- Part 1 -


Arrhythmia


The quiet, it swallows us.
What's waiting around the corner?
Senses we cannot trust,
Hunted by unseen horror.
Shadows, they can't even reach us now;
There's no speck of light that can lead us out.
Here we are in the heart of the darkness.
- Tommee Profitt


"Dude, just shine the flashlight so we all can see where we're going."

"It is not a big flashlight, Beca."

"Guys, that's enough." Chloe hugs Aubrey's arm, taking small steps along beside her. "I knew we should have bought those night vision goggles we saw at Target."

"And how would we have known to bring them on the plane?" Aubrey whispers.

"You guys don't need to buy everything you see at Target," Beca intervenes.

"Shut up, Beca."

Chloe slaps her in the side.

"What does she know?" Aubrey asks.

"I've been to your apartment," Beca replies.

"And you didn't complain about our Target waffle maker," Aubrey points out.

"No one can complain about the Target waffle maker," Chloe agrees, "I miss our waffle maker. I want to go home."

"You don't even know how to use it," Aubrey points out.

"Why would I need to know how to use it when you're always up in the morning to make breakfast?"

"One day it would be nice if you would make breakfast," Aubrey replies, "Or any meal that doesn't start out frozen, for that matter."

"You guys argue like you've been married for fifty years," Beca tells them.

"Us?" Chloe asks, "You two are like Marie and Frank from Everybody Loves Raymond."

Aubrey wishes they had a bigger light – just so they could see how close she is to clubbing them both with it.

"That was low, Chloe," Beca says.

"Sometimes the truth hurts," Chloe says lightly.

Beca's feet squeak against the ground and she grabs Aubrey's sleeve. "Point the flashlight down, Aubrey."

"We won't be able to see if there is anything in front of us," Aubrey argues, "Or if we need to decide which way to go."

"The floor is slippery." Beca grabs for the light.

Aubrey holds it out of her reach.

"Now we can't see anything," Chloe points out.

"Then tell her to stop," Aubrey snaps.

Instead of stopping, Beca places her hand on Aubrey's shoulder and jumps for the light.

Aubrey jolts sideways, directly into Chloe, and their feet slide on the ground. It's wet, she realizes briefly, as she somehow manages to catch the light and grab Chloe around the waist as they crash into the wall beside them. It prevents them from falling, but Beca isn't quite as lucky.

"What the hell?" Beca shouts as she goes down, her feet sliding out from under her, kicking Aubrey in the shin – presumably by accident. The rifle clatters and the sound echoes off the walls.

"Aubrey," Chloe hisses, scolding her, and fights her way out from between Aubrey and the wall.

Aubrey turns with the light and finally points it downward so Beca can see. Beca is staring up at her, smoke about to start billowing from her ears, but Aubrey can't focus on her face – only on the floor underneath her. The light shakes, and Aubrey grips it with both hands to keep it steady.

"Bec…" Chloe breathes, like she can't quite get enough oxygen into her lungs to utter out her full name.

Beca locks eyes with Chloe, and her fury starts to dissipate, being slowly replaced with an expression that mirrors their alarm. She bolts upright and lifts her arms. The blood pooled on the ground beneath her drips from her sleeves. From her hands. Is soaking into her jeans. Her face contorts and she looks at Chloe again – making no attempt to stand.

Aubrey can feel just enough to know that Chloe is twisting the fabric of her sweatshirt around her fingers, winding it tight, practically knotting them together. Aubrey lunges forward, grabs Beca by a dry spot on her upper arm that didn't hit the floor, and yanks her to her feet. "We have to keep moving," she directs them, barely giving herself time to think, "We have to go." She swings the light along the ground, following the trail of blood like a map – all the way down the tunnel.

"Back…" It takes a moment to process Chloe is speaking and the sound isn't just a draft rushing past her ears.

Aubrey points the light at Beca again. Back. Away from the source of the blood... "You go." She pries Chloe's fingers from her shirt with one hand and nudges her a few steps back in the direction they came. "Take Beca back to the inn. Find a room, and lock the door. Don't open it until I'm back." That is if she comes back… She shines the light toward the entrance. "I'll walk you to the -"

Beca grabs the light.

"…entrance," Aubrey's voice trails off. Through the dim light, she can see Beca trying to wipe the blood from her hands and sleeves onto the sides of her shirt. If she hadn't tried to grab the damn light… At least, she didn't shoot herself. She wrings her hands together, pressing her thumbs into her palms, as she watches Beca lean down and pick up the gun again. For a moment, they just stand there, listening to the sound of each other's shaky breaths.

Beca looks down at her shirt and sniffles so loudly that if anyone down there didn't know they were there before, they do now. She tries to wipe her face on her sleeve, but locating a spot free of blood in the dim light looks like a struggle, and, finally, she stops and looks Aubrey in the eye. And says nothing. Instead, she shoves the rifle straight into Aubrey's chest, nearly knocking her into the wall again.

Aubrey grabs it to keep it from falling as Beca releases it.

Beca stares at her for a second longer before she turns and starts walking farther into the tunnel. They're still moving forward.

"Chloe," Aubrey whispers as the two of them are engulfed by darkness. She reaches to the side, grasping at nothing for a moment before she finally finds Chloe's arm and slides her hand down until their fingers touch. Chloe's hands are clasped together, and Aubrey has to wedge her way between them to grab her hand so they don't get separated in the dark. Her skin is like ice – not at all what Aubrey is used to. Sure, the tunnel has a draft, but even in the middle of New York winters, Chloe radiates being warm. If Aubrey wasn't intimately familiar with every part of Chloe's body, she might have thought she grabbed the hand of a stranger – but she knows the softness of Chloe's palms and the callouses her guitar has left on her fingers better than she knows her own hands. She tugs her along, trying not to think of the blood beneath their feet, clinging to their shoes.

She understands why they have to keep going – they need a way home, they need answers, they need something. And she needs to know that not a drop of this blood is Sophia's. She can't determine if it's her hands shaking or Chloe's. It can't be Sophia's blood. There is too much of it. There is also too much of it for just one person. It could be Sophia's blood. It could be anybody's. It could be theirs soon. They walk in silence until she can't stand it anymore. "Beca, I'm sorry." She can see Beca glance back at her, but it's too dark to see the expression on her face.

"Stop telling us to go back," Beca states at last, "Just stop talking, Aubrey."

Maybe she deserves that. Chloe squeezes her hand, and they keep going, stumbling blindly toward God knows where or what – in the dark. Because without the flashlight, it's impossible to see.

"Where the fucking are we going?" Beca hisses under her breath.

"Um, well, we should still be under 4th Street," Chloe answers.

Just follow the blood. And the smell.

"Not anymore." Beca turns right, "Keep up."

Aubrey picks up the pace as she rounds the corner then accidentally slams into Beca's back, not realizing she had stopped. Beca slowly turns, and Aubrey can feel the glare. "You said to keep up," she defends herself, "Most people don't say that and then stop." She can't fucking breathe where they're standing. Being stopped means there is no risk of losing Chloe in the dark, and so Aubrey twists her hand free and lifts the front of her sweatshirt back up over her face.

Beca steps to the side without a word.

Down the hallway, to the left, Aubrey can see light peeking out from around the edges of a door. On the floor, the blood disappears underneath it. That's their destination. They were bound to come to it eventually, but Aubrey would rather walk an hour feeling terrified of the dark than open that door and see what's in the light. She looks around for an excuse to keep going – a reason that that's not what they're here to find.

"How do you want to do this?" Beca asks. But what she's really asking is who is going to go first – her or Aubrey. "Aubrey?"

Aubrey tries to swallow the dryness in her throat away enough to speak again. She can picture a dozen ways Sophia's body could look behind that door.

"Okay, you know what, I'll do it." Beca wrenches the rifle back out of Aubrey's hands.

Aubrey waits for Chloe to try to talk her out of it, but there is only the sound of their breathing.

"I guess I'm doing it." Beca takes a few steps backward then turns and walks toward the door. "I'm opening the door."

They have to wait for her to open it, because she stands there in front of it for what feels like forever – and Aubrey almost tells her this isn't a public building with automatic doors; she has to turn the knob in order for the door to open. It occurs to her that Beca, too, is waiting for one of them to say something. Waiting for Chloe to change her mind. For Aubrey to step up. Only that doesn't happen. They have a house waiting for them in Queens that they have to survive to buy. Their cat depends on them to come home. The terror feels like cement drying around Aubrey's feet. Someone has to open the door.

Beca places her hand on the knob and cracks the door, and Aubrey's arm instinctively goes in front of Chloe and pushes her back a few steps. Nothing happens. Chloe's hands linger on top of Aubrey's wrist. Aubrey's heart seems to still. She strains to feel it in her chest, so she can cling to that reminder she's still alive. But she can't feel it. Her lungs don't even seem to expand as she breathes. She stares at the silhouette of Beca's back, waiting for something to happen. She's reminded of that moment she turned around to see Beca staring at the deer, before she even knew what it was – how still she was, that feeling that even though she didn't know what was happening, nothing was going to be the same after that moment.

She can't make out the expression on Beca's face as she glances back at them, then Beca walks into the room and leaves them out there alone.

xxxxx

Aubrey's father always told her that fairytales weren't real, so don't expect one. What he meant was: Prince Charming wasn't going to come galloping through the woods on his horse after slaying a mighty dragon to profess his undying love. What he didn't know he meant was that fairytales were real; they just weren't the kind that existed in the library. Prince Charming, that was funny. Fairytales were made of sitting on a balcony in Queens, NY, staring inside at a mess of red hair and a toaster that kept launching untoasted bread into the face of its user. She gripped her coffee mug tighter, savoring the warm scent of French Vanilla, and waited for Chloe to face it – they needed a new toaster.

They were going to have to go…

Chloe slammed the lever down with enough strength to nearly flip the toaster straight into the Toaster Olympics. "Yes!" Aubrey could see her light up, even from behind, as the toaster stilled.

And then five seconds later, rejected the toast with a snap of its springs.

"No!"

to Target.

"It's broken, Chloe," she pointed out through the screen door.

Chloe pulled out her two slices of raw bread, one in each hand, and slowly turned to face her with a look of utter disbelief. "It can't be broken."

"Is the bread toasted?"

"No."

"Then it's broken."

"Maybe it's just plugged in wrong." Chloe placed the bread on the counter and fiddled with the cord, unplugging it then plugging it back into the socket.

"Hold the bread while you do that," Aubrey suggested.

"What? Why?"

"Electrocution will definitely toast it."

Chloe dropped the cord and turned to face her, her hands on her hips.

Aubrey did her best to look serious. It was no easy task.

"Shut up, Aubrey." Chloe dropped her arms to her sides and turned around, walking toward her bedroom. "I need to get dressed before we go."

xxxxx

Are they supposed to follow her? Or just stand there – useless, Aubrey trying to imagine what color the walls in their new bedroom should be if they ever make it home. They'll probably get those stupid, cheesy wall decals – maybe one that matches the stars on the ceiling, like Coldplay's 'Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.' or 'Cause you're a sky full of stars. I'm gonna give you my heart.' And Beca will poke fun at her for being so soft, but maybe Beca will live there too, and Aubrey will remind her that she has the power to risk her life and redecorate, so maybe she's the soft one. Because that's how things are supposed to be – not like this. They're all just supposed to be happy.

The door reopens a crack, and Beca slides back out into the tunnel. She shuts it again behind her, leaving them once again in the dark.

"We could use the light," Aubrey points out. At least for a few feet. As if Beca is listening. She whisks past them without a word, back in the direction they came from. "Beca!" Aubrey has to jog to keep up with her, blindly following the sound of her footsteps. Chloe is right beside her, gripping her hand. "Beca, we can't see." Her foot slips in the blood as she rounds the corner, and she catches herself on the wall to remain upright, barely stopping. "Stop!"

xxxxx

"What about this one?" Aubrey examined the box in her hand. KitchenAid. 4 slice toaster. Bagel option. It looked perfect. It could even toast two slices at one temperature while toasting the other two at a different one – which was great, because Aubrey hated Chloe's burnt toast.

"Does it toast bread?" Chloe asked.

Aubrey looked up with a lopsided frown. "It's a toaster."

"Then it's fine," Chloe replied, "Let's go look at something else."

Aubrey turned back to the shelves that held all of their options. Who knew there were so many brands of toasters? Maybe they should Google some reviews before making a final choice. She looked down at the box again, trying to decide.

Chloe eased the box from her hands and placed it in the cart. "We just need it to toast bread." She paused. "Unless you think we can find one that fries eggs too."

Aubrey blinked. "What?" Did they even make those? She looked back at the shelves.

"Oh my god, let's go." Chloe grabbed her arm with one hand and pushed the cart forward with the other.

"I don't think we need anything else." Aubrey glanced around. They were fully stocked up on dish soap, laundry detergent, paper towels… "I thought you were hungry."

"You don't go to Target so you can determine if you need anything," Chloe informed her, "You go to Target so Target can determine what you need."

Aubrey opened her mouth to argue, but stopped short as they passed the candle aisle. She paused to smell a Salted Caramel candle from the shelf, then held it out in Chloe's direction. Chloe nodded her approval, and Aubrey placed it in the cart. And, damn it, she had fallen right into the trap. She frowned in Chloe's direction. The Cinnamon Apple candle looked delightful as well…

"We should look at the office supplies," Chloe suggested, and resumed dragging her along. "Or the pet aisle."

"We don't have a pet," Aubrey reminded her with an unamused smile.

"They don't require a pet to just look," Chloe said.

Well, maybe they should. The same way one has to show proof of age to buy liquor and cigarettes, someone should stand in front of the pet aisle of Target to check for proof of pet. Places like PetSmart should require a membership like Sam's Club. Aubrey was a few seconds deep in thought about her improved pet-monitored world when Chloe stopped them suddenly to pick something up off the floor beside one of the shelves.

"What about some weird looking binoculars?" Chloe held them up to her face and looked around. "Everything is green. And nothing is closer." She made a puzzled face.

Aubrey shook her head as she tilted it to the side to study Chloe as opposed to the 'binoculars'. "Because they're night vision goggles," she pointed out, "And they're probably at least a hundred dollars."

"Oh." Chloe lowered them to examine them and nodded her head, clearly impressed with them once again. "That is a steep price just to see in the dark."

Aubrey arched her brows in silent agreement.

"Wanna try them out?" Chloe asked.

"No," Aubrey mouthed. In what world did they need to spend their money on night vision goggles? They lived in the safety of Queens, not The Bronx.

"I didn't mean we have to buy them," Chloe said. She paused. "Or steal them."

"Sure." Aubrey nodded. "I'll just go ask one of the sales associates to turn off all the lights. I'm sure they'll love that."

"I meant in the bathroom." Chloe swung the goggles at her without actually coming close to hitting her.

Aubrey folded her arms and frowned harder, because trying out night vision goggles actually did sound pretty cool. "You can't…take merchandise into the bathroom." Everybody knew that was against the rules. There were signs.

Chloe glanced around. "I won't tell if you won't."

"We could get in trouble," Aubrey whispered as Chloe was suddenly pulling her forward again, "We could get kicked out of the store. We could be banned from Target forever." Those goggles could cost nothing compared to whatever they could be fined.

Chloe parked the cart outside of the restrooms without saying a word.

Aubrey straightened herself up. Why could they never just buy what they came to get and leave? That would be too easy.

Chloe hugged the goggles to her chest, and glanced between Aubrey and the family restroom. "I know you wanna know if they work."

Of course. Because if Aubrey didn't want to know, she'd be putting up a bigger fight – one that she would no doubt win. And the two of them would leave Target not ever knowing what it would be like to be spies in the army, watching over the enemy camp in the dead of night, just like the stories her father would often tell his buddies while Aubrey listened from the hall. She grabbed Chloe's arm before anyone could see them and pulled her into the dark restroom, locking the door behind them.

xxxxx

There's light. It's dim at first, but it gets brighter as they approach the ladder they had climbed down on, and Aubrey thanks Jesus that no one covered up their exit. She lets go of Chloe's hand and ushers her to go first, grabbing the rung beneath her as soon as there is room. It isn't a hard climb, but it leaves her out of breath, and she scrambles out of the hole feeling like she just ran an entire marathon without pacing herself. Her first gasp of fresh air leaves her lungs begging even harder for more, and prevents her from shouting everything she wants to yell at Beca. Instead, all she can do is breathe. At least they can all still do that.

Beca stops a few feet away, and Chloe stops directly between them – both of them breathing just as hard as Aubrey, like each breath could be their last so they're sucking them in as fast as possible to get as many as they can. Beca bends over with her hands on her knees and closes her eyes, and it almost looks like she's laughing, but she's definitely trying not to cry – and Aubrey and Chloe just stare, temporarily frozen somewhere in space and time.

xxxxx

Aubrey locked the bathroom door. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," Chloe answered right off the bat.

Aubrey quickly switched up the number in case Chloe's first answer was just a really good guess. Again, Chloe answered correctly – and then again, and again, and again, until Aubrey had shown her all 10 fingers (not in numerical order).

"Okay, do something," Chloe demanded, and Aubrey could hear the grin on her face.

"Do what?" Aubrey asked. They were in a public restroom. What exactly was there to do?

"I don't know," Chloe answered, not at all disheartened by Aubrey's lack of imagination, but also not very helpful, "Something."

Aubrey looked around. The room was pitch black. She turned and crashed into something with her upper body, and a whirring noise briefly filled the room.

"You hit the paper towel dispenser," Chloe stated as if the action had been done for the sole purpose of giving her something to see.

"It's my turn." Aubrey held out her hand in the direction of Chloe's voice and motioned for the goggles with her fingers.

"Fine," Chloe relented and handed her the goggles.

Aubrey adjusted them on her face and turned to look at herself in the mirror. It was a blessing no one else could see her in them, because she looked like a bug. Or an alien. Or one of those virtual reality nerds. Maybe even all three put together. She turned to the side, still examining herself in the mirror then waved her hand back and forth in front of her face.

"Aubrey!"

Aubrey turned to face her.

"I have a idea," Chloe announced. "Marco."

Aubrey dodged Chloe's hands as they reached in her direction. "Polo." She inched along the wall, trying to avoid actually touching it.

"Marco." The restroom was small, and Chloe easily followed her voice.

"Polo." Aubrey tried inching around to the other side of her as quietly as possible.

Chloe walked until she crashed into the wall. "Marco," she said again, taking a few disoriented steps backward.

Aubrey smirked and leaned in close to Chloe's ear. "Polo," she whispered, then jumped back.

Chloe nearly leapt out of her skin. She spun around, swinging her arms in the direction Aubrey was, just narrowly missing her.

Aubrey grinned and backed up farther, navigating around the small square and Chloe's hands with ease as Chloe failed to orient herself. "Polo," she urged her on. She could see Chloe roll her eyes.

"Marco," Chloe called again in feigned irritation. She was smiling too hard to be annoyed.

"Po-" There was a knock on the restroom door that caught Aubrey off-guard. The door handle jiggled. "One second!" She looked around then walked over to the toilet and gave it a quick flush to cover for herself – although it was going to look weird when she and Chloe walked out together. Chloe didn't look at all bothered.

"They're going to know you weren't peeing," Chloe said quietly, "The lights are clearly off."

Aubrey frowned and washed her hands – partially for show and partially because she had just been forced into touching a public toilet with her bare hands.

"This is Target Security," the person, definitely male, announced from the other side of the door.

Shit.

"Tell him to come back with a warrant," Chloe whispered.

Aubrey only wished Chloe was the one wearing the goggles to see the look Aubrey was giving her. She flipped on the light and pulled the goggles off her face at the same time. Chloe looked even more entertained in the light. They'd see just how amusing the fine they were probably going to get strapped with for taking merchandise in the bathroom was. She plastered on a puzzled smile and opened the door, hiding the goggles behind it. "Yes, Sir?"

The guard, a buff middle-aged man, gave her a tired sigh and held out his hand.

The corners of Aubrey's lips twitched, and she fought to keep a straight face as she carefully placed the goggles in his hand.

"Do you want to buy these?" he asked, even though Aubrey had a feeling he already knew the answer.

She shook her head, refusing to look at Chloe, who probably would have nodded.

The security guard slowly shook his head and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder for them to get lost.

"He's probably just jealous no one wants to play Marco, Polo with him in the bathroom," Chloe whispered as they swiftly walked past them, earning them both another exasperated sigh.

Aubrey just smirked and pulled her faster to their cart.

xxxxx

"Was it her?" Aubrey finally finds her voice to ask.

That snaps Chloe out of her daze. "Aubrey," she scolds her as she moves closer to Beca.

Okay, maybe she's being a tad insensitive, but she has to know. Chloe can address whatever feelings Beca has regarding what it was she saw in that room later; right now, it's about if what she saw was Sophia. Aubrey forces her feet to walk until she's standing in front of Beca. "Was it her?" she repeats slowly.

This time, Chloe doesn't react. Instead, she gingerly places her hand on Beca's back, pulling it away again with a brief look of rejection when Beca suddenly stands up straight.

Beca is still too preoccupied – by whatever she encountered, by the blood on her hands and on her clothes. She shakes her hands then tries to wipe them on her shirt – smearing the red across her skin rather than removing it. She locks eyes with Aubrey just as Aubrey is about to ask the question again, and she shakes her head.

Relief. Followed only by a thousand more questions and the hope that, wherever Sophia is, it's not somewhere worse than being dead. "What…" Aubrey glances in the direction of their things, because they should keep moving. But they also need to know what they're up against her. "What was it?" She looks at Beca expectantly. There's a reason they were led to that room, and a reason Beca forced them to leave it so quickly.

Beca looks at Chloe for several seconds before finally addressing Aubrey and the question. "Jessica and Ashley." She pauses for a breath. "And Donald."