Chapter Five: The Darkness
Peter
Peter wasn't perticularily found of the dark. Nobody he knew actually enjoyed the dark, except one person and that was because he was a sociopath, he had no regard to emotions, the feeling that you are closing in around yourself in the darkness. Peter was not a fan of being in the night, the darkness, whether he was out on the streets, prowling around for his sociopathic friend or lying still in a motel bed in Seattle.
Darkness meant time for his mind to wander. It meant he had no control over his thoughts at this point, no matter what he thought. The night, he concluded was a time where emotions and senses were like live wires, keeping him up from his sleep. It was that, or the fact that he couldn't sleep, misery keeping him company at his bedside in the dark. The darkness created this energy that never let him sleep, but let his mind wander from his body, almost as if he could see Olivia now, that was what he wanted. He sincerely regretted that the moment his disembodied soul left.
He was wide awake in the darkness, the sound of his breathing keeping him aware, but at the same time his mind was in Boston, in a tiny flat, one single lamp lighting the living room. He could see her tan couch, her soft rug, her dark coffee table and her, white blouse with the top two buttons open, her blonde hair hanging loosely around her face and her green eyes. Only they were not bright, they were broken. There probably was a whiskey glass set in front of her, probably empty. He felt guilty for leaving her.
The dark heightens human senses. He knew this fact, and thus his emotional state was more than in ruins at this time. Even in the blackness he could feel his throat catching, sobs threatening and the moistness of his tear-ducts, just waiting for an image for his memory to muster, just so they could spill over and break him apart, even more so than he already was broken.
But there was a strange noise in the darkness, a noise sounding like a door opening and he jolted awake in an instant, tears no longer wanting to threaten his face. The darkness had given rise to the fear of an intruder, the fear that Newton found him. He ripped off his headphones, some strange melody that had kept him company suddenly sounding distant and far from his mind. For a moment he forgot about Olivia in her tiny flat with despair written on her face; but it was for a brief moment and the image returned the instant her forgot it. He looked up to be met with the face of Newton, patiently waiting, patiently.
"Secretary," Newton spoke before stepping aside. Peter's face had confusion written all over it. From the blackness moved a man, a man with stature and power in his walk, a man Peter thought, reminded him of his prowling sociopathic friend, lover of the darkness, one not to be trusted.
"Son," came the man's voice. Peter looked up, shocked to see another man, no, another Walter standing there. He was much more poised than the man Peter knew, and he was weary but for a moment. His eyes were met with relief, like this man had been searching for a long while for him.
The man, his father, offered him to return to the other universe, back to his world and Peter agreed. He felt hate for the Walter that stole him and that fueled his emotions. He could only see red only see rage then, unhappiness for his life. He thought nothing of it, until he stood and looked down at his cell phone that lay next to him on the table.
Olivia.
Olivia. Olivia. Olivia. Her name repeated in his head so many times, it sounded like a bell, a chant, a rhythmic reminder of some sort. It wasn't his head though; it was the sound of the beat of his heart. Every time it beat, every ounce of blood it pushed, it sang out, cried out for Olivia Dunham. It was hurting too, crippling almost and he could safely say it probably hurt more than any heart attack would, more than any stroke, and gunshot. It was a pain beyond any imaginable pain, and he was putting himself through it.
He wondered how much she'd hate him, how she wouldn't forgive him. He wondered if she'd never stop looking for him. What if she never did? Olivia would spend her whole life searching for Peter and never find him. It was because he left the universe. He could see her, years from now, broken down and shaking, so alone and weak. Could he forgive himself if she died trying to find him? Would he even remember her once he left? He swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to push down the sob that wanted to escape.
He wanted Olivia there, he craved her, he needed her almost as much as he needed air. He wanted to take her with him, he wanted to keep her safe, to make sure she'd never go. But she'd never forgive him now, she'd never find him. She was going to spend her whole life looking for him, looking for what happened, and never find answers. How could he live with himself knowing she could barely live without him? Where would she be when she finally quit? Would she ever? Peter could feel self hate in his stomach, he could feel his guilt. Why did Olivia do this to him? Why did he have to care so much about her that the mere thought she would die in search of him make him want to break down in tears?
The man named Walter waited for him patiently, but couldn't shake the image of his son's face, twisted in so much pain. And before Peter could wipe it away, Walter saw the tear, a single glistening drop on his cheek.
And Walter began to doubt himself.
