Disclaimer: Body of work will contain strong language and (eventually) sexually graphic adult themes between characters (hint: MikexChris ship, choo-choo!) so reader discretion is advised. In addition, all characters and events from the video game Until Dawn, which are mentioned and/or represented in this work are property of Supermassive Games and Sony Entertainment, and in no way does the author claim any rights to their entities forthwith. Further more, blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah, please don't sue me.
Chapter 3
"Is there life on Mars?" asked Mike as he snapped his fingers just inches away from his friend's dark rimmed glasses.
Chris blinked twice before his catatonic revere was broken. He asked, "W-what? Mars?"
"Yeah man, I'm asking because..." Mike began to explain, poking his friend's chest, "…you were totally spaced out there for a moment."
Chris blinked again. "I was?"
Mike scoffed, "Sh'yeah you were. And do you need eye drops for your blinking problem?"
His friend shook his head and replied in a monotone voice, "Nah man, I'm good. Cheers."
Chris clinked his glass against Mike's and took a sip to avoid further conversation on the topic.
Mike was a bit puzzled at the irregular behavior of Chris, knowing that he completely missed an opportunity for a retort. He noticed how Christopher was avoiding eye contact entirely, like it was a gesture of irresolution. Mike wanted to investigate further, see what was going on in Chris' mind, to navigate through that Cretan labyrinth. But fear overtook him – he didn't want to know the possible truth that he could be judged, condemned and rejected for his failures at Blackwood Pines. He couldn't bear to see Chris revile him, not now. Not when there was an opportunity to find solace and redemption. And he needed that, he needed Chris. So he went along with the social mores.
"How's your drink?" asked Mike, trying to lighten the mood.
"Good," replied Chris and nodded, taking another sip. "It's like an adult 7-Up with a kick."
"It is the drink of millionaires, after all," Mike replied, leaning against the counter as he drank his own beverage.
Suddenly, Chris' stomach delivered and audible grumble that made him feel sheepish; his cheeks grew flush with crimson and heat. How long had it been since he last ate? As the idiom goes: man could not live on bread alone…and the same could be said for alcohol as well. Though some would debate the latter. However, in Christopher's case, he could go for a bite right about now.
"And here I thought hipsters synthesized obscure music and plaid for nourishment," chortled Michael as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Anyway, what do you want, champ? I can make you a sandwich."
Would it be so surprising that Chris had a witty retort on the ready?
Answer: of course not.
Chris replied, "Do you have something else that's vegan, gluten free, soy free, antibiotics free, raw, non GMO, organic, fat free and low on carbs?"
Mike glowered as his eyes turned into narrow slits while he pursed his lips. He pushed a button on the fridge to dispense a couple of ice cubes onto his hand. Then he bowed at the waist and made a dramatic offering to his friend.
"Your majesty's frozen water chips…"
"Thank you good sir," said Chris as he took the ice cubes and plopped them into his drink. Then he waved his friend off, saying in a haughty tone, "You may make me a sandwich now."
With the few drops that formed on Mike's hand from holding onto the ice earlier, he flicked the dew towards his friend's face. Chris sputtered and tried to swat Michael's hand away while they both laughed. When the tomfoolery subsided, Mike went to the fridge to work on the sandwich. Meanwhile, Chris took another sip of his drink to abate his growing hunger as he scanned the condominium and observed the resplendent interior aesthetics.
"Speaking of millionaires…" began Christopher as he gestured broadly, "…how'd you afford all this schwag? I mean, did Xzibit pimp your crib instead of your ride?"
The furnishings that Chris referred to were nothing more than an organized geometry of squares within cubes. The fireplace, sectional sofas, ottomans, armoires, side tables and lighting all took advantage of the harmony between fabric, glass and metal with the marriage of black, white and grey colors. The interior design of the condo was as contemporary as Mike's own style of dress - substantially affluent and excessively snooty, which just screamed 'top 1%'.
As he continued making Chris' meal, Mike shook his head and apathetically answered, "I wish it was Xzibit, but no. It's from the Mr. Washington 'Shut-up' Fund."
Chris knew what Mike was talking about all too well. After the events of Blackwood Pines, and the thorough police investigation, Josh's father approached the both of them with a Faustian offer they couldn't refuse. Or rather, they had no choice BUT to accept the offer. Simply put – they were blackmailed to sign a confidentiality agreement, which was attached to a sizeable contribution for their pain and suffering experienced. The stipulation: as long as they never spoke about any of the events that occurred on that mountain they wouldn't be ravaged by an army of lawyers from the 8th circle of hell.
And thanks to the smash hit of Mr. Washington's legacy film Blood Monastery, and the successful box-office sequels following that, he had enough money to buy out pretty much everyone's silence in Blackwood County. Or enact divine retribution to those that would oppose him. Think about it: Mr. Washington bought a mountain, and developed a winter ski lodge on top of it. This would give anyone pause at the type of buying power Josh's dad wielded.
Indeed, Mr. Washington was the incarnation of the devil himself. He could make Hades look like a cheap imitation Harajuku doll.
"Yeah, I get that part," Chris chimed, "I sold my soul too, but I didn't get this much-"
Michael interjected and continued his explanation: "Investments and stocks. I played smart, got lucky too, multiplied my finances and here I am. It's my way of saying 'Fuck You' to Mr. Washington."
Chris probed further, asking, "With all your money, couldn't you just…?"
He kicked himself as he asked that. Of course Mike couldn't just buy his own 8th circle of hell lawyers too because of the events that transpired in that damn safe room. Emily, Mike, the gun. And Chris, the witness, and in a sense, the instigator. And the confession from the police investigation that pointed to first-degree murder. The situation wasn't even a zero-sum law game. This was a battle both he and Mike already lost, with Mr. Washington as the ultimate winner that stood on the bodies of their departed friends.
"No," Mike replied, shaking his head.
"But…"
Mike pointed a finger at his friend and hissed through his teeth. "No! End of discussion."
The air was tense as the darkness of the past emerged from the abyss. This was the first time since their meeting today that they even scratched the surface of their cursed history. And the result was already mired with such intensity, that Michael's countenance began to break. And honestly, that alarmed Chris for a moment.
"Sorry," apologized Mike, ashamed at his sudden outburst. "It's just…"
Chris's body moved on its own accord, as he reached over to his friend and gave his shoulder a squeeze. It was the first, real human contact that Mike had received from anybody in a long time. It felt foreign, alien, but also pleasant and warm, like a healing panacea to soothe his aching scars. Michael closed his eyes and let out a weary sigh as the darkness in his thoughts subdued to a lull. He made a mental note to himself just how good it felt to have Chris around, and even more so with his hand on his shoulder.
"It's cool bud, I get it," replied Chris, patting his friend and searched for a way to alleviate the situation. He let go of his Mike' shoulder and reached into his pocket for his cellphone. "Tell you what, you trade me that sandwich and you can check out the pics I snapped from my road trip."
Mike felt more at ease with the subject change. He'd be willing to listen to anything right now that didn't involve Blackwood Pines.
"Is that what you were doing the past year?" inquired Michael as he handed the plate of food to his friend.
Christopher nodded, unlocking his iPhone 7 and giving it to Mike.
"Yeah, it was my way of saying…" – 'Fuck You' to Mr. Washington was what Chris wanted to finish his sentence with. But he didn't want to risk opening Pandora's Box and illicit the same reaction he received from Mike earlier.
So he went the incircuitous conversation route: "I ah…bought a sweet RV, went cross country pretty much. You can check out my stuff in the album. Just open the Photos app."
Mike took notice of the Doctor Who wallpaper on Chris' phone, along with the rows and rows of applications that were installed. He knew Christopher to be the tech savvy one in the group, so it didn't come to a surprise at just how much junk was installed to begin with. It took Mike several swipes across the screen to finally identify the program he was looking for, hidden in a sea of other apps he didn't recognize. Although there was one in particular that stood out from the rest with its bright orange coloration.
'What's Grindr?' thought Mike to himself, dismissing it as another one of Chris' junk apps before tapping on the Photos icon.
A grid of pictures came up, columns of splendiferous images you would think were done in Photoshop. But they seemed legitimate, since a lot of the pictures were of Chris taking selfies at different locales both breathtaking and exotic. Like of one picture with towering rock structures layered in dazzling auburn sediments. This photo must have been taken a while ago, because Chris was fairly clean-shaven here.
"Grand Canyon I take it?" asked Mike as he showed the photo to his friend.
"Totes for real dude," answered Chris with a nod, beaming with pride, "and I got more photos just like it that will blow your mind for days."
He pantomimed his own head exploding, accompanied with a comical sound effect explosion. Michael grinned at his friend, then swiped to the next photograph in the sequence. Here, Chris had taken a selfie on top of an observation deck with a body of water behind him as blue as the cerulean skies above it. This picture must have been taken a bit of time after the Grand Canyon one, since Chris here had quite a five-o'clock shadow growing.
"Nice," remarked Mike, as he displayed the photo to Chris. "Where's this at?"
"That…" started Christopher as he adjusted his glasses for a better look, "…my friend is Pilot Butte in Oregon. That lake is on top of a dormant volcano. Pretty wild, yeah?"
Michael nodded, awestruck. "Yeah, pretty wild indeed…"
Mike swiped the phone and the next photograph was of Chris in a full on beard like what he had today. He had the biggest shit eating grin on his face while delivering the thumbs up, as he stood in front of what looked like a massive, blazing effigy.
"Oh, Burning Man dude. That place is wild!" remarked Chris, as he regaled a favorite moment from that trip. "Did you know they have Max Max: Beyond the Thunderdome-style tournaments where you swing around giant foam bats at each other?"
"You don't say…" Mike's head began to spin as he registered this sudden influx of new information…of this new 'Chris' that he didn't even know.
"Yeah bro! You see-"
Michael had a difficult time focusing to the point that Chris' words spilled out into an inaudible drone. He observed his friend, like really looked at him for the first time since his arrival. Was this actually Chris, the same one he knew for so many years? The shy, timid nerd who was all about technology, Doctor Who, and iPhone apps? Sure, some personality quirks prevailed – the humor, the amicability, the gentle nature, the signature faux-hawk. But this new Chris, with the hipster beard, the sun-touched tan, his stocky build, and the goddamn lumberjack plaid...
That is to say, one year prior, Chris was such a boy, with his clean-cut good looks and his somewhat pudgy body that was nowhere near as maintained and muscled as Mike. But there Chris stood in front of him, a man that looked capable and full of experience. Didn't the tragic events of Blackwood Pines anchor and pull him into the depths of hell, just like it did Mike? Did those events evolve Chris into something better instead…?
One thing was certain: Chris took a different approach than Mike had this past year. Instead of chasing after money and material comfort, Christopher chose the life of a peripatetic soul.
Thoughts and thoughts, churning and churning. Cannibalizing and cannibalizing.
Mike was in danger of falling back into that dark space of his head again. Where his mind wandered without direction and got lost in limbo. He needed another drink, if only to subdue his oblivion with another form of oblivion.
He went over to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila with a shot glass nestled at the top of the cap. Mike poured himself a quick serving and downed the strong, bitter beverage in one swift motion. He let out an exasperated breath as the liquid tingled his insides.
Chris was still talking about Burning Man. Blah, blah, blah…something, something about Mutant Vehicles? What? That made no sense! No more sensible than a lumberjack hipster attending a week-long desert rave in the middle of nowhere. No more sensible than Chris leaving Mike behind to agonize in his own survivor's guilt and failure.
Mike began swiping furiously at the phone and scanned the stream of Chris' selfies – in a redwood forest, at a suspension bridge, on a beach with a mojito, at some place, somewhere. Reminding Michael how much Christopher had moved on with his life. He moved on. He moved on and left you behind Mike, can't you just accept that?
Actually, he didn't leave you, more like he abandoned you.
Because you don't deserve to be free like Chris.
You deserve to be punished.
Shadows, desolation, isolation, hopeless, joyless!
Suffer in your miserable dream!
"SHUT-UP!" shrieked Mike as he threw the shot glass on the wall next to Chris.
It was a sudden, ear splitting noise of exploding glass. The shards clattering onto the floor in a multitude of dissonant noises.
Chris was dumbstruck. His mouth was agape. His lips moved to form words but nothing came out.
Mike stood beside himself. Tears welling up in his eyes. He wanted to speak but couldn't.
Before Chris could reach out to stop him, Mike had stormed off and locked himself in his bedroom.
Author's Note: DRAMA BOMB! Anywho, thanks for reading! As always, all comments, reviews and critiques are always welcome. It keeps me motivated to write often. :)