Chapter 7: Gone Someday
Blonde lashes fluttered open, long strands of the same shade dangling in her view. Glassy optics gazed up at the pale crescent moon, its blueish color reflected upon the flower field they found themselves in. The orchids at her feet, however, were stained a deep crimson in patches. In her arms she held a white rabbit, its back leg sewn together beneath bloodied bandaging. As one might expect, the animal convulsed in an uncomfortable struggle at uneven intervals; it was fearful, but restrained in a tight hold. It tried to gnaw on the bandaged hand that held it as an empty gaze accompanied an even emptier smile peering down at it.
Despite all it'd been through, it was still breathing, kicking, she could feel its racing heart. "Don't worry, you're safe now. It's going to be alright." Her gentle sentiment was brashly interrupted.
"You know, when you talk like that, you're the one who sounds like a serial killer." Speaking so heartfelt and sincere without even a vague sense of emotion in her tone? Yep. Serial killer to a "T".
Quite on the contrary to Rachel, Zack stood with his scythe slung over his shoulder and a crimson-stained hand on his hip. Fresh blood stained his new attire, as at his side was the tattered carcass of a wolf, the latest victim of his blade.
"I can kinda understand wanting to save other people," (from an outside view,) "but don't you think you're tampering with... shit, I don't know," he hummed for a minute, looking for the right words, "like, nature's law when you get into this kinda stuff?"
Simply, she shook her head. "I killed two animals. Isn't it right I need to save two as well?" The way she so quickly bargained with a freakish look on her face, Zack had a feeling her intentions may have been more self-centered than she let on.
He also had a feeling she had no plans to let the bunny go.
Regardless, he sighed and shook his head, because he certainly wasn't about to argue with her, as he ultimately didn't care. "Whatever," he shrugged, "let's just keep going." Zack walked beyond her, and with what might've been a little spring in her step, she trotted to his side.
"We should be getting close," she told him. She'd very clearly remembered this same flower field, it was unmistakable.
That next evening, as they'd seemingly come to another standstill in what next to do, Rachel was quick to suggest a course of action. The forest path they'd walked led them to the city's suburban countryside, it wasn't much longer now. "Are you sure about this?" The man at her side asked, a low grumble of skepticism resounding. When she first purposed the idea, he'd asked the same thing.
"It doesn't matter," she told him ultimately, her eyes never leaving fragile animal in her arms. Cranking back her neck, she announced, "We're here."
Emerging from the surrounding wood, the duo found themselves front and center before Ray's childhood home. Déjà-vu, frozen memories as cold as snow, images on a television set.
Static.
"Now, all I have to do, is—"
They had to climb in through the back window (or rather, Zack had to lift the junior on his shoulders and shove her through.) Regardless, they were in. Most all the furniture had been removed from the premise; the floors were cleaned, but faint red stains could still be discerned between the old floorboards. It was so empty that their voices echoed off the walls somewhat, and only a few miscellaneous articles remained here and there. A bar of hand soap by the sink, a tattered rug at the door. Forgotten things.
Ray had found an old cardboard box and a towel to put the rabbit in that was just tall enough to keep the animal confined. She tried to tuck the creature in like a child beneath a blanket, but it burrowed and shuffled, looking for a way out. "You sure it's a good idea for us to be here?" asked Zack.
No one would come here at all, she had to think. If the police had caught wind of their location, she assumed they'd have already checked her old home first thing. "My grandparents own the house now," Rachel explained, "I don't think anyone will come looking for us here." Truly, who wanted to come to a home where a family was brutally broken apart? And it's not like they had plans to stay for long.
Or at least, she certainly didn't.
Zack shrugged and yawned, leaning his scythe against the wall as Ray knelt, wiggling her finger at the bunny like it was an infant. He eyed her as she sat there, illuminated only by the moonlight. "You said coming here might help us figure out where to go next?"
Ray gave a nod. "I think my dad had files on people we could... look for." Felons, offenders of the laws, the like. "He kept all his documents in a file cabinet in the attic."
A grin spread across Zack's lips. Now that'd be useful! "Don't say your old man never did anything for ya!" Taking a few steps toward the staircase, he was suddenly stalled in thought. For a moment, he lingered. Then, casually, he gazed back to Ray with a gesture. "Lead the way, short stuff."
Ray rose to her feet as she, too, pausing to look curiously at him for a moment, no change in emotion showing on her face.
He gazed back, almost tensely, to her lack of expression... growing somehow annoyed. "What?" he growled without instant response. Was she... amused?
"Are you scared to go first?" asked Ray bluntly.
He flared beneath his bandaging. "Like hell!" Zack shouted in her face, slamming a fist against the wall as he turned to march up the stairs with angered footsteps. He wasn't scared! He was just—just, trying to be polite!
(Actually, wait. He'd rather be scared.)
Ray followed wordlessly, an inner sense of entertainment resonating as he muttered to himself in frustration. Regardless, he had nothing to worry about, there were no traps this time. As they came to the familiar upper hallway lined with bedroom doors, a drawstring dangled to the attic entrance. Zack pulled it to reveal a stairway up, and the duo entered the attic.
A bulk of the faded family's possessions remained stored here; everything was dusty and covered in cobwebs, as one might've assumed. While Zack's golden gaze was drawn to the remaining treasures elsewhere, Ray caught sight of the file cabinet, but her attention was more-so drawn to the multiple glass bottles that sat scattered at its side.
She walked over and examined them—some were empty, but a good few remained unopened with a clear liquid inside. It didn't surprise her, at one point he enjoyed drinking socially, things like wine tasting, so of course he'd have a lot. It was only as Ray got older did the bottles seem to pile up this bad. The label read "Ten times filtered, 45%". Her lashes fluttered halfway, and she instead turned to the drawer, opening it and sifting through the files. She wasn't sure what to grab, so she just loaded up on an armful of folders. Slamming the cabinet shut, she looked back to Zack. "Found what you need?" he asked, she nodded.
As they turned back the way they came, Ray peered over her shoulder and paused for a long moment. Zack's heavy footsteps responded as he made his way down the stairs.
"You comin'?" he called up after a moment, realizing he's lost her.
Silent steps plodding on the upper floorboards, "Be there in a second."
Arriving back down stairs, the two sat on the floor in the old living room. Ray set up camp next to the rabbit again, Zack rested against the wall a few feet away.
Somewhat aimlessly, Rachel sifted through the old files. She had two piles, one for candidates, and one for rejects. From parking tickets to domestic abuse, most offenders had either already been taken care of or weren't serious enough to pursue. Occasionally, she'd place a profile in the "consideration" pile, but in the back of her mind she knew they'd amount to nothing. As her glass optics scanned the words over once more, an aggravated "rrrg," was heard across the room.
"This gonna take much longer?" Zack nagged, though, in reality, it'd not been more than ten minutes. "It's boring as shit around here."
Ray blinked absently at him. "Do you want to help?"
A cold, venomous stare, and a silence just the same. He eyed the papers in front of her with disdain, the characters on them looking indistinct and confusing. What, did she just forget?
"I can't fuckin' read, Ray."
A deep exhale makes its way out of her nostrils. "I was going to ask if you'd go find something we could feed my bunny."
He sputtered an almost incredulous laugh. He didn't know what was more ridiculous: the idea itself, or the fact that she thought he knew what rabbits ate. He opened his mouth, sarcasm preparedly dripping from his fangs, but he was however quickly cut short and silenced by an even more ridiculous offer.
"But if that's how you feel, I could teach you how to read instead."
His lips drew together once more in a thin line, his eyelids fluttering as he was caught off guard. Genuinely, a look of surprise. Almost timid, or perhaps guiltily, Ray gazed down at the files—to the words and sentences she so often took for granted. Sure, she hadn't had the most simple life, but at least she was literate. Her memory drifted back to thereabouts a year prior, and to the room that Zack lived in.
He wanted to learn, didn't he?
She recalled so vividly the crumpled pages of frantic, messy scribbles on his floor, words he'd tried to copy from a store fashion catalogue. If she were able to understand her feelings better, she'd've almost felt sad in seeing as much, but she also knew Zack would never accept that from her, so she supposed her lack of empathy was in her favor here.
Ultimately, a disgusted "tch," was his only reply, as she had a feeling it'd be. He rose to his feet, muttering another "like hell" beneath his breath. "I'll feed the damn rabbit," he grumbled. Resentfully, Zack stomped to the kitchen.
Alone, the cogs in Rachel's mind hadn't shifted from her ideology, she flipped a paper from her reject pile to show its blank backside. Reaching into the messenger bag slung around her torso (courtesy of the late Mr. King,) she pulled out a pencil and began scribbling four letters on the page. After a moment, Zack came waltzing out of the kitchen with a small, colorful box.
"Slim pickin's, but I found some cookies in the back of the pantry. Don't know if a rabbit would eat 'em, but I tried one and they're stale as shit, so it's not like I'm gonna—" He stopped abruptly, finding himself face to face (metaphorically) with the little girl, fashioning a paper in her hands for him to see. He eyed it skeptically, "The hell is that?"
"Your name."
His brow knit together indignantly, as he took her meaning in an instant. Without another thought, he snatched the page from her hands and shoved the box of cookies her way instead. "Just feed your damn rabbit." He crumpled it up, tossing it to the floor, but, patiently, Ray knelt down and picked the paper back up, smoothing it out again; she wasn't as swayed as he would've liked. "
You should at least—"
For the love of— "Ray, I've spent my whole damn life not knowin' how to read," he rolled his eyes, making even a minute gesture of annoyance seem somehow aggressive. "The fuck makes you think I wanna start learnin' now?"
Her answer wasn't one he expected. "Because if you do, I have a surprise for you."
He blinked, a bit astonished, needless to say. "What?"
"If you can copy down these letters, I have a surprise for you," she reiterated.
He stuttered an initial, forced laugh, as if to say, "you're kidding me", followed by one more sincere when he realized she wasn't. "A surprise? Are—are you serious?" She nodded simply, it only humored him more. "And what would that be?"
"I can't tell you," she replied merely, "it's a surprise." Ray again held the paper and mechanical pencil out. Another "tch," was spat through grit teeth, one more amused. After a second, realizing she was serious about this, Zack gave a defeated shrug.
"Guess I can't argue with that," he laughed, taking the articles from her. "Nothin' better to do anyway."
Silently, Ray went back to her business as they sat back down, or so it seemed. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't eagerly peeking out the corner of her eye as she tried to hand-feed the crumpled bits of stale cookie to her new pet.
Entirely untrained in the skill, he held the pencil in a balled fist, as though he were about to stab a straw through a plastic lid. Sure enough, he was rough to scrape the tip to the paper, and the lead snapped instantly. He stared at the situation for a moment.
Fuck.
"Well," he accepted defeat, throwing the pencil his shoulder, "so much for that."
"The lead's just broken." Ray reached across and picked it back up, pressing down on the eraser to extend the graphite out once again. "That's all you have to do when that happens," she explained, holding it out to him. He grumbled and rolled his eyes, muttering an unconvincing "I knew that" before snatching it back. "Try holding it like this," she imitated the proper positioning, as though she held an invisible pen in her hand.
"Just give me a damn second, alright?" Zack's temper was growing more clear, but he copied her example regardless. As he gazed intently at the four letters, he, more gently this time (as he knew she'd fuss if he went full force again,) dragged the lead across the paper, leaving a definitive streak...
A scraggly, crooked streak. Presumedly, the top line of the "Z".
Regardless, Rachel felt it was a positive step in the right direction. "There you go," she encouraged him. "Now leave your pencil on the page, but bring the line down at an angle." He muttered an agitated profanity beneath his breath, ultimately doing as she instructed. He brought down the line, but dragged it out too far. After a moment, he also seemed to realize as much. "That's a little too long," she told him, ignoring the clear look of offense on his face, "but it's okay, because when you make a mistake, you can just flip the pencil over and erase it," she explained, reaching out a gentle hand as if to take it. "Let me show—"
"Dammit, Ray!" he shouted, slapping her hand away, throwing the pencil again. It slammed against the far wall with a "clack". "Why the hell are ya making me do this!?" Despite his outburst, Ray looked at him sincerely, knowing it came from a place of insecurity. It was only natural, learning something new was always uncomfortable, and she had a feeling his "new" experiences in life had slowed to a stop in recent years. It was human nature to feel that way, or at least, she'd observed.
Silently, she stood, walking over to grab the pencil once again before turning back. Ray knelt in front of him and held it out. "It's four letters, Zack," she bargained softly, "Just try it."
His voice rose louder, "Why are you so set on—!"
"Because I'll be gone someday."
Cut off, he was taken aback by her bold statement, his breath hitching softly. Sternly, blue optics gazed back into those golden.
"And when that day comes, I won't be able to read things for you."
Zack sat there, a tense look on his face, mouth slightly agape. The sentiment itself was no surprise of course, but the sense it made was. As he'd said, he'd never needed to read before. He was sure he'd get by just fine never knowing even still. The idea yet seemed like one unnecessary, but for the first time, he acknowledged: something inside him wanted to know.
"Just four letters," she repeated. Z, A, C, K. "Then you can have your surprise."
A long moment passed, and then, a sigh. One surely in surrender. Calming, however resentfully, the young man reached out, taking the item from Rachel again. Flipping the pencil over as she'd told him, frantically rubbing away his mistake with the eraser, a low tone warned, "This better be the best damn surprise in the whole fuckin' world."
"See? That wasn't so hard."
After many a crumpled paper and broken pencil tip, Zack had replicated a (mostly legible) mock-up of his name. It wasn't anything he'd want her to be proud of, but she was happy he'd humored her, if nothing else. "You should practice more, but I think you're getting the hang of it." Seemingly uninterested, or perhaps feigning pensiveness, the boy looked to his side, his peripheral gaze divulging his real feelings beyond the dismissive "whatever" he muttered beneath his breath. Ray tilted her head curiously as he pretended not to care. "What is it?" she asked.
"Nothing," he replied, though he casually showed his colors to follow. "Just... for or some reason," he said, "I thought my name looked different."
She looked down at the paper, "Well," she pondered, quick to realize, "this says 'Zack', not 'Isaac'. Do you want me to teach you how to—?"
"No," he cut her short quick.
A faint sense of amusement resounded in her core, as the boy's interest so quickly betrayed his words. "Okay," she nodded, "we'll work on it more tomorrow. But for now," she reached in her messenger bag, "time for your reward."
Needless to say, Zack was surprised as she pulled out an unopened glass bottle, filled to the top with alcohol.
"Surprise," she said, ever monotone. His mouth hung agape slightly, stunned.
"Where in the ever-loving fuck did you get that?"
"It was upstairs," she shrugged, truthful.
A groan, he supposed he shouldn't've been so shocked. "That's my surprise?" he asked. "A bottle of Jack?" The boy raised a brow, but she only nodded. He rolled his eyes, what a shitty reward. "Put that shit away before I break it over your skull."
"You don't want it?" she asked (the obvious.) "I thought you'd like this kind of thing."
"Like fuck if I do!" he practically hissed. "What, just 'cause I'm a serial killer that automatically makes me an alcoholic, too? It tastes like hot piss!"
Ray looked down at the label. "I don't think it's about the taste." She could practically hear Zack rolling his eyes, though she wasn't really surprised, as he clearly had a sweet tooth from all the cereal and soda he consumed. She shrugged. "Well, suit yourself." Can't say she didn't try. Ray twisted the cap off, and the sharp scent hit her nostrils instantly. Zack was, of course, caught off guard as he took her meaning.
"What?" A laugh of disbelief. Was she being serious? "You're gonna drink it?"
Almost offended, her brow knit together ever-so slightly. Never breaking eye contact, she looked back to Zack's humor with a serious expression. With the reckless abandon that was her entire personality, Rachel took a hardy swig, certainly too large for someone of her size.
"Hey, hey—easy!" he fussed, caught off guard with unexpected her behavior. He reached out as she didn't lower the bottle, smacking it down. She sputtered a cough, and he wasn't wrong at all about the flavor. Her eyes watered as she wiped her lips.
"That's... the most repulsive thing I've ever tasted."
Regardless, there was no hesitation as she again held the bottle to her lips, taking another gulp as she pinched her nose.
A weak look of annoyance prevailed under Zack's bandaged visage. "Why the hell do you wanna drink that shit, anyway?" She knew what it did, right? Sure, she was insane, but Ray never struck him as someone who'd indulge in such temporary sedatives. After all, she wanted the permanent solution.
A sour look showed for only a moment, for even with a plugged nose, she tasted it. Recollecting herself, Rachel looked at the bottle's peak, tracing her fingertip around the rim. "I guess," she exhaled, "I just want to know why my dad drank it so much."
A sigh.
Well, if that's what she wanted to know, she was certainly on her way to finding out. "Whatever, Daddy Issues." He looked to the side for what was only a moment, before having something shoved rudely into his bubble. Ray held the bottle up to his face. "Huh?" he muttered uncomfortably.
"One sip," she said, "please?"
"I told you—!"
"Will you do it if I smile?" she asked sincerely.
Zack stared back with another "huh?" before Ray clarified: "If I smile, will you take a sip?" at which his brow knit together.
"Do you want me to drink it, or do you want me to slit your throat?"
Well, "Both—"
"Geezus Christ, just give me the damn bottle," he snatched it from her. Taking a whiff, the man nearly gagged just from the scent, but he choked the unpleasant sensation back through grit teeth. Was he really being peer pressured by a twelve-year-old? Ray stared intently as he, with complete reluctance, took a sip. The moment the liquid hit his tongue, his asymmetric eyes went wide. Over the top as always, he instantly swiveled his head to the side; Zack spat it out all over the floor as though he'd just drank a vile of rat blood, poisoned with the plague. (Real talk? He almost would've preferred that.) He groaned.
"Fuck that shit!" He shoved the bottle back to Rachel. "And fuck you for making me do it!" He scrubbed his palms roughly over his lips; he could still taste the essence in his wraps. They didn't even have running water to wash it down! Knowing it was only fair, Ray took two sips, an extra one for him. A faint sense of amusement resounded in her core, endeared with his (admittedly predictable) behavior, however that feeling was cut short as he looked up with a glare. The expression itself wasn't what caught her off-guard though.
"Are you okay?" she asked, pointing to his face. "You have... blood on your lips."
"Huh?" he blinked. (Wow, had it been so bad that it made his insides bust open?) He inspected himself, looking down at the palm he'd just rubbed raw to his face. Their pact's aftermath, the cut from the day prior, had torn back open.
He wasn't sure why she was incredulous in any event, he was always covered in blood. Regardless, Ray put the bottle aside to reach over and take his hand in hers to inspect it; the incision was swollen and a yellowish discolor. "It's getting infected," she told him, but the fact wasn't as much of a bother to him as she was making it out to be. Ray, reaching in her bag, pulled out a tube of disinfectant and spare bandaging.
And also, a needle and thread.
"Hey," he warned in a low tone, snatching his hand away, "don't even think about it." Ray only ignored him, threading the needle.
"If we don't take proper care of it, your hand could fall off." That false sense of concern was laced with self-interest, he knew.
"Don't be dramatic," the pot called the kettle black. "It doesn't even hurt."
"But it will if we don't stitch it," Ray looked down at her own palm, to the wraps covering her own mark. She unravelled the gauze to see a less discolored, however still swollen cut. She seemed lost in a momentary memory. Truth be told, she knew her own incision likely wouldn't need as much care as his (much less sutures), she was more-so doing this for his sake. "I'll fix mine, so you don't have to go first," she said simply, and he gave a pause.
"You're gonna wha—"
He was cut short by the sight of Ray stabbing the needle through her own skin.
Zack's golden eye twitched upon witnessing the girl ascend to a new level of freakish insanity. She was stitching up her own hand, like it was nothing at all. He sighed and shook his head. "I may be the monster, but you're the one who's fuckin' inhuman."
"Thanks," she said simply.
Wasn't a compliment, but okay. He went on to clarify, "I meant you're insane."
A long pause lingered as they both observed the spectacle. Ray pondered, staring intently at her palm as she tugged the needle in and out her skin.
"Am I?" she asked suddenly, strangely not allowing herself reluctance of initial thought. Zack let out a blatant "duh", and after a moment, Ray looked up to him. Somehow more curious than normal, she asked, "Why?"
Zack raised an eyebrow, as if it were odd she didn't realize it. Merely, he motioned to the walls surrounding them. "Look where we are right now, Ray," he huffed a laugh. "Your old house, where you killed your parents then sewed them back together." She'd willing come back here, on her own accord. "Then you made a replica of the place, killin' anyone who came through the front door." Not that he had any room to talk, but this wasn't about him. Finally, Zack laughed again, "Oh yeah, not to mention," the obvious, "you wanna fuckin' die."
As her stitches reached the peak of her cut, Ray looked back up to her partner, optics empty as ever, or perhaps even more-so—a look of confusion in longing. "Wouldn't it be stranger if I wanted to live?" she inquired, sounding almost genuinely curious. His brow knit together with her counter, as she began wrapping her wound once more. He wasn't sure how to answer, as her statement... perhaps did hold some truth. But should he acknowledge the fact, it'd be the eye of hypocrisy. Askin' the wrong man, Sister. "Hell if I know," he concluded, allowing deep sigh and a dismissive shake of his head—instead simply settling to say, "but you'd certainly be a lot less interesting."
She supposed she was just glad that he was enjoying himself.
About her business, Ray set the needle aside and took another from her bag. With an intent look, she held her hand out to him in expectation, saying nothing. A pause lingered, followed by a resentful grunt. Zack rolled his eyes and slammed his palm down into hers. A grateful look showed on her face in reply to his rare agreeability. She examined the wound surrounded by the stained and tattered wraps he'd cut through.
She wouldn't be able to stitch it, with the bandaging in the way.
Slowly, her slender digits reached to his pointer fingertip. Delicately, she took the end of his wraps and began to unravel them. An low, uncomfortable "hey" reverberated from his lungs, but Ray shushed him short.
"Just for now," she exhaled softly. While I fix you.
He grit his teeth, finding it hard to object for reasons he didn't understand. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, though not from her pending needle. Slowly, she unravelled his bandaging one finger at a time, moving next to his palm, exposing his marred and darkened skin in full. A strange sensation welled in her empty heart.
It wasn't like it was the first time she'd seen his burn scars, of course, as she'd seen the ones on his stomach when she stitched him before (actually, this whole thing was giving him déjà-vu,) but as she, entirely unfazed, stared at his warped flesh, Zack felt as though his mouth was what'd been sewn shut.
He let her do what she willed.
Ray took the needle in hand, preparing herself for his inevitable fit. As she punctured the pointed edge into his skin, to her surprise, he made no sound, only a look of mild discomfort showing in his golden eye. She appreciated it, but didn't make mention of the fact, as she didn't wanna ruin a good thing. In any event, she'd make it quick.
And so, Ray began sewing shut their promise's proof. She hoped it didn't take away from the sentiment, but she supposed gangrene would be even worse. As she worked, Ray's body had somehow begun feeling both heavier and lighter; her cheeks felt warm, though it wasn't quite like the pleasant sensation of a blush. It was hot, and hazy.
Little droplets of blood had bubbled from the sutures. Gentle, she smoothed her thumb across his flesh, leaving it smeared a transparent red. His eye twitched at the sensation, and he wanted to tell her to stop spacing out and hurry up, but he couldn't find the words. She seemed so caught up in her own world, more than normal. As she held her needle threaded to his skin, the alcohol made sure that she really was, for better or worse.
She was usually so contentious, but her attention was so far as to let the needle slip through her fingertips, the line dangled as she's yet to sever and tie the end. Then suddenly to Zack's surprise, and admittedly, her own, Ray ignored all inner restraint she'd built up—if only unconsciously.
Every time I fix you...
She lifted his hand to press his palm to her cheek, closing her eyes, as if cherishing they hand fated to kill her.
It brings us closer.
Instantly, Zack found his voice in a flare, choking out a low and hostile tone, "H-Hey, 'the hell are you—"
A little more, every time.
"This makes you mine, doesn't it?" asked a breathless Ray.
Zack's heart skipped a beat. Near frozen by the heated touch, Zack blinked absent as he gaped at her, his palm burned with the sensation of their connection, far beyond the promise of a blood oath. Dare he snatch his himself away and drown any sense of companionship she felt? Dare he tell her what she so desperately wanted not to hear?
Of course he would.
The man yanked his palm from her cheek. For good measure, and just to get back at her, he shoved the little girl away. He easily overpowered her, and she couldn't catch herself as she toppled back, landing with her face and hands flat on the floor. The motion felt more jolting than normal, she wasn't able to stop herself from the force. The alcohol really seemed to have its own agenda with her. Somehow, she felt like she wasn't any closer to understanding her father at all. Foster rose to his feet and yanked the dangling thread from his hand, pulling out the last few stitches from his flesh at the same time. He didn't care that he ruined her work,
The simple relief of being away from her touch was both freeing, and... suffocating.
He stared at the husk of a girl, crumpled on the ground. "Do you think I'm your fuckin' pet or something?" he snapped. Ray didn't shift to move, she only looked up from the tattered mess of blonde in her eyes, muttering an incoherent excuse that he cut short. "I'm not another fuckin' bunny rabbit," he spat, "I'm not some dog you killed then shoved in a box!"
"That... that's not—"
"I don't know where you get off thinkin' that if you put a fuckin' needle in something, you suddenly own it," he hissed, tone sharp and biting, "but you're in for some real shit if you think you can call me 'yours' any time you stitch my busted ass."
Her gaze panned to the bunny, yet scratching at and scuttling around in the box across the room. She'd fixed its leg, gave it a chance to keep living—wasn't that enough? "But..." Ray muttered, as if acknowledging the fact weren't possible, "but if that doesn't make something 'mine', what will?"
"No offense, Psycho, but it doesn't fucking work that way," Zack spat, resisting all urge to grab the damn needle and shove it in her soulless eye—y'know, just for a taste of her own medicine, or maybe to prove his point. "Why are you so goddamn obsessed with making things 'yours' anyway?"
She stared back, empty as the room they occupied. It was because she couldn't kill, because this was the only thing she could do now, the only option she had left to really make something "hers", and hers alone. "Because then I'll always have something." Someone.
An entirely unhumored laugh resounds. "What, you think that bunny's suddenly gonna love you 'cause you saved it?" How fucked up in the head do you have to be that you need a goddamn serial killer to tell you these things before you understand? You can't force a connection that was never meant to be there in the first place. "News flash, Ray, you're just another problem for it!"
Another problem.
She muttered, sounding nothing less than confused and heartbroken. "I'm... a problem for you?"
"Fucking—duh!" he sputtered, as if it were obvious. "But you're only my problem 'cause I decided that your were, not the other way around!" He wasn't keeping her alive per her request, because she'd saved him, stitched him, helped him. Nor was it the reason he'd kill her.
"Why?" she asked, her voice not more than a faint whisper. With how desperate her inquiry resounded, it was almost like she was begging.
Zack's frustration flared hotter in his chest. "What do you mean, 'why'?!" He'd had enough of this, enough of her dumpy befuddled ass. Didn't she get this by now? He really just had to spell it out, and he was the illiterate one. "I'm here 'cause it's what I want! 'Cause that's how I fuckin' feel—end of the goddamn story!"
Ray's breath hitched, the notion resounding with a sobriety even the most pure her could never have hoped to have.
Her brow knit together, and she looked rather like a sad little bunny herself. For Zack, things were so simple. Truly, she was envious. Slowly, the little girl ushered herself to sit up, holding her body above shaking arms. "Zack," she exhaled vacantly, and were it anyone else listening, they may have thought she was being insincere. Then again, who else would she even end up in this situation with?
As her very faint sense of humanity began to show its rare head, he let out a frustrated growl. Angered, he leaned down, putting a harsh hand on the top of her skull as he knelt to look in her eye. His jagged nails dug into her scalp, though it only served to tousle her hair. "I'm here 'cause I want to be," the words she took so heartfelt were spat with a sort of venomous warning, "and it's got nothin' do with your stitches. I'm here because I swore to kill you, I want to kill you, and I'm going to kill you." A distorted emptiness reflected in eyes so dark and empty, he could almost see himself. "And I'm not leaving your side until you're dead. Understand?"
An echo, a sonance, a drop of morning dew, the ring of a winter bell.
Our promise is... what you want.
Had anyone ever given her so much? Had anyone else ever wanted her more? She already knew the answer, and it was simply "no".
"I'm sorry," Rachel finally said, almost out of breath, "I didn't consider your feelings."
The beating in his veins coursed uncomfortably. Despite having torn himself away from her moments before, releasing her from his hold now left the boy with a yet burning palm. He just... really needed to get his wraps back on. "Fuckin'... tell me somethin' new," he muttered under his breath. Without another word, he picked his bandages back up and began wrapping his hand again. "Christ alive, I wanna kill something." While Ray figured it'd be a bad time to volunteer, she'd rather the only other living thing not suffer from his tantrum either.
Blonde lashes drew halfway closed.
Ray took a deep breath, ushering herself to stand up now. As she did, she wavered, her head feeling as though it were swaying on its own. For once, she was regretful in not following in Zack's example. She leaned down and reached into the box, picking up the bunny. It squeaked and wiggled, but she held it firmly to her chest as she turned to the front door. "Where are you going?" Zack raised an eyebrow, though Rachel didn't reply. It was light now, and while she was crazy, she wasn't stupid enough to go out in the day without reason. Opening the front door, she took a few steps out into the morning sun.
Tilting her head down, Ray pressed her lips soft the top of the animal's head. The gesture did nothing than to frighten the creature more, as she knew it would, though it wasn't done for the rabbit's sake, but rather. Ultimately, she knelt to place the bunny on the ground, letting it go free. It hopped away, taking itself as far and as quickly as its limp would allow.
Ray gazed up to the old Victorian house, looking up at the dual story complex, to the window that was her old room. It was there she once lingered in the pale moonlight and unloaded a clip into her fathers chest, but now she looked on from the outside. Suddenly, she concluded: she did not think she'd ever be able to understand why Adam Gardner drank.
"Hey, Zombie," her gaze panned to Zack at the front door, he stood with his hand on his hip, "ya just gonna stand there all day until someone comes along and hauls your ass back to the mental ward?"
A sigh. Twice today, she wished she'd have listened to him. Even despite her hazy head, she realized now that coming here wasn't a good idea at all. "Hey, Zack?" she muttered back, ignoring his warning, her voice airy and distant, and he was quick to recognize that tone.
"What?" he exhaled with inconvenience, though her request in mind was a simple one.
"Can you bring me that bottle of alcohol, please?"
A snort of mild amusement resounded as he took a few steps back before appearing at the door again. Returning, he tossed the bottle to the girl a few feet away, it rolled in front of her. A shaky hand reached down to pick it up. "Guess this makes me an enabler, eh?" he chucked as Ray looked down at the item in her hands, and just the faint scent was enough to make her head feel blurrier, but she didn't linger on it for long, uncharacteristically.
She reeled back and threw the bottle at the building.
It shattered instantly, glass flying everywhere. "'Ey!" Zack whined, lifting his arms a bit to shield his face. "The hell are you doing?!" he fussed, but despite how unpredictable her behavior was, her answer was simple, her memories of their time in the building echoing in her mind.
"Saying goodbye."
She what just doing what any child should when letting go of the beloved past. A look of knowing showed on Zack face as he seemed to understand her meaning. Instantly, Zack understood with devilish, creeping grin. "Hey," he said, "any more of that upstairs?"
As though 45% proof were fuel for the chaotic heart, she replied with a single nod. At least they'd get some use out of the alcohol.
Another glass against her bedroom floor, a bottle shattered in the kitchen—one for each room, as there was certainly enough. Impish laugher echoed in turn, now he was having a good time.
His enjoyment hit higher beat as he busted the last bottle in the living room, "Hell yeah girl, now we're livin'!" He took his scythe in hand, and in one fell swoop, slammed the blunt edge against the window. And then the next. And then another. And, well... you get the idea. The shattering echoed in Ray's (currently hyper-sensitive) ears, making them ring—but despite now feeling clearly intoxicated, she still remained leagues more tame than her counterpart.
With a deep exhale, she did her part, dumping the last liquid remnant if her father's existence on the front mat before tossing the bottle inside. "Alright," she nodded. The two made their way out to stand in front of the structure. Ray reached in her bag and took out Mr. King's old lighter. "You'll wanna stand back," she told her partner, who, for once, heeded her warning.
Igniting the spark, the lit flame reflected in her eye for just a moment before she tossed it to the pool of vodka at the front door.
The fire followed the trail into the house. It wasn't more than a minute before the broken window frames lit with a vibrant orange light; smoke started fanning from the structures openings. Ray put her hands together at chest level and closed her eyes."Bye bye."
"And good riddance, bitches!"
Hm.
Releasing her pose, Ray's vision zoned back... abnormal. She blinked rapidly as if to find a fleeting focus that wouldn't return; truth be told, it made her stomach flip and twist. Turning, she felt off yet, her few retreating footsteps staggering a bit before she stumbled to her knee.
She felt sick.
Zack, with a hand on his hip and scythe slung over his shoulder, huffed a laugh—finding her state even more hilarious than the house they'd just set ablaze. "How ya holdin' up, Champ?" His tone of amusement only made her stomach turn more, and just to make it better, he gave her a firm smack on the back. Her stomach gurgled.
"Bad."
The regret resounded in her voice as her partner chuckled again, he generously grabbed her arm to help her stand on shaky legs. Ray reflexively gripped his jacket sleeve as he let go, sensing she'd just fall if she didn't have him to steady her footing. She wrapped her hands around his arm and held onto him. He rolled his eyes, smirking the closest thing he could usher to an amused look, he let her get away with it, but only because it was so funny to see her waver like a baby deer. Specifically the one who's mother got shot at the beginning of that children's movie. "Let's go, Lightweight."
She nodded and choked back an acidic sensation in her throat. "Where to, now?"
"I was hopin' you could tell me," he answered. "Find anything interesting in those files?"
"Yeah," an exhale and a stumbling step. Despite her self-reminder to commit a few names to memory—she was drawing an unsurprising blank, but at least she'd made sure to grab the profiles before they'd left. "We should head back to town, then we can decide what to do next."
He huffed a taunting laugh. "Think you can make it that far?"
Truthfully, with how she felt, she really had to wonder, but her long-lasting sins and resulting convictions rang true in her vacant mind, even despite her questionable state, or perhaps, considering it. Believe it or not, they were back on course, and with her memories of the past burning hot in the morning air behind them, she was oddly level-headed with restored focus. Holding onto his sleeve, knowing that he wasn't going anywhere until she was dead—?
As always, for better or worse: "I'll make it."