"What's this?" Henry held out the bowl of white soup cheerfully. The wooden spoon was grasped in Henry's nimble fingers, holding out a scoop of whatever is within. Sammy stared at it hesitantly.
"Chicken soup. Well, chicken gumbo, but it's more liquid than solid. Just what the doctor ordered." Sammy blew at it, before sipping from the wooden spoon. His tongue scalded, Sammy withdrew away from the spoon. Henry hissed.
"Ah, I forgot. Want to let it cool down for a while?" Sammy nodded, retreating further into the covers.
He forgot this part of being human again. Henry, armed with a thermometer, had checked his temperature and pronounced him sick with a high fever. Sick. As though being mentally ill wasn't enough, he had to …Stop that! Sammy ordered his mind warily. This was how his mind wandered; sometimes going into the depths of despair and feeling blue at the least warning. His shrink warned him that this was common at signs of difficulty, but Sammy felt that he could do better.
At times like these, Sammy reached for his feet, bending his knees closer and fingering his big toes gingerly. He couldn't forget how they were like stubs sticking out of his legs of pants. The doctor had thought that his ankles had swelled, causing the shuffling that had to be corrected each time Sammy found himself walking. Sammy could not explain that he had been transformed into ink and had stumps rather than feet, but now that he was human, he had clearly formed legs, and he used it as a way of grounding himself. Like now.
I have feet now. I'm not there anymore. I'll run when I'm feeling better. Inevitably, this brought a smile to his face. He was still practicing tip-toeing, using the banisters to practice. Sammy could go up a flight of stairs without tiring out now, unlike those days at the hospital where he was reliant on the nurses to wheel him from one room to another for more tiring tests and examinations.
While walking was now accomplished, music-making was another matter altogether. He could not sing properly, for anything that came to his lips was hardly children's fare. Jeanne and Stephen had stared at him when he tried joining in. He thought it was a matter of hoarseness before David, Jeanne's friend brought in a tape recorder (unlike Joey's, these were metallic and shiny and new) and Sammy realized that the lyrics were all from Bendy cartoons, despite what the rest he was singing. Now, he needed to read the lyrics to ensure that he was singing the correct tune.
With those soaked, four-fingered hands of his, Sammy could hardly strum the banjo he held so dear. Muscles had atrophied along with his memories, and so he had to refer to the string notation each time he tried a chord. Sammy was good enough now with common chords, but he regretted that it was no longer as instinctive as before.
Sammy was the former music director of Joey Drew Studios. He had written tunes as it appeared in his head, and the leitmotifs that made the Bendy cartoons memorable were done by him. Sammy could not remember how easy it was, but it was a far cry from what he was experiencing now. His head felt woolly, especially whe the tremors and nausea hit him like a sledgehammer. Sammy felt the urge to retreat under his desk when it happened, because he felt useless, incapable of writing another note when he knew that it was erased afterwards.
"Henry, don't be such a worry wart. After all, you don't need to grow more pimples at your age." The pun fell as flat as a…pancake? Was that how the simile went? Henry got the joke, and let out a chuckle as he left the room.
It was silent. There was nothing. There was nothing. Sammy internally panicked. There was no hubbub of noise, no voices in the corridor like down below where the animators worked. Only the bed, the dresser, the closet and the table. What was he supposed to do? His brain still felt as though there were Vikings on drums, beating heavily and making his head work. He needed something to drown it out.
Radio! That was it. "I'll turn it on. There has to be some good music nowadays." Nodding, he turned the radio on. Perhaps "Willow Weep For Me" would be on...
Stephen peeked into the corridor. On one hand, sick co-worker. On the other hand, music studio was free now. Goodie!
"WHAT IS THIS DISGUSTING PIECE? INSIPID LYRICS! REPETITIVE CHORDS!" Never mind, he'll wait for when Sammy was well again.
Sammy attempted to smile. It wasn't working very well. What he could manage was a half-smirk. He guessed it wasn't really needed in this situation.
"Take all the time you need. I've got stuff to do as well." Eugene the dispatch carrier waved over as he sorted through the folders. Besides being Jeanne's errand boy, Eugene was also handling administrative paperwork. It was some cruel joke when the errand boy handles one's employment issues and the lawyer moonlights as a voice actor. Or, in Jeanne's case, do everything only to collapse near the deadline due to sheer exhaustion.
Sammy breathed deeply through his nostrils, before letting it out in one big huff. He was not permitted to smoke or even get a bit of Dutch courage due to it screwing around with his medication. He could feel his stomach yawning and throbbing. Perhaps he was hungry. Sammy knocked at the door. There was a scramble, perhaps the occupant was busy. Maybe he didn't want to answer the door today. Or that he needed to look for the keys.
The door abruptly swung inwards to reveal Norman Polk, former projectionist. Sammy absent-mindedly gave his greetings, carefully not meeting his eyes.
After…being turned back, no one who had been in that mass of souls wanted to meet each other again. Too much time had been spent together, their memories submerged beneath the agony of ink and sorcery. Sammy had been lucky enough, certain of what he was to have the majority of his memories back. Even if they had become clouded with time, and far less distinct than what he was recalling now.
Norman, from what Henry could recall, had been wandering around the studio. The Projectionist had fitfully wandered about, not speaking, only watching a cartoon over and over. He had a projector for a head. Sammy's coping mechanism had been writing songs, over and over to the point that he had gotten better at lyric-writing than he remembered. More catchy, and Stephen had rearranged them in order to keep up with the times. Even when Sammy despised the electro-tuning whatchamacallit that Shaun loved.
There were talks about putting the animation studio into something proper; official, rather than the gathering of animators, storyboarders; ink and paint and all the nitty gritty backstage workers that had made the leap together with Henry's niece into direct competition with the big guys. Not to mention that one of Henry's objectives for visiting the studio in the first place was to check if there were any squatters available. They were itching for studio space, and Henry had mistaken Joey's invitation as one done in warmth and times of friendship, rather than the cold-blooded manipulation that the other workers had fallen under.
Wally, bless his soul, as much as Sammy could under the current circumstances, had forgiven him from the comfort of the bedside. The janitor had been a Boris when he arose from the ink, and Sammy had not intentionally murdered Wally; just took his organs oh god-.
"Sammy, you've been staring at the window for some time now." Locked out of his reminiscing, Sammy's mind went into a fluster. What had he been doing? He stared back, recognizing that his mouth was in an undignified gape.
"I..I…" Norman gazed back at him, wide eyes mournful. Sammy tried to regain his words, but composure had been a distant dream after.
"I think." the former projectionist said slowly. "That you and I need to talk." An awkward silence was brewing between the two. Tension heightened, as Sammy could not think of anything to say. Why was he here again? He fidgeted in his seat, noticing the bare walls and shelves. Norman had moved in here two months back after being discharged from the hospital.
"How…" His adam apple started bobbing up and down, "How have you been doing lately?"
"Ah, fine. I saw my ex-wife the other day." A twisted smile. "She thought I had left her and remarried. It was a shock to see my son."
"How did you tell her that you…" Norman bitterly laughed as Sammy tried to ease his way out of the situation. Unsubtle, he corrected himself.
"The whole truth. She thought I was mad until her current husband linked it up to the Joey Drew Studio Disappearances. At that point my…" His voice broke, Norman's shoulders heaving with the effort. "My son apologised for thinking the worst of me. Cos he wasn't proud to have a father that abandoned him."
"My condolences." That was expected, right? To say that when you sympathise with someone.
"Ah, knew it could be worse. I heard Shaun tried to jump off a bridge. Couldn't deal with the voices in his head." That hit the nail on the head hard, and it was all Sammy could do not to start wailing on the spot. He tapped on the table, steadying his heartbeat.
"I've been working. For Henry's niece."
"Oh, I've heard of her." Norman sounded delighted. "Is that the one who they called the wunderkind? The one that did the special effects for Disney Studios?"
"Same person. There's a nickname for her. Ms. Capable." A pause, Sammy inching his way around the topic. "She animates, she sings and she leads."
"A woman after Lucille Ball then. Clever."
"She wants to start an animation studio. To be more specific, she's gone and bought one and now they're working their way towards feature animation."
Norman stared at him blankly.
"Look, I know it sounds awkward, but truthfully? She's got the nerve to challenge Disney on home territory. Not to mention bagging a whole chunk that left. Or taking over another animation studio."
"Growing in other words." Norman's head bowed over. "And you signed up for it?"
"Well, music can't change that much. Unless they've got that strange electro-pop tune that Stephen-my co-worker, I mean-has his mind on. I can't say the same for you."
"Nah, I switched to working at the bakery. Nice smell, lots of little kids."
"Not to mention feasting your eyes."
"On more ways than one!" Norman laughed out loud. "The lady's not too bad. Even if she's young enough to be my daughter." He sighed. "Far too young."
"I…see…" Sammy felt useless once again. First with Susie, now with Norman. Was it he who had no means of mustering any form of simple joy? Or was being a wet blanket all the time part of his personality.
"It's no pleasure. Then again, we live in a different time period. Know anymore gossip?"
"Grant got hired by Eugene, who's currently-"He peered through the window, "Dispatch and hiring. He's now handling the accounting. Shawn, last I heard, was readmitted. Susie's a drama teacher with her own little kids to teach. Allison…"
Norman shuddered. They both heard how she was still unsure if she was Susie, Alice, or both. Lost her mind, that one.
"Wally got a standing offer once he leaves the hospital. As for…" Sammy choked down a sob. "We're seeing him in court next month."
"Hey, if you need a witness or anything…"
"Yeah, about that." Sammy hissed through clenched teeth. "Bastard still claims that he did it with good intentions."
"Ptah!" Norman spat in disgust. "Nice enough to make us all ink creatures and be proud of his arse for it! No, I'll get my pound of flesh once the lawyers are through with him. Thirty years of being stuck under that man's thumb!"