. He closed his eyes once again.
"The puddles," he admitted softly, knowing how they were the most wretched place of all, "There's nowhere else."
"Joey?"
Nothing. She continued.
"Have you ever…-" Delicately. Be careful. "-…Tried to find him?"
Francine's apprehension…was entirely justified.
"OF COURSE NOT!" he snapped much louder than before, Francine gasping at the anger in his eyes. Just like that, the whirlwind that stood still came back with strength anew, starting to throw things around once again, a match for his outrage at such an accursed accusation- an afront to everything he worked for. "Why would I, after all I've DONE?! Why would I do that to him?! Why would my son want to see me?!"
The woman felt her heart race and Joey tense in her hands. She shouldn't have been so surprised he didn't want to see the truth. All she could offer was another question, hope that it was enough:
"…Have you ever thought to ask?"
And it was almost like this bit back and him, his head jerking up at these words and the ire in his eyes burning right her way.
…Doubt. It was flickering in his gaze, too, right alongside. And so she asked another thing of him, even as she sat precariously in the eye of the storm with brutality unlike any other.
"Just…try," she proposed, trying to hide the desperation just below the surface. "Please-" And then, what she prayed would convince him: "I- I- want to know. Please."
His teeth were still grit, his expression was still flabbergasted at the abominable idea…but the doubt grew…and grew…and grew, until his eyes twitched now with a more tender confusion instead of rage.
But of course. She had always been able to get his guard down.
…
Joey Drew sighed and squeezed Francine's hands as he closed his eyes to look for what was left of dear Henry, if only to convince her that he was gone and nothing more could be done. The girl that so painfully- wonderfully- reminded the father of his son was left to watch and wait, the only indication of his efforts found upon his face.
And what a journey it took her on.
He eventually calmed, expression flat as he focused only on the pursuit. Then, he too became more...invested; Joey was hardly looking before- ready to flee the moment he caught the slightest sign of him- the son he was afraid to see after all he did...like everyone else, or even worse; he wanted to hide from the one he loved the very, very most. Like...walking and walking until you expect the earth to end- But...but...-
The frown and curled brow told Francine a lot more than words could, but she still let him search until satisfaction- or lack thereof- all the same so he could speak.
"…Where…-?"
His irises shined once again, horror of another kind entirely within them; so different, it is, the assurance of something awful than the lack of that promise can be.
"Mr. Drew, listen." Francine pulled him closer, tilting her head with a similar sort of amazement. "I…I don't know where your son is. I don't know why-…why you said he- he died. Why you said you saw him die."
She leaned in so very close.
"But he can't have died here," she murmured.
His grasp on her weakened as the world swung around, the best news- a revelation! Salvation!- still shredding through him like the sharpest knives.
"You let him go."
And then he let go entirely, all that was left to connect them being her touch alone. He looked ahead, but who knew what on earth he could be seeing. But the woman didn't waste time bringing him back to why she was here.
"Joey…you CAN let us all go."
His limp hands were met as she moved hers off his cheeks to hold them. How the hell how Joey could let them go wasn't visible to her…but it was possible.
He could.
She knew he could, and now…
So did he.
The fragile, frail plants continued to stretch and fade over and over again around them and from him, a waltz of life and death much like the existence of those he killed. The fires of the candled wrapped around their sphere like the trails of comets- of clouds lit by the evening sky-…no one had ever seen the sky in years. Like shattered glass, what was left of his existence was painted around them in moving color, impatient for something to change.
…His grimace stretched, and as the old man began to cry, Francine pulled him into her embrace and held Joey Drew as close as she could, having nothing else to offer but prayers that he would set them free.
"Please," she asked of him.
Sammy stood ready for something he could finally do to save himself.
"Please."
The demon leapt to his death.
"Please, I want to see my family again."
And limp in his hold, at first nothing happened. But little by little, he began to hold her back, and then rest his head into her shoulder, and then gripped even tighter. The world did just the same. Past his red hair, Francine could see those jagged boards swing like knives, and she saw the flowers around them- around her, growing alive and trying to take her along with him- bloom, bend, and wither over and over faster and faster, their petals releasing and filling the air like smoke. She heard a rumble and the ink flew more like rain than ever before, sharp against her skin.
It got so violent she just closed her eyes and waited for some sort of end to come.
And at the same time, with the wolf's room quaking all around him, Sammy jumped to the side just as the demon came in for the final blow.
He could hear the electricity shoot through his god from the torn wires, the bare wounds of a universe aching inside out as it conflicted with the creature of pain and control that it was supposed to contain.
Joey was dead.
He was the ink demon.
He was even God.
But for the first time, he saw he always had a choice.