(Author's note: I intended to play F.E.A.R. again before finishing the story, but I got bored sitting through the installation. This was written over a period of a few months and finally finished yesterday evening.)
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Interval 13 – Synchronicity
"I've fallen into a goddamn soap opera," thought Jin. "Or a horror movie. Or both."
She clutched at a greenish support beam, looking on as the scene unfolded before her eyes. Like a movie, or a crushing dream of suffocation that just wouldn't end. The shadows rustled around her. She could hear the clicking of plastic and metal, the quiet hisses of cloth. A gasp caught in her as she heard heavy breathing behind her, but she waited in vain, for all eyes were focused on one single point in that dark basement.
The bluish pool of light seemed to crawl insidiously around the room, swinging from a precarious chain. Alma's hair dripped a sickly, yellow sap; her face, though gaunt, was somehow delicate and doll-like. Shadows wrapped themselves about her like a dark robe.
She looked into the darkness, straight at Jin. The dark eyes narrowed among the tangled hair. Then she turned, looked down, held out a hand to her son. A low, eerie hum rattled the fillings in Jin's teeth. Finally, she could stand it no longer.
"No! Quentin!"
Alma turned with a low snarl of anger, showing bloody whites of eyes. The grotesqueness showed from within her again, unmasked by her false façade. Jin looked away and into Quentin's eyes, trying to hold his gaze.
"Quentin! Alma – the little girl – they killed her! Harlan Wade… killed her. Him and the scientists from Armacham! She is not your mother! Your mother is dead! This woman, whatever she is, she's not –"
Jin cried out in pain and lurched forward suddenly. Blood poured from the spreading gash on her ankle, turning the trickle into a rivulet, as Alma seemed to tower, and hissed, "This is none of your business. Stay away!"
Smoke stung Jin's nostrils. She looked at her shoulders and began patting at herself furiously, scattering the gray smoke blackening the fabric of her clothes.
A spark leapt in the darkness. A flame shot up from a stack of old newspapers, projecting more light onto the walls. As a single body, the clones moved closer to the blaze.
Jin lay on the ground, wheezing. Her breaths came in short gasps, as she sucked in the smoke that threatened to kill them all.
And he stood there. He sensed it, the pain and the smoke and the blood. And Quentin's eyelids flickered.
He remembered.
He remembered his days at the firing range at headquarters, the way Jin held her gun with such poise and assurance, the way Jin laughed, the way she stared at him with one eyebrow cocked in mirth and the slight twitch of a smile on her lips. The way their hands touched, as he tried to help her pick up a discarded casing. And when her laughter shook the air like delicate bells. Oh, how he missed that.
"It's not right."
Turning, Alma let out a shriek of anger, a raw and ugly sound that, having barely frayed its way past her rotting lips, already saw two Replica soldiers fallen to the ground, crying out and gripping their hemorrhaging eye sockets.
The air turned frigid despite the fire. Tugging furiously on its chain, the light bulb flickered precariously and went out with a bang, sending glass fragments tinkling to the ground.
Smoke billowed about the basement. Boxes of memories lay, consumed by the hungry flames. A flap of paper landed next to Jin's face. She watched the Wade family portrait burn into ash. One of the Replica soldiers ran to the tiny basement windows, pushed an assault rifle to the glass, took a shot at the firemen and policemen milling about outside. The attack was met by shouts, a riposte. The rounds ripped through smoke like tiny silver fish.
Alma's head was lowered. Her eyes glowed like embers.
"My son."
Memories flooded his mind again. He saw Moody, his face ravaged, the flesh hanging from his skull like thick ribbons. His thoughts dragged him back to the hospital. He could not push the memory of the nurse from his mind. Her screams. And his dream, Jin's death, that would become his fault and his burden to bear because he had hesitated one too many times.
"I'm sorry, Alma."
He remembered the grassy meadow, the soft caress of grass, the smile on his mother's face.
"I only saw what I wanted to see. I cannot be your son."
"You ungrateful…" Alma's fury nearly reached the breaking point, but the tumult died down. Behind the black veil, her dark eyes glistened. "I saved you. From the explosion… I saved you. I watched over you. Ever since you were a baby. I love you."
Quentin wanted to give in, to a mother's love he had never known, to happiness, to a full life. He wanted to leave his existence behind and not have to care about anything or anyone, and just be cared for. His eyes began to close by themselves, and he found himself standing on unsteady legs.
But he also remembered the screams, the unearthly screams of Paxton's victims. The bodies of the SFOD-D men, each a human being, as their flesh was seared from their bones, as he watched powerlessly. Betters, Jankowski, Douglas and Jin. She had killed Jankowski. She would rip them apart, one by one, as he watched. The only friends he'd ever had. The only people who had ever come close to being family to him.
He shook his head.
"No. Never. It's wrong."
Disappointment painted itself upon Alma's face. Her skin began to peel like old paint, to flake away. Alive in a dead face, her eyes pleaded. "I loved you." Like beached seaweed, her hair fell away in clumps and crumbled into dust as it touched the ground. The flames bit voraciously, burning away Alma's memories, the old photos of her broken family. "Quentin… I love…"
With a last sigh of an unfinished word, she fell apart like ashes, and vanished. The fires, licking at the old photo albums, flickered and went out, leaving plumes of smoke in the air. The darkness fled.
-
In the penumbra and sudden silence, Jin edged to her feet and moved forward, dropping the torn piece of cloth she had held to her nose and mouth. Quentin stood alone in the middle of the basement, dimly silhouetted by the ambient light of the night.
She touched him, felt for his hand. It was cold and limp, completely unresponsive. She stared at his cracked lips, a thought lingering in her mind, but as she looked up into his eyes, she saw that they were dull and unfocused, as though a string had been severed. He looked at her, past her.
"It's over."
He blinked slowly, fell over, lay still. His eyes closed, and all was silent.
Jin stared for a long while, kneeling by his side. Her lips parted, and a faint whisper, like a ship departing the dock, deserted her lungs, at which point she stood, turned without a sound and limped out of the room.
-
"This is TMS Auburn News – your news always comes first, and here is your 15 minute update on the fire on Thornton street."
She reclined back in the armchair, clutching her glass of brandy.
"As of five minutes ago, the situation is now officially under control. The source of the blaze has not been identified, but the fire department have reassured residents, saying that the surrounding houses are no longer at risk.
"Now, for those of you who haven't been with us for the past few hours, and for our out-of-town friends, this past day has certainly been an eventful one. Officials have not yet commented on the possible connections between this morning's massacre at Auburn Memorial, the discovery of nearly a dozen bodies in the Auburn area and the situation tonight on Thornton Street, not to mention the apparent suicide of a law-enforcement officer of the Auburn police department."
"Ugh. Thank God this is over."
She swallowed somewhat nervously, looked over at her companion. "Yes."
"We'll have this sorted out. In time." He looked her dead in the eye. "You're out of a job now."
"It could have ended worse."
He drank. "True."
"How is your son? Your wife?"
"Oh, they're fine."
With the pleasantries seemingly over, uncomfortable silence settled into the room once more. Only the radio rambled on.
"Although the killings in Auburn seem over tonight, many of the residents are uneasy and claim that the worst is not over. Some claim to have spotted strange apparitions in the area tonight. None of these claims have been verified.
"I'm Jacob Turner, and this is TMS Auburn News. Goodnight."
He leaned over and switched stations. Calm, soothing music permeated the room. Aristide sat staring at her empty glass.
"It's really over now. Where will you go?"
"We'll see." She paused. "Goodnight, Senator." With that, she headed out the door.
It was snowing outside.
-
The snowflakes woke him. They alit on his face, his hair, his eyelashes, the nape of his neck. They danced on him.
He was alive.
He stood. In the poorly lit alleyway, all was silent. The snowflakes flickered all around him, dusting the ground a clean white. A single puddle of water had frozen, glistening like a rippled mirror.
The ice was as a broken iris, cracked and flooded with dark, cold water. He stepped closer, saw his own reflection. He gazed long and hard at his features, and then he knew, and a weak smile lit his tired face. It was over. Once, he had been Alma Wade's son, Armacham Technology Corp's guinea pig, the government's pawn. But now, he was more – he was also his own man. He was free.
His footsteps in the snow left deep imprints. The cold was refreshing; he watched his breath plume upon the air. Snowflakes hung under the lamp's solitary glow like fireflies, casting an eerie light upon the alleyway as he disappeared down the street.
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End
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(Thank you for reading! I know what you're thinking, this chapter was way too short, the events were way to choppy, but I can't find the "push" to edit this any longer; I just had to post it as is and get some… closure, so to speak. Perhaps this is the way things are meant to be. I have no idea if I'll continue writing F.E.A.R. fanfiction; it all depends on whether you guys think I'm good enough [wink-wink, nudge-nudge. All jokes aside, I haven't played anything beyond the original game, and thinking about the expansions or sequels or whatever just make me feel hopelessly alone. I don't know why. Anyhow, it's been great going on this journey with you guys, and thanks for all the reviews and encouraging words!)
March 06 – December 07.