Chapter 20: A True Friend
Despite his eyelids fluttering open, he was surrounded only by darkness.
For a man who lurked in alleyways most of his life, he wasn't used to this kind of dark. Even on the dullest of nights, a flickering street lamp was there to offer some sort of reprieve from sightlessness. Now, there was only deep, unyielding shadows.
Zack rose to sit up, his narrowly exposed fingertips pressed to a cold floor. He looked around the vacant nothingness, recalling where last he'd been. He remembered fighting with Larry when he'd tried to stab Ray, ultimately bested after he'd been caught so off-guard. After he'd fallen unconscious, that asshole must've brought him here—but where was "here"? Standing, his step shuffled slow and cautiously and he went forward a few paces. Only as he came to stand in a particular area did a harsh light flip on suddenly, echoing loudly as a spotlight illuminated the lone area in the otherwise dark room. Before him, on a podium, was an extravagant, topaz picture frame.
The image it showcased was a painting of Ray.
Almost as beautiful as the real thing, it was a bust portrait as she lay back with her eyes closed. On either side of her, pretty white roses framed her sleeping visage, and notably, her hand was pictured as well, resting aside her face gracefully, palm facing up. Down to the very keenest of details, she bore a scar—the proof of their blood pact.
"What the hell?"
What was even more interesting, resting on the slight protruding ledge before it was a little glass box—inside which was a small, sharp knife. He took it in hand, and wondering the meaning, Zack examined the frame a bit further, below which a placard sat with a single word, presumably the title, but he could tell it wasn't her name. Somehow, he'd felt he could still read it; it was a simple word.
"R… E… D."
Red.
Like the color?
It'd make sense that he knew it, because Ray had taught him how to read easy things like the colors pretty early on. Yeah, he was certain—it said "Red".
Why, though, was his question? It didn't look like there was a lot of red in the picture, not that he really knew anything about art. As he was left to ponder for a moment, he found himself wishing Ray was here to think for him, but looking back up, he was left with only her false, mirror image in acrylic—and only then was he struck with the meaning.
There wasn't any red in the picture—but there was supposed to be.
Zack looked back down at the knife in his dominant hand, then to his other, covered in wraps, beneath which his own scar was hidden. Without reluctance or hesitation, he placed the blade's edge to his palm, tearing through the bandages and his marred flesh, reopening his long-healed, most precious wound. Sure enough, the resulting medium was a bright, bright red.
Raising his arm, he delicately pressed his bloodied hand to the canvas, over the painted Ray's own, her scar, leaving a print.
For a moment, he'd have almost thought he'd done something wrong, because nothing happened, but as he removed his hand from hers, a loud noise resounded, and the frame shook slightly. Stepping back abruptly, he was able to move out of the way before the whole picture fell off the wall completely, to the floor, the glass casing shattering into a million pieces. Staring at the shards at his feet, perspiration gathered at the base of Zack's bandaged neck and he grit his teeth.
Didn't like that at all.
"Shit…" Peering back up to where the painting had been, a small, square gap in the wall revealed a lone vase, what looked like it could hold maybe a single flower. It seemed pretty obvious what he had to do, but peering around, there was only the shattered picture and endless darkness. What, was he just supposed to fumble around until he found a damn daisy or something?
Then, remembering the picture he'd just been staring at, he had a hunch.
Zack leaned down, taking the canvas in hand, flipping it back over to observe it again. Sure enough, white roses, Zack realized. He didn't know much about flowers, but he knew that kind—he knew it well, because Ray had given him one on his birthday… the first present anyone had ever given him. She'd even taught him how to preserve it by pressing it between the pages of a little book.
Since then, he carried it with him wherever he went.
Not that he told her that…
Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out said book; it was so small it fit in one hand. He opened it to reveal the gracefully dried rose, and knowing it'd crack and crumble if he wasn't careful, with an abnormally delicate touch (if not a little nervous and shaky,) he took it by the stem. Against his better judgment, Zack put it in the vase, staring at it dully for a long, passing moment.
Without warning, a press jutted down from the topside of the square shaped box in the wall.
Crushing both the rose and vase with an overwhelming force, a loud "thud", Zack was taken aback, enough so that he stumbled and fell. "Fuck!" he shouted, and not just because he'd landed in the broken mess of glass, his already tattered hand getting cut up worse. The sound of a breaker flipping followed, and in the same moment, the room lit up, harsh fluorescents pouring down on him, stunning him momentarily as his vision adjusted. He peered around frantically, as if looking for answers, but it was as bland in the light as it was in the dark, wooden walls with gold trim. The only thing of note was a red curtain on the left side, which just as quickly drew open, like the start of a stage play. Behind the drapes was a large, glass barrier, revealing a second half of the room.
Most notably, Rachel sat slumped against the surface on the other side.
Instantly, he sprinted in her direction. "Ray!" he called, but before he could so much as reach the clear pane, another voice rang out, layered by the sound of an intercom, but still one he recognized easily: Lawrence.
"So wonderful of you to join us, Zack."
While it'd seem Ray hadn't heard him call to her, she was however alerted to the overhead speaker and the lights flashing on. She turned, seeing Zack on the other side as he ran to her, to which she frantically pressed her hands to the glass; he couldn't hear her either, but he easily read her lips as she called out his name, Zack!
Jumping to the same solution he always did, he began slamming his hands against the surface, but all that resulted was the heavy sound of failure, empty thudding; it was far too thick to be broken through with his fists alone. He cursed beneath his breath, ultimately falling to kneel too, pressing his hands to the transparent barrier, over hers, as if trying desperately to reach out and take her. His heart wrenched as he looked upon her visage, a mutual longing clear as her knuckles curled. On either side of the pane, a dark maroon smear appeared between their hands, and Zack noticed her own palm, slit across the middle and bleeding, just like his.
Alerted, he looked beyond Ray, seeing a similar scene that almost mirrored the one on his side. A befallen frame in glass shards, only the portrait on the ground was of him instead, and a broken vase with a crushed rose. He recognized the flower as the already tattered one he'd given to her on her birthday—the one barely surviving after he stomped on it. Whatever life it'd been holding onto was long gone now.
"You've been sleeping for quite a while. Ms. Rachel woke up thereabouts an hour ago now and solved her puzzles rather quick," stated Lawrence, to which Zack looked up to the ceiling, teeth grit ferociously, as if searching to find the physical source of the voice. "Unfortunately, while waiting for you to awaken, she's been unable to stop her bleeding. Poor thing—she's looking rather weary, wouldn't you say?" he "tsk'd", and Zack's gaze once again drew back to the aforementioned girl. Even more-so than normal, she was pale, white as a sheet, a little droplet of sweat drifting down the side of her head. The bags under her eyes were heavy, and she looked spent.
"You bastard!" he called out, clenching his fists. "The fuck is all this about?!"
"My," he replied, and though Zack couldn't see his face, he could almost hear his smirk, "I certainly would've thought you two of all people would find this situation rather familiar."
Towards his very peculiar explanation, Zack felt a cold, uncomfortable chill running down his spine.
"Welcome," Lawrence said, "to my art museum."
As if to confirm his suspicions, Zack looked Rachel in the eye, and he could tell, in that moment, they both had the same hunch of what his deeper meaning was—and it wasn't good. "If you're still in the dark, you need only progress further, and before long, I'm sure you'll gather the clarity you so seek." The tick of a lock turning resounded, and the foremost walls of either room opened to reveal themselves as parallel doors. On Rachel's side, there was a stairway leading up, and on Zack's, one leading down. "Enter through the doorways, and we'll talk in the next room," he added. "Oh, and leave the knives behind."
The sound of the speaker shutting off was heard, and Zack and Ray were left to helplessly stare at one another—knowing there was no other choice than the paths in front of them. In his frustration, Zack lowered his neck a touch, forehead pressed to the glass, and Rachel did the same. Once more, they locked eyes, and Ray winced as Zack grit his teeth, both more pained by the two inch thick glass between them than the matching flesh wounds they bore.
Despite Lawrence's instructions, for a moment, they remained near, yet insurmountably far.
Zack searched her gaze for answers as to why this was happening, but with their bloody hands overlapping even yet, Ray could only offer but one word of assurance, and even through the soundproof glass, he understood her perfectly.
Promise.
With his expression hardening in confidence, after a moment, Zack gave a nod on understanding. They both rose to their feet, lending one another a last glance, then turning towards their respective doors. They entered, Ray going up, Zack going down.
In the middle of a dark garage, a little girl stood over the body of an adult man. He was lifeless, unmoving, covered in slashes and stab wounds. Blood pooled beneath him, splattered across her face and dress. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and in her hands, she held a sharp knife.
This was the first person Evangeline Lovett ever killed, John Smith.
It's been a few years since I met Larry. He's my papa now, but even more than that, he's my favorite person ever. He treats me better than my other parents ever did. He teaches me things and he's patient when I don't understand, he takes me to all kinds of places because he wants me to have fun, gives me nice things and I don't even have to ask. He's the greatest person ever and my best friend, so when he tells me to do something, I listen to him. When Larry told me this man deserved to die, it must have been true.
When he told me I had to kill this man, I knew I had to.
This man? He was mean to Larry. Larry loved him, but he loved someone else. He forgot about Larry, he was evil and cruel, like the kids at school who bully me. When someone hurts Larry, they hurt me, and I have to protect him like he protects me.
Because I… love Larry.
Eve fell to her knees, sniffling, palms placed upon the cold cement. She shook as she cried, her reflection clear in the pool of blood. She'd always loved the color red, but she couldn't help feeling resentful towards it now.
But, if that's the case, if I did what I was supposed to do… why do I still feel so bad?
She didn't much remember her birth parents by this point, but she remembered something her mother told her a long time ago—that everyone had a rose in their heart, and Eve's was beautiful. Eve couldn't help wondering if that was still true.
"There there, Sweetheart," a gentle voice echoed about the otherwise empty garage. Around her, she felt the embrace of his larger arms, scooping her up, holding her against his chest. She quickly clung to him, sobbing quietly against his shoulder, because she always felt safest when she was in his arms. "I know it was scary, but you did a good job. I'm proud of you." He stroked the back of her hair softly, hushing her as he walked to a nearby car, parked not far away at all. When her tears didn't stop, his voice perked up a bit. "Say, after we get you cleaned up, why don't we go have your favorite ice cream?" he said, and against him, she gave a slow nod. "That always helps you feel better."
Eve wondered if it'd be enough this time.
"Larry," she whimpered. "A-Am… am I bad?"
"Bad?" Larry repeated almost incredulously, maneuvering to look her in the eye, genuine in concern. "Of course not, Darling," he assured her. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to the center of her forehead. "You're my angel."
The stairways, like the last room, were lit with harsh, white lights, and while they couldn't see one another anymore, on either side, identical paintings lined the corridors, one after another, like a storyboard to a familiar tale.
A little girl in front of a blue moon, then in an alley with a bird. A smirking man covered in bandages, brandishing a scythe. An elevator, then a man with three different colored eyes wearing a lab coat, that same little girl on a table. Blood. Another elevator, a graveyard with pretty flowers, a little boy with a funny mask, blood, elevator, a woman with pink highlights, a man in a large metal chair, two syringes, a gun, blood, elevator, a man without eyes, an organ, a white snake, purple smoke, a knife, holy cross, a church, elevator, blue moon, television set, more flowers, music box, elevator, elevator, elevator—
The man from the beginning, no longer holding his scythe, but instead the little girl, both tainted by splotches of red, surrounded by flames on all sides.
And then, it just ended.
By the time Zack and Ray reached the end of the respective stairways, they were both shaken to the core, suspicions confirmed. While the question of how Larry knew about their past so vividly hung in the air, what was even more anxiety inducing was what it meant for their situation at present. Entering through another set of doors, they had a feeling they'd soon find out.
Once more they found themselves on opposite sides of the same room, divided by prison bars this time, and perhaps more menacingly, a twenty foot drop. Ray's half was upon a raised platform, the floor beneath her being clear glass, revealing an enclosure filled with water, like an aquarium tank. On the other end, Zack stood before a maze with gaps in the floor, a lot like the one Ray guided him through on B3, but not exactly. Notably, some tiles had small, inactive, circular spouts, and while he wasn't quite sure what they were used for, beneath his wraps and jacket, the air felt very hot. Showcased on either side were matching paintings, Ray's being a drowning siren surrounded by a dark ocean, bleeding out inky black from the eyes and mouth, and Zack's was of a man with burning wings, flying too close to the sun.
Even more than the last room, neither of them liked anything about this new set up.
"Did you enjoy the last exhibit, my friends?" Lawrence's snark echoed through the large room.
While Zack threw out a few choice profanities, Ray remained centered. "How do you know about us?" she asked pointedly, taking a few steps to place her hand on one of the iron bars.
"He's been lyin' to us about everything from the start!" Zack called out to her.
"Lying is such a strong word, Little Brother," Lawrence replied, and Rachel's brow knit together. Brother? "I was merely… omitting truths for simplicity's sake," he stated, to which Zack spouted out a "fuck off" into the void. "Regardless, as much as I'd like to stay and chat, time is of the essence," and, as if on cue, on Ray's side, a digital clock flashed on, reading "03:00", three minutes. "And since we are so short of time, unlike the last puzzle, I'll be generous and tell you the rules of this room." (Asshole of the year, over here.) "For Ms. Rachel, it's simple. Just stand there and look lovely for my darling brother—like the corrupted little succubus you are."
While Ray's expression remained remarkably unchanging, as if she'd not heard him at all, Zack held his arm to the ceiling, middle finger extended. "Go to hell, Jackass!" he shouted.
"You wound me, Zack," he feigned hurt, obnoxiously dramatic as he'd always been, "but, I suppose you've earned it, considering what comes next," Larry said menacingly. "You see, the second the countdown clock reaches zero, the floor beneath Ms. Rachel's feet will collapse and she'll fall into the water tank below," he explained, and Rachel, alerted, peered down to her feet, though her vacant gaze betrayed the anxiety creeping up her spine, "and then it'll be sink or swim."
Zack's breath hitched, mind racing with sudden realization.
"She'll… she'll drown."
"Indeed," a false sense of sympathy coated Larry's voice, "a shame isn't it?" A sigh. "Oh, but don't fret now, because I'll, of course, allow my dear brother a chance to save his beloved," he explained, to which Zack spat on the floor to demonstrate his disgust. "Somewhere in your half of the room is a key to the water tank. You need only find it, and you can release her."
Even for a self-proclaimed idiot, Zack wasn't so stupid as to think that it'd be that straight-forward. "Something's tellin' me it ain't as easy as you're makin' it sound, Jerkoff," he replied, and Larry huffed a small laugh, as if to confirm his suspicion.
"Do me a favor, my brother," he said instead of answering. "Take a step forward, yes?" he asked, but Zack knew it was more of a demand. With a mismatched, narrowed gaze, as much as he wanted nothing to do with this asshole beyond slitting his throat, a step forward meant a step closer to Ray. After a moment, he resentfully did as told.
Upon his foot coming in contact with the very next tile, the rest of the room lit up an intense, bright orange as fire shot up through the spouts on the floor.
"You need only make your way through the maze of flames, and then you'll be able to save Ms. Rachel."
Letting out an audible shout of terror, Zack stumbled, falling back—scooting away even farther in attempt to flee as far as possible. "Zack!" Ray called in distress, but he almost didn't hear her, and extending her hand from the bars like she was trying to reach out to save him, the distance was too horrifically vast. "Stop it, why are you doing this!" Rachel cried out to Larry in his stead, realizing Zack's paralysis. "It's cruel!"
"On the contrary," said Mr. Lawrence, "I think you'll find this puzzle is remarkably humane, because there is one more option for my brother, should he finally wise up and come to his senses." Off to the side, the sound of creaking was heard, and Zack, stunned and scared, used all his strength to look for the source, seeing a large metal door opening. While it led to darkness, it was easily accessible, and most notably, nothing burned beyond the silver frame. "The escape door there leads back to the outside, where I'll be awaiting you. I'm willing to forgive you for your transgressions, should you so choose to forget Ms. Rachel, and return to me instead," he so kindly offered, and it Zack a moment, but somehow, the flames around him only made his rage burn hotter and more furiously than it perhaps ever before.
"Suck my fuckin' dick, Dude!" Zack shouted, because he could never forget Ray, not in a million years—especially not for the sake of this fuckin' psychopath.
"You'd really rather risk your life burning to death for a little girl you think you're in love with?" Larry asked, annoyance clear, and the accusation that his feelings for Ray were somehow fabricated was nothing less than personally insulting to Zack.
Without a doubt, "You bet your ass I will."
Shakily, Zack rose to his feet, giving everything he had to steady himself as he was practically hyperventilating. "I can't say I'm surprised… just disappointed." On the intercom, Larry let out a sigh. "Right then," he concluded, the sound of the speaker shutting down following his final sentiment. "You may begin."
A loud blaring was heard, and the digital clock began ticking backwards.
"Zack," Rachel called out to him, "don't be afraid!" Across the way, he peered towards Rachel gripping the iron bars, and as a rare look of concern showed genuine upon her features when she gazed back, he was determined to return her boring expression if it was the last thing he ever did. "You can do this," she told him, encouraging the same way she always had and would. "I believe in you!"
As her confidence flowed through his entire body, Zack clenched his fists, centering himself with his resolve growing firm.
With reckless abandon, he ran into the foremost gap in the flames.
Heat swarmed him on all sides, the overwhelming temperature riddling him painfully to his core. His knees shook and he struggled to both move quickly and keep himself steadied. Despite everything, his mind was remarkably blank, overtaken by instinct, his go-to mechanism of self-defense. Left, left, hot, forward, right—no, shit, dead end, back! Forward, forward, fuck the heat, only forward, to her.
Jesus fucking Christ, when had he started loving Ray more than he hated the idea of burning alive?
He recalled the other day when he'd been practically unfazed as he personally took revenge on the bastard who lit him on fire, and then when he helped burn Ray's house down—even way back when they'd escaped that horrible building as it collapsed to the ground in flames. Never once was his fear of fire the most overwhelming force that drove him, but the way he felt for her. His feelings for Rachel burned brighter, against his will, beyond his control, and that's why losing her now terrified him so fucking much—much more than the flames themselves.
Without realizing it, he found himself in front of the water tank, looking up at Ray behind bars—but close as they were, they were far from the end.
The clock on the wall read a little less than a minute left. "Zack," Ray called down, kneeling to better see him, some kind of emotion he didn't quite recognize in her voice, "you're okay!" she said, but he wasn't sure if she was relieved, or merely trying to reassure him, though he knew their half-hearted reunion was premature.
"I haven't found the key!" he called up to her.
Ray stood, surveying the burning arena to the best of her ability. "I think there's something in the corner over there!" She pointed to the left, but she couldn't easily discern the pathway to get to it. Nodding, Zack followed the tip of her finger, and almost too easily, the path seemed to flow as straight-forward as it could. Just when he thought he was almost to the end, home free, he was met with burning walls barricading him on all sides.
A dead end.
No, shit, he thought, what—what do I do? I don't—I don't have time to keep—! Zack's internal distress was cut short, as if to audibly conclude his fear. A loud blaring was heard again, and he pivoted on his heel, looking back the very moment the clock hit zero.
Time was up.
Beneath Ray's feet, the glass floor collapsed open, overlapped by the sound of her voice as she gasped, taking one deep, final breath. Just as quickly, she was submerged in the water with a loud splash. "Ray!" Zack called out, forgetting all about progressing forward, instead running back to her as she flailed to stay above water with little success.
He could only stand, watching her struggle, feeling just as helpless as she. He reached for the iron lock, trying to jerk it loose, but he already knew it was no use without a tool to break it or a key to unlock it. She tried to reach towards him beyond the barrier, but even that proved too much, her grace and coordination lost completely under water. He could see the distress growing on Ray's expression as she held her breath, cheeks turning red from the lack of air, and suddenly, Zack was overwhelmed by a terrifying realization.
Ray was going to drown.
She was going to die.
"N… No," he said in disbelief, almost so inaudibly that he could hardly even hear himself. His palms curled into tight fists, teeth clenched painfully, body so tense it was like a rope tied in an unforgiving knot. His heart raced, almost unable to process what was about to happen, but just as quickly, he knew he had no choice. "Dammit!" he shouted, an exclamation of his pathetic frustration, completely unable to do anything. He was useless, helpless, powerless.
I don't… want you to die!
Hard as humanly possible, he slammed his fists on the glass.
Crack.
He let out a gasp, almost in disbelief as he felt a tiny jet of water on his hand. Almost testing if he were imagining things, he didn't think twice before reeling back with his fist, repeating the same motion, and sure enough, another crack. It was just a little, but clearly, he'd fractured the tank; it wasn't like the barricade between them in the last room—it was fragile, not reinforced or thick, and most importantly, able to be broken.
Without an ounce of hesitation, he full-on turned to the side, ramming the tank with the blunt of his shoulder. A larger crack, slam, then another, slam. Zack refused to stop as a spider web of fractures spread out wider and wider, only exacerbated by the weight of the water pushing through on the other side, now seeping into every vulnerable crack until the pressure became too strong.
All at once, the tank shattered into a million shards, the force of a tidal wave cascading over Zack as he was swept back.
The flames on his side were doused equally, extinguishing away his fear. He recollected himself as the water settled, pooling on the floor at calf-length, enough for him to stand. Noticing the husk of blonde a few feet away, he quickly ran to her side. "Ray!" he called, and scooping her up into his arms as he knelt, he couldn't begin to express his relief as she began to cough and hack, waterlogged but still alive.
"Zack," she called weakly, eyes cracking open, her expression abnormally gentle as the corner of her lips turned upwards, "you did it… you saved me."
"On fucking God," he choked out, "I'm teachin' your ass how'ta swim when we get outta here." Around her shoulders, his grip grew tighter as he pulled her to his chest, and he knew he was probably holding her a little too roughly considering what she'd just been through, but he almost couldn't restrain himself. "Don't ever fuckin' scare me like that again, you hear me?" he demanded, to which Ray's unsteady breath hitched.
Zack was scared?
Her delicate palm rose to stroke his back tepidly. "I'm sorry," she whispered softly, comforting him, "I didn't mean to make you worry."
In the midst of their sentimental moment, the sound of clapping was heard, loudly, clearly over the intercom. "Bravo, Zack. You never cease to amaze," said Larry, and the addressed—beyond pissed, angered to his core, began to let Rachel go, but as she murmured a soft, distressed call "wait, don't let go", he gripped her tighter, held her still, however no less keen to curse Lawrence out.
"Fuck you, Dickwad!" Zack called, his nails digging into Ray's neck as he held her head to his chest. "Come out, so I can fuck you up!"
"Unfortunately, I'm afraid we can't meet yet, dear brother," he said, "but if you progress onwards, before long, I have the utmost faith that you and I will finally see eye-to-eye."
The sound of the intercom shutting down echoed, and Zack's hold on Ray finally went slack. Both parties backed away to gaze one-another in the eye. Her hand rose from his back, placing itself to his bandaged cheek. "Are you okay?" she asked genuinely, and after a moment, he nodded weakly, wanting to remind her that she was the one who'd nearly drowned. Zack stood finally, still holding her in his arms bridal-style, turning towards the northern door; like the escape exit, all along, it'd been open.
He took a few paces forward, and they found themselves walking a long, dark hall. After a moment, Zack only ushered a dull laugh to Ray's curiosity. "Scared yet?" he parroted himself, however humorless, and to his surprise, Rachel only exhaled a single giggle as she shook her head, resting against his chest, her hand finding its way to wrap around the back of his neck.
"No," she said, "but I can't wait to get out of this dress." (Zack couldn't wait for that either, wanting to remind her of his offer to strip her, but he figured now wasn't the time.) After a moment, Ray's expression warped, returning to the necessary upset for their situation, but she seemed more curious than anything. "Zack," she spoke quietly, "Mr. Lawrence… kept calling you 'brother'."
Reluctantly, Zack nodded, knowing there was no use beating around the bush. "He went to the same orphanage as me, so I guess we kinda were," he told her, "but that don't mean shit to me now, 'cause… he tried to make me kill you."
Interestingly, Rachel didn't seem surprised.
"He's the one who's been framing you. Eve told me," she explained, and Zack, almost stunned, looked down at her as he gaped. "Zack," she said, her tone laced with an odd sense of concern, "he's been abusing her. He's making her kill people, but she doesn't want to." If only slightly, Zack winced. Just when he thought there couldn't be a sicker fuck in the world than himself, something else crazy happened in his already batshit crazy life. "I… want to help her. I want to save her," Ray told him, and while he had no qualms, fully intending to rid the world from the insane fuck that was his dickwad "brother", what Rachel said next didn't sit well with him at all. "You and I, we… we can take care of her."
Cut back to Zack, fashioning an uncomfortable expression, knowing exactly where this was going and wanting no part of it.
"Ray… she ain't a pet." She was a human, a little girl. "You'd just be puttin' her in one bad situation to another," he explained, because there was hardly an outcome that ended with everyone happy. Did she really not see what was wrong with two runaway criminals adopting a young child? One of whom was almost as young as her? (Dumb question, of course she didn't.) "The only reason you became friends at all is 'cause he wanted to use you to get to m—"
"No!" Rachel shook her head, her grip on him growing tighter. "That's not true!" she exclaimed, and after a moment, Zack only sighed through his nose.
"We'll talk about it later," 'cause God knew Ray's delusions were the last thing he needed to worry about right now. "Let's just focus on getting out of here," he said, reaching the end of the hall.
With the door slamming shut behind them, locking loudly, Zack and Ray found themselves in a chillingly familiar room, though both knew they'd never been here before. The walls were painted to look like brick, over which various graffiti was drawn. The floor looked like a road with a crosswalk, topped by bright red blood stains and the white outlines of two figures, like victims from a crime scene. A fake alley, in the middle of which a lone gun lay.
"The fuck is all this about now?" Zack called out loud as he set Ray back to her feet, though she clung to his arm yet.
"Always impatient, aren't you, Brother?" Larry replied, once again over the speaker.
"Stop fucking calling me that!" Zack bit out aggressively. "We're not brothers!"
"My, and you seemed so very keen on the idea when I first told you," Larry taunted him, and it caught Ray's attention more than his. Had Zack… actually been happy about it, or was Larry just trying to get under his skin? "It hurts me to hear you say that, because, as Ms. Rachel told you, we have so very much in common."
"Common?" Zack laughed incredulously, as if the idea were ridiculous. "What, you think just 'cause I know you're a killer now, we're all buddy-buddy? You're not like me at all, you coward!"
"You use Zack's name to cover up what you do," added Ray, gripping Zack's sleeve tighter, and he put his hand atop hers, "so you can go on pretending to live a normal life, hiding in plain sight." Zack may have been a murderer, but at least he owned up to his crimes and never denied who he was.
"You're just'a thin-dicked imitation," towards the speaker on the ceiling, Zack pointed his finger upwards and narrowed his eyes, "threadin' the needle with your thin, thin dick."
A long pause followed before Larry finally replied. "Well, my brother," Lawrence said lowly, his tone wicked, "you're about to find out just how wrong you are, for you both see the gun there, yes?" he asked, to which Zack and Ray looked upon it. "One of you is going to take it, hold it up to the side of your own head, and pull the trigger."
"...'Scuse me?!" Zack shouted, not hardly missing a beat. "Why the fuck would we do that!"
"Because," Larry replied simply, and Zack could almost hear his insufferable smile again, "that's the only way to leave this room."
"Says fucking you," Zack scoffed. Like always: "We'll figure a different way out, Prick!"
Over the intercom, Larry "tsk'd" at him. "Maybe you would if you had the time, Zack darling, but you see, from the moment you stepped in this room, toxic gas started pouring in from the vents on the floor," he said, to which Zack blurted out a confused "huh?!" as he gazed about the area, though he saw no sign of the supposed fumes. For a moment, he almost thought Larry was lying, that is, until he looked at Rachel.
She rose a hand, clutching her chest as she breathed heavier now.
Shit.
"Poor Ms. Rachel. She really has been through the ringer today, hasn't she? And after you so nobly promised to keep her safe—but you already know, don't you, Zack? You're not fit to care for anyone," Larry accused him, to which Zack only clenched his teeth, trying desperately to block him out, instead setting his focus on Ray as he braced her to remain tall, though she pushed herself away slightly, trying to insist she was fine. "I'd say she has about another three minutes at best, and you perhaps five," he explained, far too casually. "So, either you both die here, or just one, but I have a feeling I know," his tone warped lowly, with a dark sort-of knowingness, "what Ms. Rachel will choose."
Sure enough, instantaneously, Rachel darted from Zack's side.
…Shit!
"Oh, no ya don't!" he shouted, reaching out and taking her by the upper arm. She struggled to pull away with little success.
"Let me go!"
"Don't listen ta him, Ray!" he tried to reason with her, but she only shook her head vigorously. Turning swiftly, Rachel jutted her leg towards him, her foot coming in contact with his shin, and despite her weakened state, she wasn't merciful. "Fuck!" Zack exclaimed in pain as he reflexively let go. Fury lit upon his expression, but she didn't stay to observe it, running towards the gun again. "You bratty little shit!" he cursed as Ray swept up the armament, just as quickly holding it to the side of her head. Zack reached out again, with both hands this time—one palm clamping around her neck, the other twisting her arm to restrain her.
"I-I won't," Ray shouted, and with her free hand, she began shoving Zack away by the shoulder, "let you die!" she declared. "I won't!" Vigorously, she shook her head. "I can't…!"
Despite her usual lacking force, the feeling of Rachel's defiance was overbearing. Zack let her go, stealing away the gun as he did, and she collapsed to the floor helplessly, growing weaker and weaker by the second. Twice, now, had he choked the life out of Rachel, both instances on account of how much he loved her. He wasn't sure why, but hearing Ray express the desire for him to live made him feel incomparably weak in a way toxins could never poison him. It wasn't really a shock though, because Ray had always been the stronger of them, now being the prime example, because he couldn't just man-up and let her follow through.
If not exemplified in the previous room, he couldn't deny it any more.
No longer was his greatest fear that which scarred and disfigured him long ago, but instead the thought of living on without the little girl in front of him, and unless he was the one killing her, "I won't," Zack muttered as he gazed down at the gun in his hands, "let you die, either."
Meaning there was but one choice left before him.
Slowly, to Rachel's absolute shock and horror, his arm rose, and he held the gun's barrel to the side of his head.
"S… stop," she called, tears pooling in her ducts as she struggled to clamber to her knees, delegated to the ground once more as she lost all feeling in her body. "Stop it, Zack!" Ray begged, weeping now. As she lay on the floor sobbing, all Zack could do was stare down towards her, at a loss, knowing the least he could do was prove that asshole wrong. Closing his eyes, he again reminded himself of how he swore he'd protect her, so that's what he was going to do. "Don't do this!"
Zack's grip on the trigger flexed. "Ray," he said breathlessly, "I'm sorry."
Click.
...Huh?
Zack gasped, feeling nothing, and not in the way he should've. The gun hadn't fired—it'd been unloaded. His eyelids snapped back open, looking down at Ray laying desolately about the ground yet, a mixed look of relief and disbelief on her face, as if she couldn't fathom what he'd just done, what he'd tried to do.
As it would happen, she wasn't the only one unhappy about it.
"Zack, behind you!"
A lithe arm wrapped around Zack's neck from his back, taking him in an acute chokehold. He sputtered and gasped, quickly caught off guard as his vision began to blur. Between the asphyxiation and toxic gas, his consciousness quickly grew thin. He was lowered to the ground as his body grew heavy, and the last thing he could distinguish was the sight of a tall man standing over him, wearing a gas mask.
"You should've listened to Ms. Rachel, Little Brother."
In the middle of the forest, Eve sat holding the lifeless calico in her arms—the calico she tried to pet earlier that day, then killed that very same evening.
Having noticed the scratch on her hand, Larry told her she knew what needed to be done. Hopelessly, she listened, just like she listened when Larry told her to tranquilize Rachel and bring her back to the cabin, and by that point, Eve knew what he was planning.
Actually, that was wrong. She'd known what he was planning from the very start.
She knew what he was going to do from the moment he told her to go up to the blonde girl in the museum and make friends with her. She listened when Larry told her to kill that other man with that special knife, when he told her to sew up her bunny, when he told her to stay quiet after he killed Whitney. She was to blame for all of them, one death after another, because she listened to Larry every step of the way, and because of her, everything went just as he planned.
Except for the fact that she'd actually come to care about Rachel. That wasn't part of the plan.
Rachel… I like Rachel.
I love Larry, but Rachel is my friend. She's really smart, and pretty, and we always have fun. She isn't mean to me like everyone else, and I always look forward to spending time with her. I don't understand what Larry meant when he said that she's not a good girl. Is it because she's made mistakes? I can tell she feels bad about it. I can tell she wants to change. It's not too late for her to change, she just needs a little help, is all.
No, I'm certain—Rachel isn't a bad person.
I don't understand why it has to be this way. Larry said that if he kills her, Mr. Foster will be my uncle. Which sounds nice, because I like him, but I don't understand why Rachel can't also be part of our family. Just yesterday, we were all having fun together. We were all happy. I don't want things to change. I want to help her.
I don't want Larry to kill Rachel. I want to be friends…
Friends forever.
When he awoke this time, all was white.
Bright white—so bright it was hard to keep his eyes open. His head pounded and body ached, and he couldn't even prop himself up with his arms, his elbows buckling beneath him reflexively. He caught himself narrowly, forcing himself to look around. The entire room was otherwise empty, save for a large painting on the wall. A few feet away, Ray lay on her back with her eyelids cracked open slightly, awake but clearly weak, looking to him at her side. "Zack," she whimpered, her shaking wrist raising from her side barely as she tried to reach out and make sure he was still really there. Just as he was about to reach back, Rachel cried in pain. "Agh!"
"Careful now, Ms. Rachel." Announcing his presence, Lawrence stomped and held Ray's wrist to the floor beneath his heel. "You're still under the influence of those icky toxins."
"Y-You bastard!" Zack exclaimed. "Get off her!" he demanded, forcing his heavy body to move, but as he was still weak, he was quickly stopped when Lawrence turned towards him, kicking him in the stomach. Zack toppled again, curling up in a ball slightly.
"Still choosing the little slag over a brother who actually cares," Larry shook his head as he gazed down at Zack, "but I suppose I can't blame you. Having gone your whole life without knowing what actual love is?" He peered over to Rachel, a dissatisfied expression reflecting his contempt for her. "Truly, I feel sorry for you."
"Shut the hell up," Zack choked out ferociously. "You have no idea what the fuck you're talkin' about."
"Don't I?" Larry asked, kneeling down to better look him in the eye. "Tell me, Zack, has Ms. Rachel ever told you that she loves you? That she cares?" he prodded, and almost reflexively, Zack looked back towards the aforementioned. "That you matter to her at all?" he asked, and guiltily, Rachel only avoided his gaze. For some reason, Zack felt his beating heart sink deeper, even though it'd already been drowning as hopelessly as Ray in the water.
What—did I really think she'd say anything now?
"As I thought," Larry hummed, witnessing their silent exchange. Once again, Lawrence stood, turning towards the far wall, gazing pensively at the painting, as if studying it. It was wide with a golden frame, the picture it showcased being an abstract illustration of bright paint splotches that vaguely looked like some demented narrative.
"You have no room to talk," Rachel accused him. "You've been making Eve kill people, you're taking advantage of her!" Shakily propping herself up, she glared at the back of his head. "You don't love her at all!"
Towards Rachel's accusation, an intensity lit within his expression, and he turned to stare at her from over his shoulder.
Pivoting on his heel, he took a few fast steps toward Rachel, kicking her in the stomach with an even greater force than he'd used on Zack. She shouted in pain, but he didn't show mercy, grabbing the girl by the neck and holding her in the air, choking her out. Zack flung some aggressive manner of warning his way, but Lawrence disregarded him, his attention set solely on Rachel.
"Everything I've ever done for that girl is because I love her," he stated sharply, but Ray wasn't so convinced.
"Then, wh-why?" Rachel gasped, struggling for air. "Why are you making her do things she doesn't want to do!"
Quickly, his composure returned with his answer. "For the same reason I asked you to be her friend, knowing damn-well from the start that I was going to kill you," Larry smirked deviously. "Because there are lessons my daughter must learn, lessons only I can teach her—of just how cruel the world is," particularly to those who didn't fit in. "People like her and I? We have to kill to merely survive. You see, there's only one person Eve will ever be able to truly rely on, and it's me," he whispered coldly, and Rachel could tell he sincerely meant every twisted word he said. "Case in point, you lied to my daughter from the start, did you not? You don't deserve her companionship," he spat, throwing Rachel back to the ground, "and one day, Eve will realize that."
In the blink of an eye, Larry withdrew Zack's knife from his pocket.
Even through the pain, Rachel looked on without fear, never once gazing away, even as he rose the blade behind his head. Once more, he took aim at Rachel's heart, thrusting down his hand with the intent to end her, and this time, the blade's edge successfully cut into the flesh of another, but it wasn't Larry's chosen target's.
Zack threw himself over Ray, using his body as a shield to protect her.
He shouted out in agony, laying atop her facedown, the knife lodged in his lower back. "Zack!" Rachel cried in terror, her arms wrapping around him. Lawrence, equally as shocked at what'd just happened, let go of the knife and took a few unsteady steps back. He could only stare, stunned. "W-Why did you—!"
"S-Shut up, I'm fine!" he cut her off, very clearly not fine.
As if to prove his feeble point, he reached behind his back, taking the blade's handle in his grip, and alongside a deep breath, he tore it out with another shout. Blood splattered across the pristine white floor, and he stumbled to stand. Rachel did the same, however using her strength to prop him up with her shoulder; he leaned on her. "Why…?" Larry asked, almost in disbelief. "Why would you… risk your life for her!?"
"Shove it, Asshole!" Zack bit out, brandishing his knife in Larry's direction. "I'm done tryin'a explain shit to you!"
"You used to be perfect," Larry said, genuinely distraught. "A perfect killer!"
For fuck's sake, "Give it a rest!"
Vindictively, he pointed at Rachel. "But she clipped your wings!"
Zack's voice rose even louder. "I said shut up!"
"That little cunt," he shouted, tone dripping almost venomously, "has ruined you!"
Without another word beyond an aggressive cry, Zack shot from Ray's side, slashing his knife at Larry's face.
He dodged in hardly the knick of time, the blade just grazing his cheek, below his lone eye. He hissed through grit teeth as blood trickled to his jaw, quickly attempting to neutralize Zack as he proceeded to keep slicing at him. For what was a matter of minutes but felt like an eternity, the two men went back and forth, until the bloodletting Zack was bested. Larry took from his hold the knife, then shoving him up against the wall, choking him out with his forearm to his neck. Interestingly, Zack allowed no sense of pain to show on his face, only anger, but Lawrence was nothing less than agonized. "I-I didn't… want to do this!" Larry shouted in his face, all composure lost. "It should've been us, you should've chosen me! You were… my brother!" he said, and with his vision growing fuzzy, for some odd reason he didn't understand, Zack couldn't help but feel strange.
Did you ever think… you were mine, too?
"Sorry," said a calm voice from behind them, "but Zack is mine."
Jumping onto Larry's back, Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck as tight as humanly possible. While it wasn't pleasant by any means, he was still able to breathe, however distracted enough to release Zack before he'd been choked to death. Foster collapsed to the floor as Larry struggled to throw Rachel off, and while it likely would've worked before long, Ray Gardner would never go down so easily.
If anyone tried to be closer with Zack—to overthrow their bond? That just proved to Ray: they had no choice but to die.
In her right palm, she gripped a large shard of broken glass, stabbing it into the center of Larry's chest.
"Wait, don't let go," Ray said intentionally, but not just because she wanted to feel his embrace for a moment longer after having almost been robbed of it when she'd nearly drowned.
As Zack and Lawrence continued their conversation, beneath them, hidden under the shallow water, Rachel felt around the shattered glass—landing on a particularly prominent piece. It was large, sharp, and its edge made her already tattered hand bleed thicker.
Perfect, thought Rachel Maria Gardner. Her trump card.
Shouting in instantaneous agony, blood quickly began seeping through his shirt and onto Ray's hand. She finally let go, stuttering away as Larry took the shard in hand, ripping it from his person, and with a look that could kill, he turned to Rachel, baring every intent to give back her consideration, but before he could, Zack jolted towards him, exhibiting his swiftness as an experienced killer.
Zack drove his combat knife into Larry's lower stomach.
For good measure, he twisted the handle, and Lawrence let out a garbled yelp as blood dribbled from the corner of his lips. Only as he'd felt satisfied with his assault did Zack withdraw the blade, shoving him to fall back on the floor, against the wall. Larry coughed and sputtered as Zack and Ray stood side-by-side, hovering over him.
"A while ago, what was it ya said to me?" Zack asked. "Ray an' me?" He huffed a cocky laugh, putting his arm around Ray's shoulder to pull her nearer. "There ain't nothing we can't do together," and just like back then, he'd had no idea about the truth in that ideal.
"This 'museum'," said Ray, "it was created to mimic the building where Zack and I met, isn't it?" she easily realized. "We didn't die then, and we're not going to die now." They'd get out together, no matter how harrowing the trials were.
Still bleeding out as he sat slumped to the wall, Larry let out a single laugh. "M-Mimic?" he repeated. "Y-You're… confused, Ms. Rachel. This isn't… a cheap imitation—but an improved recreation." Despite the blood dripping from his chin, he still found the will to smirk. "To my understanding… the first—of many."
Both Zack and Rachel's expressions warped with a deep discomfort. "The fuck does that mean?" Zack demanded, but Larry only chuckled and shook his head, shaking hands shifting to reach in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. As he gave no further answer, with patience growing thin, Zack knelt, grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt, holding his knife in the air as a warning. "I asked you a question, Motherfucker!" he shouted, but again, Larry simply laughed at him. "That's it, answer me or you're dea—!"
Bang.
A loud gunshot silenced all else in the room. Zack and Ray both pivoted, searching for the source. A few feet away, Eve stood with her arm in the air, smoking gun pointed at the ceiling where it'd been fired off.
"There's my special girl," Larry said, somehow dark as he was loving.
Towards the situation, Eve showed no sense of emotion, her expression remaining stone-cold. "Eve," Ray said weakly, putting her hands to her chest, over her heart. "Mr. Lawrence tried to kill us, he wanted to drown me, and set Zack on fire, and—!" Ray explained frantically, though she was cut short.
Without yet a word, Evangeline lowered her arm to turn the gun on Ray.
A look of genuine distraught was all that Rachel could fathom, as if she couldn't understand why she was suddenly staring down the barrel of her only friend's gun—as if she'd not been on the other end of an exchange like this a million times before. Larry only seemed all the more amused, as though this were exactly as planned. If Ray had to guess, it probably was.
"Eve, my darling," he commanded gently, "kill them."
Almost reflexively, Zack slapped his hand to Rachel's shoulder, pulling her to stand behind him safely, though she struggled to try and maintain eye-contact with Eve. "Don't listen to him!" Rachel shouted, trying to run towards her, but Zack didn't so much as allow for a straight path between them. Instead, her gun remained centered at his chest, though he showed no sense of fear. "He's—he's just using you! You know that!"
"Do be quiet, Ms. Rachel," said Mr. Lawrence dismissively, "my daughter and I are speaking."
"She's not your daughter!" Rachel cried out, almost aggressively, shaking her head before turning back to the other girl. "He doesn't love you, Eve!" Ray may not have known much of love, but she was certain this isn't what it looked like. Towards the claim, a look of conflict began to warp faint on her precious features and she hunched her little shoulders. Rachel could tell she was cracking, as could Mr. Lawrence.
"Enough of this!" he rose his voice, as if merely reprimanding a child for bad behavior, because in his mind, this was surely only that and little more. "Do as I say, Eve!"
"You don't have to listen to him!" Ray told her firmly, and as Eve's arms began to shake, she wanted nothing more than to run to her side. "Eve, please!"
"Kill them!" Larry shouted at her, and on the trigger, her finger flexed. "Put them down!"
"Eve!"
"Eve—!"
Bang.
Even as blood already soaked the floor beneath them, a brand new spatter was strung across the wall behind him, over the painting, ruining it with a bright shade of red. Larry's lone eye grew wide with disbelief, processing not only his agony, but the reality of what'd just happened. At the last, split second possible, Eve redirected her aim, no longer pointing the gun at Zack, but instead towards the center of Larry's chest.
His beloved daughter, the most precious person in his entire life, shot him in the middle of the stomach.
For a moment, he gasped and gagged, the trail of blood at the corner of his mouth running thicker and thicker until he sputtered a mouthful onto the floor. His shaking hand rose, over his lower torso, the bullet lodged in his stomach. He looked down at it, nothing less than confused, then back up to the little girl in front of him. "E… Eve," he muttered breathlessly, and she only stared back as tears began pooling silently within her ducts, his reddish glare glazing over. His bloodied fingertips rose, trying to reach out to her, but his strength was fleeting quickly. "Eve," he said again, the look in his eye growing dim and distant, "e-everything, I ever did… was because," he coughed roughly, "because, I…"
Shaking visibly, the child took a step closer, kneeling in front of him, rather like the first time they'd ever met, and just like back then, she reached out, gently brushing away his hair in his eye. He put his bloodied hand atop her head, and the two shared one last glance before his lid drew shut for a final time.
"I loved you."
Larry's hand fell to the floor as he slumped over, hanging his head, and in that moment, Eve knew he was gone.
Her little arms shifted slowly, wrapping around his unmoving torso, embracing the lifeless man. She buried her face in his chest, as if trying to better understand what she already knew, but despite being the one who'd pulled the trigger, it just didn't make sense. After a moment, she let out a small huff, then another, and another, until they warped into a barrage of quiet sobs, her tears soaking into his blood-stained shirt.
"Eve," a gentle voice finally called out, reminding her of the otherwise unmoving present. "Eve, you—"
In the blink of an eye, the little girl rose back to her feet, once more arming herself with the handgun, again pointed towards Rachel, grip so tight, her knuckles began turning white.
Distraught, Rachel winced visibly, just wanting all of this to be over, and again, Zack took her in his arms against her will. "Eve," Ray said again, voice wavering, "put the gun down," she pleaded, but Eve said nothing still. "Please," Rachel begged, "you did what you had to do," for no one else's sake but her own.
While Zack knew she was only doing what she thought was best, he muttered a low warning, "Stop it, Ray."
"No!" Ray replied, gritting her teeth, attempting to free herself. "Eve, this isn't who you are!" she tried to reason with her, but it only made Eve shake more, her tears picking up steadily. "You're a good person!" she said, freeing herself from Zack for a moment, but he grabbed her again before she got far. While Rachel may not've recognized it, the intensity in the little girl's expression was lit with the need for revenge.
"Back off, Ray!" Zack repeated.
Eve only cried, and Rachel's heart ached at the very sight of her tears. The child's shaking finger shifted, cocking the trigger, and Rachel winced, lowering her head, wishing now more than ever that she understood how to connect with another person, something that seemed to come so naturally to the girl before her.
"We're… friends, aren't we?" Ray whispered gently, peering back up towards her. "Do you remember what you said to me before? Everyone has a rose in their heart, right?" she asked, and Eve lowered her shaking hand slightly, her large red eyes zoning distantly, all light they withheld dissipating like the first day the two girls met, in the art museum so unlike this one. Rachel slowly reached out, and Zack allowed her an arms length. "Yours," Ray told her, "is beautiful."
Eve lowered her hand completely, sobs running dry as she stared at the blood-stained floor. From her pocket, she took two roses, one red, one blue, then dropped them to the ground, a few petals fluttering free from the orchids. Ray watched in disbelief as Eve's arm rose once again, though the gun wasn't pointed in her and Zack's direction.
She pointed the barrel at the side of her own head.
"No," she said, "it's wilted."
Bang.
Blood spattered across Rachel's face in a shade of red so bright, it was only outmatched by the color of Eve's big eyes—her eyes, from which all life had just drained. Ray watched helplessly as the little girl fell to the floor like a doll, and whatever feeling Rachel had in her legs was lost completely. She, too, collapsed to her hands and knees, staring with wide eyes, her azure gaze growing deeper, and darker, and desolate as ever it could.
No…
"Ray," Zack said, but his voice only warbled distantly in her mind. She almost couldn't hear him.
"No," she whispered.
Hesitantly, Zack reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. He said something, but again, she couldn't understand him. Her breath only grew unsteady, and she couldn't so much as peer away, no matter how much she desired to, the sight growing worse and worse the longer she looked on, permanently burning itself into her shrinking irises.
No, no…!
Rachel clamped her hands to either side of her head, fingers entangling in her hair, nails digging into her skull. Tears had long since formed in her ducts, quickly pooling hot and thick and painful. The sound of Eve's little voice was all that echoed in her mind, despite knowing full well she'd never, ever be able to hear it again.
"Beautiful."
Rachel screamed out at the top of her lungs.
"No!"
She sobbed helplessly, hyperventilating, and just as quickly as she broke, Zack put both his hands on her shoulders, attempting to turn her away from the horrific scene. She shook her head vigorously, refusing reality, mind racing for answers, for some way to fix this. There was nothing that couldn't be fixed. Frantically, Rachel reached into her pocket; there had to be something—anything!
Withdrawing her shaking hand, she held a small, travel sewing kit.
She flipped it open, taking the needle and a spool of red thread. Zack, alerted to her morbid, twisted intentions, quickly reached out, grabbing her wrist, and she dropped it. "Stop it, Ray!" he said, desperate to quell her, but Rachel only thrashed violently as he tried to restrain her. No matter what, he refused to let go, and he was surprised to feel her fist pounding hard against his upper chest, a rare show of defiance.
"Let me go—let me go!" Ray demanded repeatedly. "I can't… leave her like this!"
"There's nothin' you can do!" he shouted, pulling her against him, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "She's gone!"
"No!" she denied him. "She isn't, she's—!"
"She is!" Zack's voice cracked as he embraced her firmly, and not just for her sake. "She's… she's gone."
Alerted to the feeling of Zack's grip growing tight as his harsh voice shook, Rachel was somehow grounded, or at the very least, pacified by confusion. With his hand shifting to the base of her skull, he held Ray's head to his chest, her face buried against him while she sobbed. Eventually, she gave in, her hands raising to grip him by the bandaging, and before she could so much as think of life after their embrace, Zack shifted to pick her up. Through the pain, he stood, holding Rachel propped against his chest, the very same way he'd said she was too old to be held the very day before.
The same way Mr. Lawrence had always held Eve.
"Why, Zack?" Ray wondered. "Why does it always happen this way?" she asked, and while he knew the answer well, the man merely shook his head as he turned, limping towards the exit, helplessly listening to Rachel weep into his ear. "I thought… I finally had an actual friend," Rachel whispered desolately, arms wrapped around his neck as she cried over his shoulder, clinging to him like he was just about the only thing left in the universe keeping her alive. "A true friend."
She'd found one of the few people in the world that could see what little good was left inside her, and most importantly, brought that part of her out. Someone to rely on, talk with, relate to. Someone who saw her, accepted her, connected with her. Someone she cared about, who cared for her.
What was even stranger?
"So did I."