Chapter 11: Don't Let Go

"I don't care what you look like."

For whatever pain may have been beaten into him on that or any day, the pounding in his chest proved more agonizingly unbearable than any attack or wound. Like the skin of his visage, his scarred heart recessed deeper beneath the safe layer that protected Isaac Foster from the rest of the world, but somehow, never far enough from her. "It's not that," he said half-heartedly, because no matter what he may have wanted, it didn't matter really. That wasn't the reason he fought so vehemently to make sure she'd never gaze upon the blatant him. It was because she didn't care.

She asked him the honest cause "what, then?" and the same guilt as before washed over him like a tidal wave, and for however much he hated fire, he wasn't keen on the idea of drowning either. Part of him hoped he could just be put out of his misery right here and now, because he didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Geezus fuck, "I can't stand it anymore."

Her.

Being with her. Being near her. Her touch, her gaze, her confidence, companionship. Everything about her was destroying him more and more by the second, with wraps or without. "It hurts too much?" she asked innocently, unaware to the truth, naive as her age, which (even if he had trouble memorizing the order of the teens,) Zack knew was way too young for him to be feeling like this. He covered his face, because the bandages weren't enough to conceal his shame.

"More than you can fuckin' imagine."

She didn't falter. "Then all the more reason to let me help," stop it, "I'll find something to make the pain go awa—"

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

"No, Ray!" His body reacted on its own, in the only way he knew how to cope, with force and aggression. For not the first time, he shoved her down, as if proving to himself he could still restrain her. "You don't get it!"

And also just like every other time, Ray was unfazed by the situation, seeming only confused at best. Unlike him, this little girl had nerves of steel. "What don't I get?" she purred sweetly, her smaller fingertip lacing around his, and even despite the wraps separating them, he was fully aware of the intimate feeling of her gentleness. He couldn't resist the tension building in his shoulder as she gazed up to him, still completely unaware to the dangerous situation she found herself in, and he couldn't even blame her naivety on her.

It was his fault for letting her get by on being so fuckin' stupid.

He should've just their first victim in the gas station parking lot off her, or that sick rich fuck have his way—even the kid today who was about to bash her skull in. Hell, way back before they reunited, in the building where they'd met, Doctor Fuckin' Four-eyes, that sadomasochistic whore, the horny little necrophile. Any one of them could'a fucked her up bad, then maybe she'd finally get the damn picture, but time and time again, he, just... couldn't let that happen.

Why couldn't he?

Despite his laundry list of endless faults, he couldn't shake this weird sense of responsibility, be it for the sake of seven years or mental sanity or who knows what else, to shelter her from how fucked up this world was. He knew he should be taming her impulses, controlling her actions, curbing her crazy desires in place of the parents she'd killed and angels she'd lost—but instead, he just let her keep getting away with whatever stupid fuck-up she'd inevitably pull next, routinely picking up the pieces afterwords like her damn maid. She was way too young for all of this, for most of the shit she did, and if he, just fucking once, had let her learn her lesson? Well, who knows—maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be free from all of this, from what he felt for her. He couldn't even pretend like what was driving him was a gentlemanly, noble protectiveness.

He was nothing if not possessive of her.

"I'll," just fucking kill myself, problem solved, "I'll tell you when you're older," because, holy shit, was it fucked up.

He was fucked up.

"And if I don't make it that long?" she asked predictably, and Christ alive, could she not bring that up right now?

Hell, he didn't know, maybe that would be better. Actually, that'd definitely be better, but he couldn't resist the sinking feeling in his chest that came with the prospect of never expressing what he felt, if only because it'd just be another form of lying. If there was one thing Isaac Foster was not good at it, it was pretending to be something he wasn't. When he felt something, he felt it strongly, and for better or worse, he wore a bloody heart safety-pinned haphazardly to his tattered sleeve.

Why can't you just figure it out, Ray? Aren't you supposed to be a genius or something? Why the hell are you always putting me in these situations? I don't wanna do this shit anymore, I can't. I'm not your brother. I'm not your babysitter. I'm definitely not your friend.

Zack grit his teeth, wincing in a visible anguish, gripping her so tight he could probably rip her hand from her arm if he wanted. As if reading his mind, he was shocked to feel the gentle rise of her fingertips reigniting the cigarette burn on the side of his neck, caressing him with her horrifically tender touch. His heart pounded for this girl who should've just been another victim to him, but no matter what he tried to convince himself of, he knew full-well she was so, so much more than that.

And it was tearing him apart.

"I'm not afraid of you, Zack."

Then I'll fucking make you.

Never one to give a damn about impulse control, the definition hardly existing within his already limited vocabulary, Zack pinned her lethally, jutting his leg between hers, straining her pure hip with his blood, breathing a diabolic heat into her ear.

"Maybe you should be."

Because God knew he was terrified of her.

By the sound of her angelic voice whimpering an exasperated fluster, her slender fingertips gripping the back of his overgrown hair out of pure reflex, the little enchanted look on her face that was so horrifically tempting, Ray easily overtook him. His chest grew tight with desire insatiable. In his mind, he was begging she'd tell him to stop, get off her, leave her alone, because he knew he would either do just that like the obedient mutt he was for her, or he'd maybe get so excited he'd just kill her. One way or another, it'd be over and done with, but to his agony, the only thing she said was his name, and it had never sounded so sweet and so deadly when when not spoken by her, her disarmed voice drawing him in like a magnet that he fought dearly to resist the pull. She breathed in his ear just the same, a little sound that was somehow even more enticing than the terror of a victim. He was a puppet on her strings.

I can't be doing this.

His lips shifted upon her cheek bone, grazing her skin, inching closer to hers.

She's just a kid.

He could feel her body tense beneath him, begging for him to take it farther, encouraging his hand to move on its own, as if intending to lift her shirt and feel her higher.

Stop, stop. I have to stop.

I don't… want to stop.

"Ray," he breathed, and shorthand just wasn't enough for him right now, "che—"

"All clear!"

Be it the work of the god or devil he didn't believe in, Zack was ruthlessly torn from the treacherous moment for one perhaps worse. "DEPARTING FOR [REDACTED.] ESTIMATED ARRIVAL TIME: 21:00," an automated sounded out, that familiar name ringing loud in his ears.

Oh, shit.

"What the hell?" He tore himself off Ray in a tizzy, rushing to the door in attempt to drag it back open, but it was locked and his words of protest were drowned by the noise outside. "Hey, let us—!"

"It's no use, they can't hear you," she told him. For whatever reason, she remained unmoving, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her anymore, even if he wanted to.

"Who gives a shit!" he shouted angrily, still worked up from what had just happened. "Didn't you hear? We've got a one-way ticket to—!"

"[REDACTED,]" Ray repeated, as if he didn't hear, and the fact that she seemed so uninvolved made him even angrier, because he knew as well as she what that name meant. Geezus fuck, couldn't she even give a damn about something actually important? Sure enough, she went on, nonchalant. "There's spare bandaging in my bag." Don't want it. "It won't be enough to replace your whole body though." Then what's the point? "We'll find more when we stop, okay?" Oh, fuck off. "It'll probably be at least a few hours before we get there, so, just... use it as an opportunity to rest."

Yeah, no way that was happening.

"Fuckin' hell, I'm beyond done with this this garbage," Zack muttered, roughly throwing himself to sit resting with his back against the wall. "I get my ass busted to Shittopia by some punk teenagers, I'm burned with a fancy asshole's menthol." He let out a "tch", not even mentioning the mercilessness of her needle. "Now we're headed straight to Hell on Earth."

Zack's bloody brow remained knit together as he groaned in frustration. His long reach extended, grabbing Rachel's bag, flipping open the tab. Just as she said, she'd kept spare bandages for him, and he supposed if she wasn't looking anyway, he might as well change them. Reaching up, he turned away for good measure, undoing the knot at the back of his head, letting the wraps once stuck to his skull fall haphazardly. With his face half exposed, he tepidly peeked over his shoulder in an inopportune moment, clearly having hoped to invoke some reaction out of her now, catching sight of Ray turned away, curling up with her knees to her chest as if she were... frightened.

Something important in the center of his chest sank uncomfortably deep.

Looks like he accomplished what he'd set out to do.

Congratulations, Foster, you managed to make the world's most insufferable girl even more miserable, don't you feel like a big strong man? Peering down at his hand, to the line of bloody sutures she'd stitched out of the kindness of his heart, Zack flexed his grip, the injury overwhelming but deserved, and nothing compared to all else he endured in that moment. It was starting to feel like he'd be long dead before he'd had the chance to kill her.

He couldn't go on like this.

In that moment, Isaac Foster knew what he had to do. He had to protect her from the worst thing of all, none other than himself, and to do that, he had to become what he hated the most.

He had to become a liar.

As Ray predicted, it was a few hours before they arrived. During unloading, the duo snuck out at an opportune moment when the workers weren't looking. They found themselves located in the central area of the city, which was much larger than Ray's hometown from before.

Before they could even attempt to find their way back, she knew they needed to regroup and find fresh supplies. He'd replaced his bandages enough, at least on his face, but parts of his skin were slightly visible at the edges, certainly more than he'd like. Ray hoped they'd be able to get what they needed quickly, and she could only imagine Zack felt similarly, given the clear edge in his step. She could tell he was growing anxious to vent his frustrations, and she wanted to get back to their next kill as quickly as they were able, but unfortunately, it didn't seem like that'd be as soon as he'd like; he struggled to so much as carry his scythe over his shoulder like normal, chest still heavy to indicate he had trouble breathing normally. She could tell him to rest, but he'd probably just get mad.

Pulling the little sticky note from her pocket, the one with Smith's given hitlist, Ray peered down at the various names. Logically, she couldn't help but wonder about the validity of the information they'd paid for, but she supposed it couldn't be helped at this point. If nothing else, it was a place to start, they'd have to find out the rest for themselves, but there was still something that left her unnerved.

Zack said he hadn't killed John Smith. Rachel believed him, but she was only left with the question: who did? It had been linked to Zack one-to-one, so closely that his newspaper obituary found itself on his floor in the building (not that he'd be able to read it to know that, of course.)

On a regular day, Zack wasn't one to care about specifics like this, but Ray wasn't so ignorantly blissful. It left a bad taste in her mouth, especially as it found its way back to them like this. Before long, H would find out Zack was still alive, and clearly, he had the connections to make problems for them again. Merely gazing upon the state today had left him in, Rachel was worried what might happen next. Exhaling deep through her nose, she stuffed the paper in her pocket, unable to shake an uncomfortable feeling crawling at the back of her neck.

Succinctly in time, Zack stumbled, as if reading her mind and acting on her anxiety.

He groaned in pain, leaning against the alley wall, as if trying to catch a breath that couldn't be reached. Urgent and instantaneous to rush to his side, Ray reached out, but he merely shoved her as she tried to draw near. "Back off," he warned, refusing to look at her. From his peripheral, he saw her shake her head.

"Zack," she said weakly, "you have to recover," she pleaded, reasonable but otherwise helpless. "I know you don't want to, but let's just… rest here until morning, until you can walk again." It was a suggestion she knew he'd never go for willingly, but what other choice did we have at this point?

"Like hell," he growled predictably. He was not about to make a vacation out of this little side track. If for no other reason, "We have to get back to town so I can cut that motherfucker to pieces."

Vehemently, Rachel shook her head again. "You won't be able to do anything until you heal," she said, and of course, he didn't like being told what he could and couldn't do.

"Just watch me," he muttered aggressively, stumbling to stand tall again. Gardner, desperate, ran to face in front of him, holding her arms out on either side to block his path, and as one may imagine, he was not happy about that at all. He glared at her: "Move."

She didn't. "Not until you rest," she declared decidedly.

Towards her stubbornness, Ray could see his temper rising like the mercury of a thermometer. He put his hand on her shoulder, certainly intending to shove her out of the way. "I have to—!" he hissed, but suddenly, he was cut short.

"You can't even stop me!"

Very much to his surprise, the feeling of Rachel's petite hands landed upon his chest, shoving him back a step, overpowering him, harmless in force but not in sentiment. She could tell she'd caught him off guard, and her brow knit together sternly, knowing full-well she'd just proven her point.

"You're strong, Zack," Ray whispered, voice clear in its sincerity, "but you're still human."

He had no choice but to gaze upon that weird look of concern on her face, an expression he hated with all his heart. It made no sense that anyone would ever look at him that way. For the first time in his life, he was unfortunately inclined to agree with the fact, because a monster would've certainly been able to cut that miserable mug of her's up without a second thought.

Slumping back against the wall, he sank to the floor in defeat, too exhausted to do anything else. Ray felt her heart grow lighter, tepidly stepping closer and leaning down to kneel at his side. "You—" Ray began, but Zack cut her short.

"Just leave me alone."

Rachel's fragile heart rose and sank in the same beat. The disdain in his voice stung deeply, but she supposed if this was the price she had to pay for him actually resting, she had no choice but to take it in stride. Slowly, unturning, she shifted back a few steps, reminded of her place in life, or rather lack-thereof.

Turning around, she walked down the alley.

Aimlessly, Ray wandered, quickly losing track of time alongside her step.

She walked as the full moon shifted about in the sky per its rotation, but it hardly felt like even a moment had gone by at all. She didn't know where she was going, but she also supposed it didn't really matter. Given her morbidly eidetic memory, she knew she'd be able to find her way back to Zack just fine, even if he hoped she couldn't.

As her footsteps dragged in the darkness, she was reminded of a life that felt so long ago, the one where her parents would yell at her for wandering about the city alone like this, but somehow, she always ended up doing it again, even if it meant she'd get in trouble. The alleyways may have been scary to most people, but even before she'd met Zack, for some reason, it felt like the only place she was safe. As if on cue, Ray was drawn from a bittersweet memory by the bittersweet now.

A pained, juvenile cry, that of an animal, one she was deeply familiar with, called out in the dark. Unmistakably, a puppy.

She was suddenly reminded why she felt so at-home in places like this.

Instantaneously drawn from her daze, Rachel looked up from the dirty ground, fully alert. Frantically, her gaze panned as she came to a four-way intersection of enclosed paths. Again, the sound called out, as if trying to reach her personally, and discerning its source, she turned, sprinting urgently to the left. She ran, therein turning the corner, coming to a larger clearing blocked in by a chain-link gate.

Two boys, at least a few years younger than her, stood over a small, whimpering dog.

It was a cute puppy, young, probably only a few months old. She recognized the breed easily, one of her favorites, an Australian Shepherd. She had always liked those dogs because they were very smart and good with people, well-behaved and lovable. Arguably, the perfect puppy dog, but perfect as it may have been bred, it was clearly in pain, blood visible on its back, right leg. The shorter of the two boy's jutted his foot forward, kicking it roughly as the both of them laughed, like something about the scene was just the funniest thing in the world. Intensely, Rachel's empty, azure gaze went terrifyingly wide as she spoke up without a second thought.

"What are you doing?"

Beyond their laughter, her question resounded with a sharp seriousness, and turning, they looked at the intruder with certain discontempt. Gazing back, Ray couldn't help but feel unnerved suddenly, like she'd seen a ghost, a specter.

The shorter boy dawned boots, gloves, overalls. His hair was reddish, and he had freckles.

"None of your business!" the boy said, stubborn and childish. "Get lost!"

Regardless, Ray canted her head to the side, clearly realizing their sincere agenda. "That puppy," she said, "you're… hurting it."

To follow, the other boy snapped at her, clearly offended she'd dare make mention of the fact. "You wanna be next?" he asked, to which Ray only glowered, unable to care less about her own well-being, but certainly impassioned about the innocent creature at their feet.

"Leave it alone."

It wasn't a request, it was a demand, and realizing as much, the two boy's attention was successfully drawn from that of the dog as they instead turned on Rachel. The taller boy, likely older, drew from his pocket a colorful gun—presumably, a BB gun. The younger red-head did the same, however taking in hand a small sort of shovel, a garden trowel. Reaching in her own skirt pocket, she took hold of her switchblade, ready to do what had to be done.

Zack isn't here right now. I have to do this alone.

She had to be able to do this alone.

They encroached on her simultaneously, the younger lunging at her with the small tool. Ray easily avoided him, but as she did, she wasn't able to fully dodge the BB bullet aimed at her face. He pulled the trigger, and luckily, it only hit her below the eye, but letting out a groan, she lunged at the older boy with a vengeful knife. She grabbed him by the hand, lashing her blade across his skin, his cheek in the same spot. He shouted, completely caught off guard, terrified that such an unsuspecting girl had this manner of assault within her. He fell to his knees, gripping his bloody face, now crying like the child he was reminded to be. Shambling to his feet, he sprinted off down the alley, abandoning the remaining two.

Gardner turned, looking towards the even younger boy.

Naturally, he seemed shocked, however then fierce, as if he remembering that he had something to prove. Ray gave a potent pause, one that said "you can leave, too", but clearly the unspoken message fell upon deaf ears. He threw himself at Rachel, aiming to bash his trowel against her head, but Ray juked him, ducking and dodging as he thrashed at her ferociously. He was a child even younger than she, yet he seemed to have an adulthood rage pent-up rage with a personal cause. In a second so split, he maneuvered, jabbing Ray in the stomach with the blunt edge of his shovel. Her eyes went wide as she toppled.

He said nothing, but she felt his anger. Ray looked up to him empathetically, wondering what had went wrong in this child's life, simultaneously understanding that even if it were explained to her, it'd never be able to make sense. Her gaze fell lower, to his leather gloves, so familiar, then his overalls, rubber boots… she wished this could've been more complicated, but by the pained yapping that resounded in the otherwise peaceful alleyway, Ray knew what next to do.

In a flash, the girl moved to stab her switchblade into the other child's foot.

He exclaimed in pain, shouting so loud it echoed up the walls. He grit his teeth, looking at Ray as though he were about to lash out, end her, and while Ray would have perhaps welcomed such a poetically simple fate at one point long ago, her life was never so beautiful. He threw his entire body at Rachel, pinning her down to the ground, straddling her torso. She said nothing, merely gripping the blade tighter in her hand, as he was clearly vulnerable if only on account of his anger. She peered at the center of his chest, pocket of his jumper the perfect target.

I have to do this. I have to be able to do this. I have to—!

"You hurt me so bad!"

Rachel's thoughts came to an abrupt stop as she was forced to witness the helpless, youthful tears burning in his eyes. Her gaze turned wider, déjà vu overwhelming her now more than ever as her grip went slack her side. She withdrew from the moment, dissociating fully, realizing it was no use.

Yet again, she still couldn't do it.

The child drew his trowel behind his head as if to strike her, but as he did, his wrist was taken by the hold of another, alerted not to the calls of the boy or the dog, but that of the completely silent girl on the ground.

Zack leered over the boy, twice his size, and twice as angry.

No sense of mercy remained as he was too tired, too strained. With a mere flick of his non-dominant wrist, he drew back his scythe, slamming the blunt end of his weapon against the side of the boy's head. He cried out, as anyone would, thrown from Ray and onto the dirty alley ground. Before he could even beg for mercy, Foster did what he knew best. Slamming his blade into the chest of the child, he mercifully silenced his cries, his pain. To Rachel, it all felt familiar. As he finally lay still, Ray peeked at the bottom of his shoe, the initials "G.M." written on the sole.

"You don't know what it means to hurt, kid," said Zack.

The light faded from his emerald greenish eyes as his lashes fluttered shut, too young to say goodbye, but left with no alternative, just like she. Overalls, gloves, boots—red hair and freckles. An imperfect grave, laid to rest by one Isaac Foster.

The executioner stumbled, still pained, though clearly not enough to let her get off easy. To Ray's surprise, when he looked to her, no discontempt showed. "You're bleeding," he said simply. His wrist rose to her cheek, where she'd been struck by the BB bullet, rubbing the back of his grubby wraps to wipe the blood haphazardly. She winced a little, but not in pain.

"I'm fine," she assured him half-heartedly, turning to observe the true victim in this situation, gaze flickering past the befallen boy completely. She looked upon the whimpering puppy.

All par for the course, Zack was unsurprised as she knelt, already taking out a needle and thread. Better it than him, he supposed. She made fast work to sew its leg back up, and while it whimpered and nipped at her, it was done as quickly as it started. While it was all predictable, Zack was surprised by what Rachel did next.

Turning to stand, she walked back down the alley, leaving the puppy behind.

Zack raised an eyebrow. "You're not gonna try to take it with you?" he asked skeptically, having fully prepared himself mentally to fuss at her for it. Rachel only shook her head, walking beyond him.

"Just because I put my needle in something doesn't make it mine, right?" His past words fell from her lips almost somberly, clearly depressed about the reality, one she had no choice but to acknowledge, and it was all on account of him. Despite the fact that he was the one who'd told her as much in the first place, he peered off to the side, shade of his hood catching his golden glare. Killing things, fixing them after…

If only it had ever been that simple.

"Hey, Ray…"

She turned, peering back to him. "What is it?" she asked. He gave a momentary pause, and on his scythe, his grip grew tight and painful, even when held by his better hand. What he'd ask next caught Ray completely off guard.

"Is there anything you wanna do?"

The abrupt question hit her like a ton of bricks, because she had no idea where it came from. The tone of his voice was weirdly calm, uncharacteristically straightforward, when it rightfully should've been harsh and irate after his having to rescue her again. "Anything… I wanna do?" she repeated, and he merely nodded. The question was vague as it was broad, and she wasn't sure how to answer. "Like what?" she asked, but being prodded for specifics only seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"Y'know," he paused, "like something you'd do for fun."

Ray only felt all the more confused. "I… I don't really know." At this point in her life, she didn't really want "fun" things, did she?

"Come on," he took a step to stand in front of her directly, "there's gotta be something." Ray only shrugged on the contrary, and he sighed, wishing she'd just answer the damn question. "Pretend it's your last day on Earth," he prompted her. "What would you do—where would you go?"

If only by the manner of phrasing, something about the question resonated with her now. If this was the last day she had to live… there had to be something, right? He could discern a shift in her demeanor as the revelation of her answer dawned in her mind. Yeah, the alleyway was nice, but there was one place she'd rather be more.

"The playground," she said suddenly.

He canted his head to the side, curious. "The playground?" he repeated.

Rachel merely nodded. After a moment, he hummed, turning back around, and the girl looked up curiously, peering at the back of his raised hood. She was intrigued as the way he walked indicated he knew where he was going now. Unsure if she took his meaning correctly, after a moment, she hesitated to follow, but sure enough.

"Let's get going, then."

Ray looked upon the bright, colorful play equipment in all primary shades, almost in disbelief of where they now found themselves.

While Zack didn't know where specifically, in a city large as this one, finding a family park wasn't exactly difficult. Clearly, the playground was a little worn and aged, but at the same time, to Rachel, it looked like she'd reached nirvana without the process of passing. "Well?" Zack huffed a laugh, peeking over to Ray as she looked like she were in awe. "Have at it, Kiddo."

For a long moment, Rachel said nothing, wondering if it was really okay for them to be out in the open like this, but the more she thought about it, she supposed it'd be rude to deny such a kind gesture, even if she didn't really understand it's meaning. Not looking back to him, she took a cautious step forward. Beneath her boots, the sound of the scattered wood chips crunched, and it hit upon a sort-of sensory memory. Ray perked up.

Indicated by a subtle spring in her step now, Zack thought that she might, in fact, actually be excited.

He huffed in his own amusement, flopping down at the bench nearby as Ray climbed up the bright, metal ladder slowly, coming to a grated area with a hanging bridge. Slowly, more cautious than she ever was in the face of real danger, she took a tepid step onto the slack path. It was funny to Zack, how intent she looked, but it was also refreshing to see her focused like this. She walked across the way with vigilance, as if every step meant something. Weirdo.

Ray knelt at the other end, seeing the markings of etched graffiti in the metal side that said "G + I = ", only to be scratched out vigorously, below which a telling "fuck you" was written. A short but compelling narrative, for sure.

Standing up, she peered off to Zack, sat patiently as she went about her play. She couldn't help but wonder if she was holding him up, but he'd probably say something if that was the case, so she might as well enjoy herself while she was able. Turning, she looked at the enclosed tunnel slide; it looked rather like one she'd played on as a young child, but at the time, it seemed a lot more daunting to slide down all on her own.

Now, she only felt excitement at the prospect.

Sitting down at the top, she ushered herself forward, gliding down the winding tunnel. By the time she reached the bottom, her feet again on the wooden cushion below, she greeted Zack with a wide-eyed stare of awe, as if she'd just had some astounding revelation about the reality of the world.

"Having fun?" he snickered, bemused.

Instead of responding, far too caught up in the moment, Ray rose to her feet, quickly walking back to the opposite end of the structure. Zack smirked, already knowing her intentions.

Sure enough, she did it all again.

For a crazy little freak with a morbid obsession of her own mortality, Ray sure could be simple. Just like before, she followed the same process at least three more times, and while she looked anything but bored by her final repeat, she finally tore her attention to focus on something else. There was a sandbox, but given the rain, the sand was matted and probably wouldn't be a lot of fun to play with. Seeing a see-saw, she, for a moment in her adrenaline, almost considered asking Zack to get on it with her… but even if she was excited, she wasn't stupid. Instead, she looked around, seeing what else was nearby, her bright gaze landing on something peculiar.

A swing-set.

The hyper feeling in her heart grew once more gentle. Gradually, her step lead her to stand before it, looking down at the red seat as she faced away from Zack. Curious by the unmoving Ray, he called out, "Ya just gonna stare at it, or ya gonna get on?" he asked, and Ray was oddly quiet for a moment.

"I can't swing very high on my own."

Equally, Zack gave a thoughtful pause just the same. While she heard him shuffle to stand, she didn't look back, even as he approached her.

Lame excuse.

"Siddown," he told her.

Almost confused by the order, she peeked over her shoulder, but as she did, she felt Zack's hands preemptively upon her, never gentle as he ushered her to sit. She fumbled in place as he walked behind her, wrapping his hands around link chains that held her up. He pulled her back moderately before releasing his hold, allowing her forward momentum. She drifted back naturally, and he gave her another gentle shove to keep her pace. Ray was almost stunned.

Was Zack… pushing her on the swing?

For as shocking as it was, God knew she wasn't about to question it. With her long blonde tendrils following freely in her wake, she slowly picked up in pace. Before long, she was swinging high, certainly high enough to warrant his help. She shifted her legs to help propel herself rhythmically, and she heard Zack laugh a little as she did. Maybe that meant he was fun, too? To her, that alone made the experience even more wonderful, and as a result, nothing could have prepared Zack what she'd do next.

Softly, miraculously, angelically, Ray exhaled a single giggle, euphoric on his ears.

Zack's heart came to a full stop.

His hands fell lifelessly to his sides to stop pushing Ray. Instantly recognizing his change in demeanor, Rachel couldn't help feeling puzzled, alarmed. "Zack?" she called back, dragging her feet to an unscheduled stop. She looked over her shoulder, catching his silhouette in her peripheral vision. "What's wrong?"

His telling response was found in his hands raising slowly once more, palms placing themselves over hers as she gripped the chains. Ray only felt concerned by his behavior, because clearly something was wrong, but also, like most things, it wasn't surprising.

Ray had already known from the moment he'd brought her here that something was wrong, and she had a foreboding feeling she knew what that specific something was.

"Ray," he finally said, abnormally serious, quiet, sincere, "there's something I have to do, but," she could almost hear his heavy heart in every word, grip growing tense over her smaller hands, as if he were the one terrified in this situation, and despite all her suffering otherwise, nothing made Rachel feel worse, "I don't think I'm strong enough to do it."

While his rare admittance of weakness was nothing less than surprising, her most honest reaction was heartfelt concern. She didn't want him to be sad, she didn't want him to be upset, she didn't want him to feel the sort of pain she knew so personally. In that moment, she'd have done anything to reassure him of everything he was and always would be.

"You are strong, Zack," said Ray without hesitation, because even if the world came to an end, she already knew he'd be the last man standing. "You're the strongest person I've ever known."

"But," sure enough, "I'm not inhuman."

The sound of his voice was almost unbearable in its affliction, like there was finally something that could actually end him once and for all. If he needed help, even if he couldn't ask for it, Rachel was determined to be useful, aid him, just like he always came running to save her.

"You know," Ray said suddenly, "the last time I was on a swing," her voice was but a confident whisper, just loud enough for him alone to discern, to reach out to him, "was my fifth birthday. That was the year I got the music box," the last thing she'd ever loved, the same one who's melody she'd never hear again. "My parents took me to the park," she explained. "My mom made me a new dress," it was sky blue, "and we had a picnic." Despite the clearly dear memory, once more, no sense of emotion resounded in her tone, like it too had died with her on that fated day. "My dad pushed me on the swing," just like now, "and I was... so happy." Her palms shifted to discard the unimportant chain and instead cradle his hands, fingertips lacing between his bandaged and shaking, as if shushing a weeping child back to sleep after a bad dream. "Being here with you, Zack… made me feel like that again."

Falling to his knees behind her, Isaac wrapped his arms around Rachel in an undeniable embrace.

Certainly, it should have stunned her, but somehow it only felt like the natural course of her life, like every choice she'd ever made had led to him, and no matter what she could have done differently, she'd end up right back in this moment, in his arms, with her important, fated partner, Isaac Foster. Without a word, he buried his face against her back, in the mess of blonde that fell in endless waves until it touched the ground—one hand crossed over her chest to grip her shoulder tightly, the other wrapped around to her hip.

Rachel wasn't at all unaware of the feeling of his hand slowly snaking its way into her skirt pocket, his abrasive grip landing on the switchblade she withheld.

The full blue moon reflected in her gaze as Zack held her so tight that it felt like she might shatter into a million pieces right then and there. Don't worry. I'm here. Even after I'm long gone, I'll always be here for you. "It's going to be okay." With her lashes fluttering shut, she leaned into him. "I promise."

Though he couldn't see, she did her best to smile for his sake, and then, her hopes rose, only to fall on top.

"Step away from the girl!"

In the one moment she'd never wanted to be taken from, Rachel's lids snapped open. Zack's did the same, when seemingly out of nowhere, a weight bore down to seize him, pulling the two apart. In the commotion, Ray lost her place, too, a larger hand reached out, gripping her bicep, stealing her far away from him. Looking over her shoulders, something in the pit of Ray's stomach dropped—a visceral reaction to the sight of the golden, star-emblem badge at her eye level, one that had long traumatized her.

The police.

Two of them, one holding her, the other restraining Zack by the neck, hands held behind his back. On a normal day, the man handling him would've already been dead, but unfortunately, he could only hiss in pain, barely holding it together as it was. Even if he were able to fend him off, his scythe was all the way across the playground. He only grit his teeth, canines showing sharp and fierce, desiring dearly to rip the man alive.

On the other end, Rachel could hardly process what was happening.

Her mouth hung slightly agape, empty optics somehow wider in disbelief. The officer retaining her finally spoke, talking into the radio receiver he wore, something like "the boy's reports have been confirmed". He said something else to her, but she had trouble focusing on what specifically, only tuning in by the call of her name. "Gardner, Rachel Gardner, right?" he asked, and Ray said nothing, somehow wishing now more than ever that she wasn't. "Don't worry, you're safe now!" he told her, but Ray wasn't so sure. She tried to move, but he didn't let her go so easily. "Stay back, it's dangerous!"

While she would certainly agree, the manner of threat was not at all the same one he assumed.

She tried to jolt forward, but the officer restrained her more firmly now. Hearing her gasp, Foster grit his teeth in fury. "Get your hands off her!" he shouted, actually managing to flail free for a moment, throwing his fist to strike the man trying to take him. It was but a moment before the other officer whipped out his nightstick.

Smacking Zack in the forehead, reopening his wound, he was delegated to the ground.

"W-Wait—!" Rachel called out, helpless to watch Zack again get struck aggressively in the back of the head, equally agonized as he hissed in pain. Despite the intensity, he still managed to muster up the gusto to curse violently at the policeman now pinning him down by the back of the neck.

No.

Ray could hear the officer behind her say something into the receiver again. "Foster detained", "Gardner secure", and worst of all, "permission to perform lethal action". The policeman reached for his belt holster, taking out his gun, pressing the barrel to the back of Zack's head where he'd just been struck. Rachel's beating pulse flatlined.

The azure ocean that was her gaze rippled corrupt, all it took was a single drop of his crimson blood.

I will save you.

Ray tore her hand from her pocket, withdrawing her switchblade by a mere flick of the wrist. In the same motion, with a pivot of her heel, she slammed her hand against the side of the officer's upper thigh. He cried out in pain as she withdrew the edge, and he fell to his knee, clearly shocked and agonized as anyone would be. From across the playground, the other officer looked towards the sound. "Huh?!" the man fumbled as the other kneeling officer gazed upon the girl at eye-level, in terror. Equally, Zack's asymmetric only gaze grew wide, just as stunned but for reasons otherwise. Foster stopped struggling, stopping moving, watching intently as Rachel grabbed the man by the hair and held up her foreboding knife.

"Don't get in my way."

Like it were nothing, she forced the blade into the side of the kneeling officer's temple, killing him instantly.

Droplets of blood splattered across the playground, over the scattered wood chips, staining them permanently. As he toppled over, falling lifelessly on the ground, Rachel reached down, gracefully swiping his gun from the belt holster. Before the other officer could so much as release Zack to restrain her instead, the gun was centered in his direction. She cocked it just as quickly, her expression as cold as steel.

I won't let you take him from me.

Bang.

Clearing the invisible target she had placed in the center of his forehead, a loud shot silenced all else in the park. The force restraining Zack toppled to the side, the weight holding him to the ground gone entirely. "Holy fuck," he muttered, shock remaining on his hooded visage as he propped himself up with his arms, disbelief all but dripping from his muddled face. He couldn't remove his gaze from Ray if he wanted to, completely entranced by the little girl who couldn't be tamed by any force in this life in the hereafter.

Forever was he mesmerized by her.

Zack, hearing the other officers tuning in from the opposite side of the radios they wore, was drawn back to reality. "Shit," he muttered, wasting no time before scrambling or his feet. Despite his agony, the adrenaline he felt just in witnessing Ray do her thing gave him all the motivation to move the fuck on. He rushed to her side.

"Ray," he said, but she gave no response. "Ray!" She didn't so much as breathe. "We hafta go!"

Even if he wanted to give her all day, which, make no mistake, he absolutely did not, he merely took her by the wrist. Finally, she looked at him, some semblance of a reaction surfacing, as if she were only just processing what happened, but Zack knew there was hardly time for instability right now. Pushing through his pain, picking up his scythe along the way, he ran towards the nearest street, the nearest alley—fast as his probably fractured limbs would take him.

He needn't look back to the girl behind him to know she was hardly keeping up. They lost track of time as they ran until they couldn't run anymore. Their cue to stop was the moderate shelter of a dilapidated building wall, a construction site or something, just enough to hide should the police or anyone else dare overstep again. Zack leaned back against the brick surface, breathing so heavily that it hurt, finally looking to Ray as she spoke, her gaze lowered upon the gun still in her hands. Clear as the moon in the sky, a mortified expression showed upon her face.

"I killed them."

Oh, for the love of God.

Not this. Not now.

"Those—those men," Ray's breath had grown heavy as well, but not only from running, "I... I killed them."

Truly, sincerely, he could never be shot dead so easily and put out of his Ray Gardner-related misery. This was the last thing he needed today. Zack shuffled despite his worn-out state, shaking his head. "You did what you had to do," he told her, trying to remain reasonable, but sure enough, fate said Isaac Foster needed to suffer a little extra this fine summer evening.

"But, they," her hands began shaking, "they were innocent, and I—!" alerted of the clear panic picking up on her voice, Zack shut her down right there.

"You killed them!" he repeated preemptively. So fuckin' what! Could they just skip this part for once? By some fucking miracle, could they just move the fuck on? "It's already over, so don't start with this shit, Ray!"

"I," the gun fell from her fingertips, clattering on the ground, "I can't just—!"

He cut her off, grabbing her firmly by the upper biceps, jolting her slightly to get his frustration across. "Yes, you can!" he said. "It was me or them, and you made your choice!" Whether it was what he deserved or not.

"But—!"

"No!" he hissed through grit teeth, bracing her tighter beneath his fingertips, nails digging into her skin despite the disintegrating bandaging. "You said you wanna live life without regrets, right? Then," fuckin', "start now!" Right now!

Despite his resolve, Rachel only shook her head in horror. "But," she panicked, "but everything we've done up until this point—!"

"What, you think it's just reset?" he asked, clearly appalled by the notion. For the love of fuck, did she just make this shit up as she went along? Even if she was right, "So what if it is!" He leered down with contempt that certainly wasn't good at all for his current state, blood pressure so high he'd be damned if he didn't have an aneurism by the end of the day. "We'll start again, we'll keep goin' until you've met your dumbshit little kill quota—forever, if we have to!" he shouted.

Ray's breath hitched, panic replaced by a clear but calm confusion. "What… did you just say?" she asked breathlessly, and in that moment, Zack wanted nothing more than to smack the look of disbelief off her face. After everything they'd been through, how did she still not understand?

"I will keep killing people for you until the day I die, don't you get it already!"

What should've been a sinister and morbid notion came out like a frantic admission to something he'd been holding in for a very long time. Rachel's heart skipped a beat as she stared at him with wide eyes, like he'd just professed to her the one thing she'd always wanted so much to hear.

"And whadda ya know, here I am, still fuckin' breathing, all thanks to you, fuck you very much!" he finally relented his hold on her, releasing her roughly as her back bumped against the wall. "What's done is done, Ray!" declared Zack finally. "Stop worrying about a higher power, who's innocent, guilty, or whatever other fuckin' excuse you'll scrounge to find, and for once in your life, commit to your actions, keep moving forward, and just suffer the consequences like the rest of us, for God's sak—!"

In the midst of his tirade, and for maybe the first time ever, Isaac Foster was brought to an undeniable silence, letting out a small gasp as his breath was forcibly taken away.

The only sound remaining was the crash of metal on stone as the bar of his scythe fell from his hand to the rubble ground. He stared, eyes wide in different shades of gold, stunned, unmoving, body frozen like ice, heart burning hotter than the flames of hell he'd one day inevitably know. Rachel stood on her tip-toes, putting her hands to either side of his cheeks, ushering him down to meet her half-way.

Pressing her lips to those that peeked out just barely beneath the bandaging, she placed upon him a kiss of certain death.

It was soft and delicate like the feathers of a fallen archangel. Heavenly, silken, pure; broken, tormented, intoxicating. Zack was stunned in disbelief, was this for real? Was this really happening? In his stupor, he couldn't bring himself to so much as blink or breathe while she remained near for a few moments longer. When Rachel finally drew away, she didn't merely lower back to flat-feet.

She fell to her hands and knees in front of him, skin pierced by bits of rubble and debris on impact.

There was but one, final person she'd tell to him to end now, that person also being the very first one she'd asked him to slaughter, and so very poetically, in was in this exact same place.

With her gaze entirely unable to meet his, it instead fell upon the chaos at their feet as she finally allowed herself to become familiar to their surroundings. Before her, peeking out from the scattered disarray, the charred remains of two prison nameplates, ones they'd seen before, signaled to Rachel that fate was still cruel, and never kind. One was broken clear in half and titles on them were worn, barely able to be discerned and mostly illegible. Ray needn't look closer to know for whom they belonged, simultaneously knowing that both convicts were waiting upon the sentence of their own, personal executions.

"Kill me."

Azure tears gathered in her ducts, thick, silent, certain. Ray cried. She cried and cried because she couldn't deny it any longer. Things had changed, even if their agreement hadn't. Her heart had changed, and she couldn't bare it anymore. He wasn't her god, because what she felt for him was so agonizingly, grievously more human. If they went on like this, she'd just be lying to him, and they both knew that'd never do. She'd sooner abandon her pilgrimage than risk anything else—and, for him?

So long as he was the one sending her there, to hell gladly she'd go.

"I… I can't die without you," as he already knew, "but…"

A steady stream of tears trailed hot down her cheeks now, words choked out in a helpless, pathetic truth. Rachel finally understood the reason why their promise meant so much when only made between the two of them: it was because there would be no "Ray" without "Zack". No one else could have meant as much to her, no one else could have been as critical to who she was as a person, no one else could have been her unconditional one and only. She could lose everything, but she couldn't lose him. Rachel needed him like air in her lungs, like his hands at her throat, like a bullet wound in her side, like shelter above, like burning alive, like the touch of a lover. Like his childhood knife in her heart, like her dear Lord in Heaven.

To her, Isaac Foster was vital.

"I can't live without you either."

Ray reached out, tattered fingertips gripping the fabric of his acid-washed jeans. Certainly, she could only assume he had found the strength to do what he needed now, because she'd just given him every motivation. In her shame, she didn't look at him even still, feeling all but unable to face his gaze, and between her heavy tears, Ray's lashes fluttered shut. She tilted back her head, exposing the soft flesh of her pale neck—as if welcoming his blade like an old friend.

"So, please, if you would," once and for all, "kill me."

That way, we'll always be together.

"Isaac."

His honest denomination fell desolately from her lips, like an overdue confession a long time in the making. Ray wanted to call him by it, if only just this once. She'd never told him, but she really liked his real name. It suited him well. For an agonizingly long moment, Zack said nothing, a heavy tension residing as a result, and the silence was so weighted—it felt like she was already dying from suffocation. But never would her death be so merciless.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?"

Finally he spoke, his voice low, sinister and raw with whatever it was fueling him right now and in all his worst moments. While unsure of his meaning, before Rachel could so much as open her eyes to observe his intentions, the feeling of his hand landed firmly upon her upper bicep. Aggressively, Zack pulled the girl to her feet, soles of her boots hardly touching the fated ground below them now. He hoisted her lithe form against his, chest to chest, closer than ever as he held her pressed to him. One arm was wrapped around her lower back, his other hand raising to entangle in the back of her hair at the base of her neck. By his touch, Rachel felt her visage grow heated, pulse spiking higher than heaven and flatlining below the ninth circle. Her heart beat against his in a rounded cardioid, restless and imperfectly in time. By the intense expression on his face, she could tell he was very, very angry.

Incidentally, he looked more like himself now than he had for quite a while.

The thought of putting her out of her misery seemed so foreign and distant now. If she really thought he'd let her get off free after doing something like that, let her take the easy way out? She was even crazier than he thought. Isaac Foster, contender for most reprehensible man in the world, was about to find a way to become so much worse, and the most horrible part? He couldn't even bring himself to regret it anymore.

He was done acting like she was the victim here.

"I told you to suffer the consequences."

Everything he'd felt for her and held back up until this moment, which certainly should've manifested by the fall of his blade, was revealed by another burning kiss, one forced upon her unsuspecting lips. For better or worse, he couldn't see the starry shock reflecting in her eye, one of astonishment and wonder, as if unable to comprehend what was happening.

The feeling of him took her away.

Slowly, her arms rose, palms placed to the sides of his torso, gripping his hoodie as if to prove she was still alive. Consumed by the revelation, be it reality or delirium, Ray fully gave herself into the hold of the hand fated to end her, all but melting into his embrace as the truth dawned on her.

It was him.

It was him and it would always be him, not only until the pulse in her chest struck this final beat, but forever thereafter too.

With intentions no longer one-sided, neither Zack nor Ray had it in them to part so easily this time, all but consumed by a moment passionate as it was deplorable, reprehensible, unforgivable. It was a kiss more intense than the last, burning as fierce as the fire he feared, as cold as the frozen silence she sought, deeper in its intensity, fleeting all inhibition, so very like him and like her and everything they were when they were together. With the taste of condemnation burning on the tip of her tongue to his, for the first time in her life, Ray was content to simply to exist within this moment, in his arms, be her unbreathing or otherwise.

Don't ever let me go.

While Zack may have been without formal education, he was never without an understanding of right and wrong, perhaps more than most, because it would seem that he'd forever disregard it, time, and time, and time again. It would be foolish to say that morality had ever stood between him and what his heart desired, heinous as it may have been. He was a man on death row for serial murder, having killed more people than he could count—all with a smile on his face and laughter in the air. The only human decency he had ever shown was three, measly seconds, and Ray's were up.

Isaac Foster had fallen obsessively, morbidly, helplessly in love with her, this delirious little girl, his most crucial kill, his greatest sin and entire soul, Rachel Gardner.