Donna lay awake in her bed, unable to find solace in sleep. She stared out the window into the black, starless night knowing it offered nothing to her. The sun would be up soon, but what did it matter? The light held no hope for her either. Both as empty as the little house on the edge of the property, as empty as the promises Mother had made her.
The grave was just outside that window. A crudely crafted marker and flowers in a hand painted vase atop a rotting corpse beneath the soil. Perhaps, she was paying for the sin of not taking his body to be buried with his family. But he was far too heavy for her to take by herself. And she would not burden Karl with the request, she told herself. He would reunite with them, either in the afterlife or in the next, whether he was buried by them or not. His earthly body meant nothing to them, she could keep at least that for herself.
She closed her eyes, trying not to focus on the whispers, the voices that would not relent.
Alone. Alone again.
The void felt crushing. For all the visions she could gift others, for all the comforts she could conjure to give those what was most cherished but lost forever to them– the feeling of closeness, of warmth...she could not have that for herself. Her hand found the mutation on her face, her blessing and curse, and she traced the hard scar tissue. She couldn't feel the trail of her fingers, or the cold air, or anything against the hardened flesh. If only her heart had the same resilience.
It was early enough, she decided.
After dressing and pulling up her hair, she lightly shook Angie.
"Angie" she whispered. "Let's go."
Angie's shrill voice sliced the silence. "Hey! It's too early! Give me a few more minutes!"
"No. Wake up. We're going downstairs."
"Ugh. Donna." Angie whined as she pulled herself upright to face Donna, mouth flapping in parody of speech. "I have a bad feeling about today."
"It will be fine. We will meet our new sister tonight. It is a good day. A fine day." Donna lied.
Instead of following, Angie remained on her spot in the chair and threw her little arms above her head. "Donna, you know this is bad, they're all dead! All the villagers are dead!" Her squawking voice set the woman on edge. "You know what this means! You know –"
"Shut. UP!" Donna screamed, throwing Angie to the floor with her mind. Her face paled, and she recoiled at her actions. What was wrong with her?
Kneeling, she scooped the doll up into her arms, pushing her lips to its smooth forehead. "I'm sorry, dear one. Let's go now." Her voice was barely audible as the her words were absorbed into the veil adorning Angie's head – made from the same material as the one her mother had worn on her wedding day. Clutching it to her, she descended the stairs, eager to get to the study. Angie snorted in response. "Meanie."
Xx
By the light of the small desk lamp in the living room, Donna opened the book she had retrieved from her study that contained the precious flowers from Marius. The petals were still beautifully preserved. She removed a set of long tweezers from her desk drawer and reached behind her neck to unclasp her necklace. Taking the locket in her fingers, she snapped it open and rubbed the pictures of Claudia and her parents.
Only memories. The old estate creaked as if responding to her thoughts.
With the tweezers, she grasped a portion of the preserved flower and laid it gently inside. As the locket clicked closed, she heard it again. A creaking. Sliding the necklace into her pocket and whipping her head around, she saw Angie sitting quietly at the desk. Scanning the room, all was quiet. So why did it sound like someone was in the house? She stood still and silent until it happened again – this time as a loud bang.
Someone is on the front porch.
"What the hell is that?!" Angie's voice caught as Donna grabbed her, hustling towards the foyer. There, she stood, watching the door buckle as someone slammed themselves against it. She had to think fast - she had to hide herself. And the flask right next to the door. Summoning her power, Donna clutched to Angie as she tried to envision the room without her in it. Standing on the stairs, she watched as the final bang against the front door knocked it nearly off the hinges, sending splinters of wood flying across the floor.
Donna was in disbelief. It couldn't be him.
xx
Besides the burning feeling in his chest and a slight headache, he felt relatively fine. Physically, anyway. Ethan watched his breath plume around him in the frigid early morning air as he made his way up the hill past an abandoned house. Now that his head was clearing and he could think on his conversation with the woman who had saved his life, he was left with even more questions. What the hell did she mean when she said she gave me a gift? It didn't make any sense to him, and he was so wrapped up in getting more information on Rose he didn't really come to terms with the fact that she had admitted to doing something to alter him. Did she put something bionic in him? Or was she working with the military and had access to new technology that would help heal wounds? She said organism. Like, something living. Did it work like a vaccine? He refused to believe it could have any connection to Louisianna.
It couldn't.
The trek to the house had been relatively easy, but surprisingly quiet. He had expected to run into more of those monsters he had seen when he first entered the village, but the only one he saw took one look at him and ran.
Why didn't it attack me?
He had to push the questions into the background, for now. He was here. Ethan had made it to the house on the hill. The property was in a state of neglect, dark and overgrown. Near the front steps was what appeared to be a grave. And the soil looked fresh.
He tried the front door. Locked. He could kick it in, but that would be loud and would take away his potential advantage. Maybe there was another way. He walked the length of the wrap around porch, trying windows and looking for an entrance. Nothing.
He moved back around to the front, staring at the handle. Fuck it. He planted a solid kick to the middle of the door. It barely budged, sending a painful reverberation into his knee. He kicked again, ignoring the fire igniting where his chest had been cracked open. He kicked again, and again. This time, the door started to give. Now, using the side of his body, he rammed the door. It flung open and he braced himself to not fall into the room with it, realizing that if someone was home, they definitely heard that. He stood for a few seconds, waiting for someone to appear. But he remained alone, standing in what appeared to be a huge foyer, dizzy with effort.
Deciding to move further into the room, he suddenly became acutely aware of his headache. The pain was still there, and it was shifting. Growing fuzzier. Like there was static in his brain. Static and pressure. He must have kicked that door too hard; exerted himself too much. Ethan tried to ignore the temptation to lie down on the couch to rest. He had to stay strong. For Rose.
He glanced around the area for the flask, Donna, or any signs of life. Mary wasn't kidding. There were dolls everywhere. All different kinds, lining the couches and walls and even one on the stairs. That one gave him goosebumps. Higher up, he could see a large painting portraying that same doll sitting with who must be Donna Beneviento. Despite Mary's warnings, from the picture on the wall, she seemed pretty...normal. But she wasn't normal – she was a sick monster who participated in the kidnapping and potential dismemberment of his child. He would kill her...but first he had to find her and get the flask.
He combed the rooms, each more unassuming than the last. The halls, though drab, had a kind of cozy charm to them. He wondered what kind of family had lived in a place like this before being taken over by this woman. At the end of the hallway sat an elevator. Pretty opulent, for a home in a small village. The elevator door opened as he approached, as if it sensed his presence. It irked him, but he stepped inside nonetheless.
The ride down was not what he expected, uneventful as it was. The gates opened and he stepped out, preparing to search the rooms when movement caught his eye.
"Hey!" He shouted, gun drawn.
A woman stood at the end of the hallway, opening a door. But it wasn't just any woman, and it certainly wasn't Donna. It was Mia. His Mia.
Her face lit up when she saw him. "Ethan! Oh Ethan thank god you're here! I found Rose!" It was Mia's voice. It really was her. He thought back to the house, to the van. He didn't see the body when he had awoken in the wreck. They must have brought her back here. Why didn't he ask Mary about her?! She never mentioned another person...but it didn't matter. His wife wasn't dead!
"Mia!"
Instead of running towards him, she stepped into room leaving the door slightly jar. She turned to face him, backing up slowly as if to lead him to her.
He could see her in the room, holding a bundle. Was it Rosemary? How?
Ethan ran towards the room. "Mia, stop! Wait! "
"Ethan, I've been waiting for you."
Mia backed up again, seeming to try to lure him through the doorway. Something about this didn't feel right. Why was Mia acting this way?
'Be wary of what is real and what is illusion created by her to divert and confuse you.'
Ethan slowed to a stop, his head pulsing. He stared hard at the woman...the illusion.
"Ethan, come here, look at her." Her voice sounded strained, concerned as she held the bundle out towards him.
He took a step back. This was not Mia. And he wouldn't be fooled into walking into whatever deathtrap awaited him in that room.
"Ethan?" The baby in her arms began to cry.
"Fuck you." Closing his eyes, he left the ghost of his dead wife behind him, doubling back down the hallway, the sound of the crying child following him. She didn't call out after him, confirming what he already knew to be true. If bullets weren't so scarce, he would have let a few rounds fly her way.
The lights flickered, then extinguished, plunging him into complete darkness. A shrill laugh echoed through the halls. "What's the matter, Ethan? Mia doesn't do it for you like she used to?!" More laughter.
Twisted bitch. Ethan clicked on his flashlight as he jogged to the elevator. The wallpaper distorted and disintegrated around him, leaving rusted chain link and walls weeping with what appeared to be blood.
Jesus Christ. The entire house appeared to be melting down around him. He hit the call button and the thing chugged to life.
"Ethan Winters." Ethan knew that voice.
He didn't need to turn to know he was hearing the voice of the man who murdered his wife and stole his daughter, sounding only feet away. Just another illusion. He hammered the button again, this time with more urgency. He refused to turn.
His voice sounded closer now, nearly whispering in his ear as the car arrived at the floor. "I should thank you, Ethan. You basically handed her to me. Don't worry, she'll be with Mia soon enough."
From behind him echoed a sickening crunch, and the sound of a child screaming.
Its not real. It's not real.
The cold sweat was making him feel nauseous. He couldn't stand the noise.
The gates opened, and Ethan threw himself inside, slamming the button for the first floor. It moved like molasses as the warped cries of a child assaulted his ears, but at least it moved. Ethan stopped trying to stifle his scream, unleashing it as he held his hands over his ears in an attempt to drown out the noise.
"Daaadddaaaa!" The wails were becoming unbearable, his head a torrent of pain.
It's not her.
The doors opened, and he realized his scream was the only one echoing off the walls of the elevator. Gasping for air, he flung himself onto solid ground, his fingers digging into the rough, dirty tan carpet. "Where the fuck are you!?" He stalked back towards the foyer. Ethan didn't even recognize the sound of his own voice. He sounded unhinged. He felt unhinged, at least, as he kicked the door open to the main foyer. "Ethannnnn!" Where the hell was that voice coming from? There, on the couch sat the doll in white. "Enjoy your visit with your family?" It cackled, arms moving wildly as he stepped closer.
The picture on the staircase. That doll. That doll is important.
It's a clue. Instead of responding, he spun around, inspecting every corner of the room. "Get out here before I burn this place to the fucking ground!" As if to show he was serious, he grabbed the doll in white and held it up in the air.
"Get your sweaty hands off me you pig!" Angie was feral. Ethan pulled out his lighter – positioning the flame against her body and let her veil catch fire as it flailed and cursed and shrieked in his grasp. He took a few steps back towards the front door, clinging tightly as the doll tried frantically to put out the fire; the acrid smell of smoke filling the air as the flame abated and reduced to a smolder.
For his actions, from around him reverberated an ear-splitting shriek; "No! Stop!". But it didn't come from the puppet. It came from a woman. A woman standing only feet from him. She wasn't there before. He recognized her from the portrait, only this version of her was hideously deformed, a huge mass obscuring the entire side of her face.
"You must be Donna." Ethan ground out the words.
"Please. Please." Her voice was low but unsteady, hand outstretched towards Angie. "What do you want?"
"Where is Rose." He gripped Angie harder, throttling the thing for effect. This time: the doll did react, shrieking and cursing him, her wooden mouth slapping violently.
Donna reached out her arms, shaking and pleading with him as she fumbled over her words, "Behind you. On the table. N...near the door."
Suddenly the cloudy, fuzzy feeling that had wrapped itself around his brain began to dissipate, leaving only a mild pain. To his left, on the table exactly as she said, sat the flask.
He walked backwards slowly, keeping his eyes on the woman, until his arm was nearly grazing it.
He locked eyes with her and, without a word, he plunged the knife through Angie's skull. He felt a sickening crack, but it didn't deter him. Slamming the thing to the floor, he dropped the knife and used his fists to strike and smash the thing until blood poured from his knuckles and ground into the powdered ceramic creating a paste. He didn't even feel the chunks of wood tearing off his skin in his frenzy; didn't notice the jelly-like mass that oozed from it's broken skull like a brain. And he wasn't finished.
He reached for his gun, scanning the room for the woman in black. Pulling himself to his feet, he dusted the chunks of ceramic off his pants. The woman was gone. He had only taken his eyes off her for a second. She couldn't have made it out of the room. Ethan considered his options. Maybe she never really existed. Or maybe she disappeared when he killed that doll. He could search the house again, but why? He had what he came for; he decided he needed to keep moving. Besides, his head was starting to pound again.
In his hand, the rectangular flask felt far heavier than it should, but he didn't dare look at the contents. He couldn't stomach it. He placed it in his bag and slipped out the front door into the sunshine, feeling justified.
He was ridding the world of evil.
There, on the floor of the foyer, Donna laid, the last of her energy pouring into obscuring herself from Ethans view. Her entire body was numb, limp and broken. Though waves of despair wracked through her body and soul, she could produce no tears. She could feel everything and nothing at the same time.
The crack in her chest that started with the passing of Marius had spread throughout her; her insides ground and crushed as finely as the ruins of Angie's body now only inches from her face. She couldn't bring herself to look away. Watching the legs of the man get further and further away – away from her and away from her home and away from everything he destroyed.
Away, away, away. Go away.
She remained there for a time, waiting to hear Angie's voice in her head; like she used to before she was given her form. But there was only silence and the sound of her own breath rushing in and out.
How could Mother have let him go? And how did he know about the flasks? And how could he...how could...oh Angie.
The only reason she didn't kill him outright, had attempted to trap him, was because he was Mothers. And in return, he took everything. But Donna had seen what haunted him. And in his mind, in his memory...Mother was there.
Mother. Always for her. The sacrifices, the blood. When would it end?
Mother.
There it was. A spark. A feeling. Her breathing quickened, deepened. Soon, she was gasping for air, just as Marius had done when she sliced his throat out of mercy; wheezing as she choked out the first sob. Then, it wouldn't stop. The tears wouldn't stop. Hacking and screeching, Donna crawled to Angie's body and clawed at the remaining pieces, gathering it up to her, as if she could throttle her awake. As bits of cadou and pieces of the doll her father had crafted for her fell to the floor, Donna could do nothing but curl her body around Angie's remains, letting her wails echo throughout the house.
Donna pulled herself up to sit. The daylight streaming through the window crept along the floor towards her. She watched her shadow darken the floor where the light pooled, tainting it black. For as heavy as the emotions that seethed through her weak body; she felt suddenly light. Of course, she knew what she had to do next. She would rip that man apart with her bare hands. But what was that curious feeling? That sensation bubbling up through her rage and despair and fear and realization of betrayal?
Silence. There were no whispers echoing in the emptiness. In fact, there wasn't an emptiness at all. The void had vacuumed her emotions into it until she felt solid. She felt whole.
She felt free.