In The Clear: Games XIV
Hamilton, ON
Solene Briones sits alone on the couch in front of the television. She wraps her arms around herself as the screen switches erratically between contestants. Her breaths stop each time the camera centers on her sister. She doesn't exhale again until one of the other girls takes her place.
It's early, too early, but Solene hadn't been able to convince herself into further sleep. It was hard enough to negotiate getting in bed at all last night, even after a full day's work. She's exhausted, but it's difficult to remember that when Dom appears again.
Please, she thinks to herself without really knowing what she's asking for. She was careful not to make any unnecessary sounds as she made her way to the living room somewhere around three o'clock. Lea needs her sleep. Solene has no interest in finding out how bad her parents' hangovers will be today. She heard them come in just past two, early for them. The finale doesn't start until later in the morning. If their parents get up anywhere close to that time, Solene will be impressed.
She doesn't know if she'll be able to do this today.
Solene said the same thing yesterday, the day before, the first day of the competition period, and every single one since Dom's name appeared on the cast list.
How could you? Solene feels immediately guilty for the thought, but the bitterness doesn't recede. She understands, or at least she tells herself that she does. Two counts of murder don't disappear overnight no matter what the intent. The Cut is a way out, one way or another.
Solene's face drops into her hands. She was prepared to do this when Dom got arrested. She's spent her entire life trying to hold her sisters together when their parents refused. Solene was old enough to work first and her income made things a little easier. Babysitting and a paper route turned into fast food turned into the ice cream shop that tipped more than it paid. Things got better; they could eat most nights and had jam sandwiches to last them through school.
She was so relieved when Dom was old enough to start working. Solene wishes she hadn't been, she wishes that she would have been able to tell her sister to focus on school but that wasn't their reality. The sisters had to do it all. Solene, Lea, and Dom all working made it so much easier. It felt like they were getting somewhere that wasn't just the next day. It all fell apart when Dom was arrested.
Solene squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn't want to blame her, but what else is she supposed to do? What her sister did was stupid. It not only removed her income, but it destroyed Lea. Solene doesn't even recognize her anymore. In one swift movement, she lost both of them. Lea's spent more time in the hospital than at home the past months. She can't work. It's all on Solene again. If she doesn't take all of the burden, she's scared she'll lose Lea too. She already might have.
Their parents are trying harder. After over two decades of nothing, they're home more often but it's not helpful. All they do is fight. Solene isn't used to having parents just like they're not used to worrying about anyone but themselves. They still drink; they're still high as a kite more nights than not. Solene genuinely thinks it would be easier if they'd drop dead.
She hates every thought that runs through her head these days. She doesn't know what to do about them. Solene feels more stuck than she ever has and she doesn't want to blame her sister but what else is she supposed to do?
Just come home, Solene begs silently as the camera once again focuses on the familiar features. Please just come home and we can fix this.
She doesn't know if she believes that but, right now, she needs to believe something.
Level 2 - Main Entrance - 5:28 AM
Every time Dom looks up, her eyes find the same spot on the concrete. She hadn't noticed it before, the toonie-sized stain where Amadis had laid. Now, it's the only thing in the room that matters. She stares at it until her eyes water enough to blur the entire floor. It feels like this has been happening for hours, maybe it has been.
Her face drops into her hands. Every single thing she's done has felt wrong. When the voice told her to step away from Amadis' body, both options felt like a betrayal. She couldn't leave her friend. She finally had her back, she'd finally come to understand that Amadis had left to protect her, and Dom wanted nothing more than to stand by her side in return. On the other hand, why should Dom be the one to keep her body here? This place is no paradise, Amadis deserved to leave.
Deserves. She deserves to leave.
The tears start all over again and it feels like they never truly stopped.
Her eyes land again on the stain but it blurs so quickly this time she has to half-imagine its shape. It's so small, almost inconsequential in comparison to some of the things Dom has witnessed here. Yet even the memory of it breaks what little of her remains whole. This is all she has left of the girl that showed her what it's like to never give up. Dom never realized how much she needed to find someone like Amadis.
She wants to use her as an inspiration, as something to remind her to fight but it feels so pointless. If Amadis couldn't do it, how can she? How can Dom, the girl who learned to give up almost as soon as she learned how to read, fight for anything? All she's done is distract, run away, tell herself over and over again that nothing would change. If Lea were here, she would fight. If Solene were in her place, she would know what to do. Dom never has.
She curls further in on herself, trying to push away the memory of her sisters as quickly as she conjured it. No part of Dom wants them to know this place enough to smell it, feel it. She wants them to be safe at home, as safe as someone can be when the world has given up on them. As much as it pains her to think it, Dom hopes that - if the unthinkable happens - they'll be able to forget.
Forget me.
She doesn't want that. Some piece of her that wasn't broken, the piece that looked at Amadis and craved her confidence, shouts in opposition. Dom wants to go home. She wants to make it out of here. She wants to do everything she can, if for no other reason than to know that she tried. If she meets Amadis in whatever afterlife is awaiting them, Dom wants to know that they both fought equally hard for this.
Yet, though loud, that piece of her is so small. It kicks and screams to keep going but she's so tired. She closes her eyes and sees blood splattering the walls, tears spilling down cheeks onto concrete, everything she doesn't want to remember. She's so tired. She's seen more horrors than she thought the world could have. Dom is so tired.
She doesn't have to wake up yet. She isn't sure how long she has to wait, but for now she can be tired. She can cry every tear and hate the world and wonder how bad it truly would be if she were no longer a part of it.
But when the time comes she has to try.
One more time, she has to try.
Victoria, BC
Helene Bridges stands quickly from the couch as another commercial break begins. She holds the remote with the intent to mute it, but her shaking hand can't manage that much. What if I miss it? That's unlikely, Helene hasn't left the living room for more than the time it takes to use the washroom in days. She takes the slightest look around and is embarrassed by the evidence surrounding her. Strewn blankets, dirty dishes, and a strong scent of what she can only describe as filth. In any other situation, Helene would be horrified.
The embarrassment only lasts a few solitary seconds before she sinks back down into the couch. The cover hasn't been changed for over a month. Crumbs bite into thighs, but that's not enough motivation to do anything about it. Helene can't even remember why she stood up. She isn't hungry, there's still a half-full glass on the coffee table. She's tired, but she can't remember the last time she wasn't.
Tears start to gloss her eyes as her daughter's face appears on the screen in front of her. It's the same ad that's been playing since the morning prior, when only three contestants remained on The Cut. The monotone voice describes the approaching end and talks about each of the three girls in turn, but Helene doesn't need to listen. She has it memorized by now. All she can do is stare at her daughter, eyes wide with fear and blood splattered across her chin.
Sobs overtake Helene again, but then again it's hard to remember a time when tears haven't been running down her cheeks. She tries desperately to keep watching her daughter, to gather any last view of her even if it's this one. She knows it's not live, it's nothing but a slow moving version of something that happened days ago. Still, it's something.
Even still, she knows that something isn't always better. Helene learned that when she begged the police to allow her to see her oldest daughter's body after the accident. She had to drive all the way to her university town, but she convinced herself that she needed to. The memories of Anne had already felt faded back then. She needed something even if that something has haunted her nightmares since that very day.
The tears run down far enough that she can see the blurry end of the commercial. As long as it's still running, her daughter is still out there. The only thing Helene has left is still breathing and she refuses to think about what will happen if that ends.
Please come home.
Bridget's image leaves the screen along with the other two girls but Helene approaches it anyways. She runs her fingertips gently across the side of the television as if her daughter wouldn't recoil from her touch if she could feel it. Helene is the one that put her in this position. Sure, Bridget might have gotten caught some other way, but she would've had her mother. Helene could've been there for her, holding her and telling her how much she loved her and maybe that would've been enough to keep her from choosing The Cut.
Instead, Helene sat in her driveway most days and wondered what she could even say to her. She tried so hard to let Bridget's life keep moving forward. Helene didn't want to erase her oldest daughter, but she couldn't dwell. It was too painful. Helene had a daughter here that still needed her. Even though she made mistakes, Helene still wanted what was best for Bridget. The last thing she wanted was to trap Bridget in her sister's shadow, but somehow Helene still failed her.
I'll try again, she begs as another commercial begins. It has nothing to do with Bridget, but that doesn't matter anymore. Her daughter is all she thinks about. Please, come home and I'll try again. I'll do better.
None of the smiling people on screen give her any semblance of an answer.
Level 5 - 6:09 AM
Bridget ignores the tightening in her stomach as she paces between the debris. There isn't much left of the fifth level, only a few perches and a single path to the inner core. She's memorized all of it by now. Once in a while, the rubble breathes ever slightly as the prison creaks. However, besides that, the surroundings themselves are nearly silent.
It's up to Bridget to change that. Her footsteps are the only things keeping her sane. She picks up a chunk of concrete no larger than her palm and throws it as hard as she can at the level below. It causes a satisfying cascade of small rubble, but too soon the surroundings return to their silence.
Bridget can't stand it.
She doesn't know how long it's been, but it feels like a lifetime. It feels like none of what's happened so far is even real, yet her body responds to every shadow so strongly it must be. Bridget never thought that she would wish for the show to continue. However, waiting is an enemy of its own. Both endings - life and death - feel so far away that right now acts as some kind of limbo. She's neither. She's both.
She throws another chunk before even realizing that she's picked it up. It slams into a wall and shatters on impact. There's no cascade, no after effect that keeps going after it hits the ground. The concrete simply was until it wasn't. Now, to Bridget, it feels like she never held it to begin with.
Is that what it'll be like? She turns away from the question and walks as far as she can in the opposite direction. She's spent too much time since the doors locked thinking about what will happen if she doesn't make it. Bridget doesn't have answers. She doesn't know what will be waiting for her. Wondering won't help. If that's how things end, thinking now about where she will end up isn't going to change the outcome.
Bridget can't trap herself in death while her heart's still beating.
She needs to do something, but there's nothing to do. She didn't realize how much of her sanity rested on being able to move. For days, practically since the show began, Bridget's been in motion. It made her feel like she was accomplishing something, like maybe she wasn't as afraid as she felt because at least she could put one foot in front of the other. Someone who was afraid would hide; Bridget convinced herself of this without even realizing it.
Except she is afraid. She's terrified. She didn't walk around the prison because she was brave, she did it because waiting for someone to find her felt so helpless. At least walking she could avoid the sounds. Bridget could listen at every threshold before she crossed it and that would keep her safe.
Now there's nowhere to go. Bridget has access to nearly the whole of levels four and five but even that much is claustrophobic. Her mind isn't focused on what could be around the corner. The show has taken that distraction away entirely and now Bridget doesn't know how to keep the thoughts from reaching her.
She feels as broken as the rubble below her, as shattered as the concrete by her feet. The more Bridget thinks about all that's happened - from the first day to the last - the more she despises every breath she takes. She isn't brave or strong or resilient. She's everything that her mom saw that day she turned Bridget in at the police station. She's everything that the news sites wrote about for weeks afterward.
And the only way to change that, to become something other than the spineless snake in the brush, is to win. The rubble isn't what it used to be and neither is she. It's fallen so far and she has too. Perhaps it didn't know it was falling either, only becoming aware when it hit the ground and looked around to see nothing but destruction. Maybe, it too woke up to see that its only remaining chance was almost as broken as it was.
Still, Bridget will hold onto that chance for as long as she can. It's the only thing she has left.
Montreal, QC
Claude Toussaint moves another box from one side of the living room to the other. Most of the new house is still packed up in hasty packages shipped from the other side of the country. He's supposed to be helping his wife unpack, but this is all he's managed to do. None of the surrounding boxes have even been opened. Most of the furniture is still tethered by plastic covers from the moving van.
The only thing that Claude's managed to set up is the old television, but it's still resting on the carpeted floor. He doesn't know where the console table is, nor has he really been keen to think about it. We'll make it home, that's what his wife said as they walked through the airport a few days ago. Claude suspects that even with all their furniture and belongings unpacked, their new Montreal residence will never feel like home.
The plastic cover crinkles as he sits back down on the couch. He knows that this is what they needed to do. After all that happened in Vancouver, neither he nor his wife were keen to stay in the area. Claude left his position at the university a mere day after his daughter's arrest. It felt wrong to be there, not only because of the suspicious stares but because it once again felt like he was missing something there.
He can't even begin to put into words how much he's overlooked in the past years. Confusion isn't a strong enough word and neither is disappointment. Yet, both words settle not in his daughter, but in himself. Claude never thought that Marceline would do something like this. He doesn't understand how he missed the signs.
When Claude first arrived at the police station, he had barely even recognized her. She sat with her arms hugged around herself, her hair in her face and tear stains covering what the frizzy strands couldn't. She wouldn't look at him. She cried silently and Claude felt like just touching her would break her further. Thinking back now, he wishes more than anything that he'd hugged her anyway.
Claude kept visiting her as often as he was allowed to. His wife came too, but she never knew what to say. Claude didn't either but he tried. He didn't know how to ask how she was doing so he didn't. Another failure. He doesn't have enough fingers to count how many there's been. How didn't I see the warning signs? How didn't I notice? But he went and he kept going no matter how badly most of him didn't know what to do.
He sighs quietly into his hands, trying not to alert his wife. She's been trying her hardest to settle back in, and he knows that's best for her right now. She needs her support system here. It's why they came back. As soon as they found out what Marceline had signed up for, there was no longer a reason for them to remain in Vancouver. She wasn't there anymore.
Did I not try hard enough? Claude looks above the fireplace, to where a family photo has hung in every home the Toussaints have lived in. Of course it's not there; it's packed away with almost everything else. He pulls out his wallet and it opens to her last school photograph. Claude can't help but wonder if the smile he loves so much is even real. I wish you'd told me.
He doesn't know what he could've done to stop Marceline from going on the show. He doesn't know why she did it. She never gave any indication that she was thinking about it, or maybe Claude missed those signs too. He's always prided himself on being a man of the mind, but nothing about what's happened this past year makes any sense.
He stares at the little picture, examining every pixel as if he doesn't already have it memorized. How can I fix this, mon coeur?
Rooftop - 6:56 AM
Marcy can feel a bruise forming where she's been resting her head against the wall. It hasn't moved, or at least she doesn't think it has. Sometimes she finds herself looking up and it's gone. That's the only way she knows that she must be asleep. Otherwise, sleep and wake feel almost indistinguishable.
All her nightmares happen here.
Each time she looks to the roof behind her, someone's there. Most often it's Eris staring down at her from the top step with pupil-less eyes. Sometimes, it's Riley crawling towards her before falling unconscious, his mouth filled with blood. Once, it was a group of girls that looked so familiar except for the wounds on their heads. Yet, everytime Marcy blinked the stairs were bare again with only a few dried streaks of blood to remind her.
Why did you leave me?
Why didn't you help me?
Why are you still trying?
Marcy doesn't have an answer for any of those questions. She wants to shout to Eris that she didn't want to leave, that she wished she had stayed even if it meant going home in a body bag. She wants to tell Riley that she didn't hurt him and that she couldn't have saved him if she wanted to. She wants the group of girls to understand that Marcy doesn't know why she's still trying. In fact, she's not sure that she is.
Counting. Sleeping. Wishing. None of those are proof that she's ready for what comes next. Marcy doesn't know how long she has until safety runs out. Hours ago she begged for it to be done simply so she could escape this place. It holds too many memories. It still smells like smoke.
It still smells like smoke.
Marcy's eyes fly open and sure enough that's the first thing that greets her. She presses herself further against the door until the bruise starts to protest. That's the only way she can tell that she's awake. Marcy takes a slow breath and it - smoke - is all she tastes.
It's not the comforting tingle of nicotine or even the suffocating scent of burnt plastic. It's different in ways that she can't think enough to describe. It scorches the back of her throat, the dry skin of her lips. It pours down her throat in place of oxygen, yet when it reaches her lungs all she can do is cough.
It's not right. She can't breathe.
Marcy tries another breath but the airless sensation only strengthens. This isn't real - not because she has proof but because she doesn't want it to be. She didn't do it. She looks down and finds no matches, no lighter. It wasn't her. Marcy's eyes widen as she turns towards the top of the stairs. The smoke hovering across the steps is so thick she can no longer spot the dried blood behind it.
She puts a hand up to the barrier to steady herself, but it quickly falls through the empty air. Marcy catches herself two stairs down on the railing, fingers clenched so hard around it that her nails bite hard into her palm. She looks up again but the smoke isn't gone. It doesn't disappear like the dreams, like the people. It stares back. It moves closer.
Marcy trembles as she watches it inch towards her. The remnants of the soiled air still hang in her lungs, telling her to cough but she can do nothing but stare. It can't be real. She closes her eyes, opens them, it hasn't gone away. She tries again. This time when her eyelids lift, she can't see anything. She can't breathe.
It's a dream.
It's a dream.
It has to be a dream.
Level 2 - Main Entrance - 7:00 AM
Dom can't tell where the smoke is coming from. One moment, the air was as still as it had been since Amadis' death. The next, she was staring at a wall of grey that seemed to be barrelling towards her.
She lifts her collar up over her nose as she scrambles to her feet. Her head protests the sudden movement and sends the room spinning around her. Dom's legs feel numb beneath her, but they respond. They're too afraid not to. It's time. It has to be time.
Almost immediately, that thought is followed by the realization that she's not ready. Dom turns back towards the smoke, hoping that it won't be there, but it's gotten even closer. The faster she steps, the quicker it follows.
She's back in the common room in seconds. When she turns back, she can't even see the other room through the moving grey. Dom pauses. It's too fast. It's happening too fast.
She can't see the bloodstain on the floor anymore. For far too long, Dom wants to go back one more time. It's not her; she knows it's not Amadis. It's not going to help her. She closes her eyes for a split second before forcing herself into the stairwell. The feeling of the steps beneath her feet make the pain in her ribs that much sharper.
It's nowhere close to the goodbye her friend deserves.
Dom pauses between the staircases, but she can smell the smoke approaching behind her. It's bringing her somewhere. She knows to what but not to where. It's bringing her to the end and no matter how much time she's had she's not ready. Dom clutches the knife in her hand as hard as she can but it may as well be plastic. I'm not ready.
The next breath she takes feels like fire in her throat. Dom coughs, sending a ripple of pain down her side, but the choking feeling doesn't dissipate. It clings to her more and more the longer she stands between the staircases. She feels even more dizzy. The small stairwell feels like it's swirling down a drain with Dom still inside it.
As soon as she starts moving again, the smoke releases her. In an instant the walls regain focus and there's only the taste left behind to remind her. Dom looks back, but the smoke isn't far. It moves with her, pulsing forward with so much regularity that it reminds her of a heartbeat.
Dread follows almost as closely. Where is it taking me?
Dom knows that the answer won't matter. It wants her there and she will go. It's the only option.
She gasps as more smoke appears in front of her and takes an instinctive step back. Dom's eyes are wide as she looks behind her, but the grey wall hasn't let up. She can't see where she is beyond the platform beneath her feet. Smoke covers every spot where a wall could be, every direction except a thin channel to her left.
Dom can't see anything until she crosses the threshold. Immediately the smoke is replaced by something far more solid - a pile of crushed cement that's almost as tall as she is. Dom looks around and the entire floor is covered in dust. She can't take a single step without having to prod something out of her way.
She remembers what this is. Dom was upstairs when it happened but it looks no different from this angle. She's standing in the remains of the fourth and fifth levels.
Yet when her gaze lifts to the figure standing over her, Dom forgets all of that.
Bridget hears frenzied thuds far behind her, but her eyes don't move from the figure below. She's still holding a chunk of what might be metal in her hand, but it too goes still. It's been so long since Bridget last saw her. Part of her had forgotten that she never heard the girl's name in the announcements.
"It wasn't a big deal." The words sound like another language entirely, but Bridget remembers how they felt on her lips. "They're just trying to scare us."
The girl looks so little like the one facing her on the level below. Her hair is still tied at the top of her head, not fallen to the nape of her neck. There's no dust on her face, no soot on her uniform. "I'm not coming."
"Coward." Bridget can feel the anger hot on her lips as she recalls the exchange. Dom refused to stay out with her to look for an escape route. Their session together scared her. She was scared of the voice back when Bridget couldn't find a reason to be scared of anything. It was just a voice. It was just a stupid fucking voice and Bridget still thought she could beat it.
Bridget swallows. Too quickly the memory transforms again. This time the pair are standing in a cell with nothing but ghosts surrounding them. Ghosts that came when Dom screamed for help. Even from this distance, Bridget doesn't have to search long to find the red scratch across the girl's throat.
"She came in-" Dom held a hand to her neck, but it barely even covered the cut. The ghosts looked at Bridget with contempt. They knew what she'd done. She'd broken the shady promise to wait that few of them had actually agreed to.
Bridget watches from behind herself as the blonde girl lunges for the doorway. There are two of them in the way, but the knife lodged far too quickly in one of their chests. She feels the hand around her throat as she sees a far cleaner self get thrown into the concrete wall.
Bridget's hand twitches as it tries instinctively to make it to her neck. The chunk of metal is heavy enough that it can't get that far. She had almost been able to forget the feeling of his hand around her throat.
"Please." The words echo through the levels, but only Bridget can hear them. "Please, Bridget."
Her body shakes just as it had that day. Dom stood trapped and Bridget had wanted nothing more than to watch it end. Hate flows through her veins and it holds more heat than the surrounding air. She wanted her to die. She wanted to be the one to decide that she would. In that moment at the end of their trial, there is no denying what Bridget wanted.
When the last memory fades, for the first time in days, Bridget finds herself shivering.
If there's anyone in this prison that she should want to hurt, she's standing right in front of her. Days ago, Bridget would have told herself she was eager to do just that. She looks down at Dom and feels every bit of abandonment that she always had. Dom didn't want to be involved in her plan; she wanted to get out too but didn't like Bridget's methods. Bridget had trusted her. She told her everything she knew. She thought they were in this together, but they never were. Not for long at least.
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not." Tears blur any chance Bridget has of looking beside her and finding her mom. She can feel the hard headrest against the back of her neck. She can feel the way her hands shake as she grabs for the car door handle.
"Bridget."
No one has ever been in this with her. No one but Anne, and Anne is gone. No amount of remembering is going to bring her back. Bridget is alone. She's been alone for years and every time she thinks she's not, it's proven to her all over again.
Bridget clenches her teeth hard, trying desperately not to let the emotions free because she doesn't want them. She doesn't want these memories. She doesn't like who she is in them. Bridget hates that she still feels the same now as she did back then.
Some part of her is willing to give up everything - herself - for that poisonous fear of forgetting.
Bridget shakes her head. It refuses to leave; it digs its claws in deeper until it's all she can feel.
She still hates her mom for turning her in when she should've been the one person to understand. She still hates Dom for pretending that she was on her side when that was never true. Yet, at the same time she hates herself for hating them when Bridget doesn't even like the self she sees in those memories.
"It's been a while."
Bridget can still see Dom's blurred figure, but none of the girl's expression as she speaks. She doesn't know what Dom's words mean. Dom has every reason to fear Bridget, to hate her, but does she? Why does Bridget care about the answer? She can't afford to do anything but hate the girl in front of her. She has to kill her no matter what Bridget actually wants.
I don't even know what I want.
She stares down at the broken level, at the rubble that she's added to over the past day, and she still doesn't know. All the guilt and hatred and abandonment flow together until Bridget can't tell which of them she actually feels.
"Not long enough." There's more venom in Bridget's voice than she feels. Her shoulders grow tenser the longer she stands here. She clenches the metal chunk hard between her fingers until it feels like it's going to shatter. She stares down at the other girl and she tells herself she can't care. It doesn't matter that she's confused. It doesn't matter whatshe feels or is supposed to feel when she stares at the person in the mirror.
Without warning, she hurls the metal piece as hard as she can at the blurry figure. Nothing matters until Bridget gets out of here.
Until then, that person in the mirror can't change.
Hamilton, ON
Solene's hands fly up to cover her eyes as the first piece of debris flies towards her sister. The blonde girl - Bridget - doesn't say another word as the camera zooms in further. The pale cheeks that Solene remembers seeing in the past hours have gone cherry red. She gasps as a chunk of concrete shatters on the floor where Dom had just been standing. A moment later, the camera finds her sister hiding behind one of the larger piles of rubble with a hand to her shoulder.
Beside her, Lea curls further into her lap. The two sisters haven't said a word since the smoke marked the beginning of the finale. It feels like Solene hasn't breathed since then either. It's one thing to know that this could be it and another thing entirely to watch it happen. By the end of the day, more likely in the next hour, Solene will know if she'll ever see her middle sister again.
Solene drapes her arms lightly over her youngest sister. She considers telling her to go wait in her room, but she knows that Lea wouldn't listen even if she did. She's not a baby anymore, not by a long shot. Lea's the same age that she was when she got her first minimum wage job. Still, every single instinct tells Solene to protect her from this.
She peels her eyes away from the screen just long enough to look down at her baby sister. Her hair looks almost wet with grease and there's still crusts of sleep stuck in her eyelashes. It's not the worst she's been since Dom left. It's still far from the best.
Solene runs her hand gently down her sister's arm, but she can feel her hand shaking. Neither of them mention it. It's easiest not to. Their own fear feels like nothing as they watch Dom avoid falling concrete on screen. It feels selfish.
That's always the feeling that Solene comes back to.
Level 5 - 7:09 AM
Marcy can't feel any part of her body through the trembling that's overtaken it. Where the rooftop was silent save for the phantom voices, this level is impossibly loud. She flinches with every thud she hears explode against the walls. It feels like every single one of them hits her square in the stomach.
She clasps her hand over her mouth, but that does nothing to quiet her breathing. She doesn't think they know she's here, or if they do, they're simply ignoring her. Perhaps they're waiting, waiting until she won't be ready.
Marcy doesn't think she'll ever be ready.
The tears in her eyes feel like they've turned to solid crystal. Even attempting to wipe them away makes the skin around her eyes feel raw. She doesn't know where they are. It feels like the sounds are coming from everywhere at once.
Marcy peers over the box she's been hiding behind as another thud strikes the lower level. She heard the girls speak, though no part of her can recall what was said. Coming to level 5 was the only way away from the smoke. She couldn't breathe inside it. She couldn't see. Her elbows still ache from where she hit the floor at the bottom of the stairs. It's almost enough to distract from the painful tightness of the shallow burns covering most of her exposed skin.
She shivers as she thinks about Riley, his skin so covered in blood that it was hard to see where it was all coming from. She remembers Eris and the blood that dripped from her body onto the workbench. Marcy knows that her injuries are nowhere close to as bad as it could get for her here.
She doesn't want to think about that. She can't think about that. She needs to figure out where the others are but her legs shake so violently as she peers over the boxes that Marcy fully believes they're about to give up.
She gasps, but the sound is covered by a high-pitched scream that echoes through the broken level. It's as if Marcy's watching it all happen in slow motion. Marcy's eyes lock on a blonde girl as she scrambles to catch her footing, but everything falls away almost as soon as she touches it. The cement crumbles under one foot, then the other. Marcy's eyes widen, every instinct pulling her forward to helpbut she's shaking too hard to even try.
Yet, once the ground gives out completely, nothing in the world has ever felt faster. One moment, Marcy can see the girl's face entirely as she scrambles to keep herself from falling. The next moment, she's gone completely from view.
The crash on the level below echoes far longer than any sound before it.
Marcy grips the top of the box so tightly that her knuckles turn white in her periphery. She can't stop staring at the spot where the girl had just been. She listens for movement, but the entire level has gone completely still. It's as if she had never been there to begin with.
One, two- Marcy's mind starts to count subconsciously. Three, four, five-
Her breaths don't slow down; in fact, it feels like they're getting faster and faster. There's no announcement, Marcy would have heard it if there was. Is the fourth level far enough down that it would kill her? If it isn't, then wouldn't she be able to hear her trying to get up? Six, seven-
A nauseating feeling hits Marcy all at once, forcing her gaze to lift without her meaning to. Even though the slight blur of solid tears, Marcy sees her. It's not the same girl - the one with the blonde hair - but someone else. There's three of them, so this must be the third; Marcy scrambles for a name but no part of her is able to come up with one.
For a moment, the girls just stare at each other. Marcy doesn't know what to do. There are no words on her tongue and no voice left with which to say them. She doesn't know if she should be scared, but the trembling returns so quickly that she must be.
Then, just like the blonde girl, this one also disappears. Except, this time, it's not silence that follows. Almost as soon as she's gone from view, Marcy hears thundering footsteps heading for the stairwell.
Dom's lungs burn as soon as she reaches the stairs, but her steps don't pause for even a moment. She didn't see where Bridget fell, but she also didn't hear an announcement. She knows this game well enough to understand what that means. There are still three of them left.
And she now knows where the other one is.
As much as her mind wants to stop and reassess, her feet do the opposite; she doesn't recognize the dark-haired girl, but that doesn't matter right now. Dom already knows that she cannot trust Bridget. Bridget's the one that made the first move almost as soon as Dom got here. Bridget's willing to fight, so Dom has to be just as willing, even if her feet are taking her in the opposite direction.
She doesn't know anything about this other contestant. She could be just as aggressive. She might even be worse. Still, Dom can't tell herself that's the reason she's heading upstairs. She can't even pretend to be thinking about the dark haired girl. The fear pulsing in her chest argues otherwise, far too loudly.
There isn't time to think this through. Her whirling mind wouldn't allow it anyway. It doesn't really matter who she's heading towards- Dom needs to take this chance to stop playing defence.
I have to try. I promised I would try.
As Dom makes it further up the stairs, she starts to wonder if she's even capable of that. She brings the knife out in front of her, forcing it to be ready even if she isn't. When she sees the girl, she has to move. If Dom thinks for even a moment, she doubts she'll be able to make herself act.
She thinks of Riley. She thinks of what she saw in the kitchen, the way that he looked between her and Amadis as if deciding which game to play. Dom was able to do it then, even if she didn't kill him. She was able to defend Amadis, now she has to do the same for herself.
I have to try.
Dom quiets her steps as she reaches the remains of the fifth level. There aren't many ways to go, and she can see the boxes where the girl had been. She can't have gone far. Dom would have seen her if she tried to get downstairs. She's here.
She puts her knife even further in front of her as if that will force her forward.
Dom only has to get to the other side of the boxes before she sees her. The girl crouches with her back against the wall, eyes wide and staring straight at her. Her hands are spread against the concrete, and that's what Dom locks onto. She can see both hands, fingers spread out in a way that would make it impossible to hide if she was holding something. Dom can see the top of her waistband, the only other place where someone might hide a weapon.
She doesn't have one.
The hand holding the knife falls so quickly to her side that Dom may as well have let go. The girl doesn't even seem to notice. She stares up at Dom, trembling so hard that Dom can see it in every limb. Her face is red in a way that looks unnatural, and pieces of blackened hair hang at the top of her forehead. The fire…
"It's okay," Dom says softly. She wishes she could eat the words almost as soon as they part her lips. It isn't okay. She doesn't have a weapon; she's terrified. That's why she was hiding, not because she was planning some kind of attack like Dom thought. She's just scared. "I-"
She catches the words before they can leave her tongue. I'm not going to hurt you. Dom can't lie to her.
I have to try. I promised. This is her chance.
Dom wishes it weren't.
She turns away for a moment in the direction she last saw Bridget. There still hasn't been an announcement. She's still alive too and she's already proven that she has no problem hurting people. Dom watched her stab a knife into someone's chest on the very first day.
She turns back to the smaller girl who still hasn't moved. What would Bridget do to her? Dom doesn't know and she doesn't want to imagine it. If Dom does this now, she can go look for Bridget. She can end this when she still has a chance. Bridget could be hurt, maybe that's why she hasn't come back up yet. Dom hates how much relief that thought brings her.
"I'll try to make it fast." Dom doesn't know what she means by that. She doesn't know how to kill someone, much less how to do so quickly. It's still going to hurt. Dom doesn't know what she's doing. The thought of even moving one step closer makes her feel positively sick.
I promised-
Dom squeezes her eyes shut for the moment it takes to step forward. The younger girl gasps as she tries to push her away and Dom has every instinct to let her. She stares at the concrete just above the girl's head as she pushes 006's head firmly against the wall.
Marcy doesn't feel her legs kick out until they land hard against the girl's chest. Marcy screams as the pressure on her forehead is released and the knife moves further away. She kicks again as the girl tries to get up. She can't tell herself to stop. Marcy's eyes center on the knife and her next kick lands that way. The weapon clatters against the ground, still tight in the other girl's grip.
One, two- Marcy can't think of what comes next. She grabs the first thing her hands touch and slams it hard against the girl's hand. She doesn't know whose lips the next scream comes from. Marcy has to get away. She has to. It's the only thing she can think of. What comes next doesn't matter.
And she doesn't remember any of it.
One moment, the piece of concrete is tight in her grip. The older girl is staring up at her, one hand tight to her chest and the other stuck out defensively. The next, Marcy stares down at shattered pieces of grey strewn around the unconscious girl's head like a halo.
For the next several seconds, all Marcy can hear are her own quickening breaths. The girl's eyes flutter beneath her, but there's already patches of purple surrounding them. Marcy tries to back up further, but the wall is only a couple inches away. Instead, she scrambles around the girl towards the stairs.
It's the only way she can go.
Montreal, QC
Claude closes his eyes as his wife rises from the plastic-covered couch. He doesn't say a word as she holds one hand to her mouth and paces towards the bathroom. There isn't anything he can say. They both watched what happened. Claude wishes so badly he hadn't.
That's not his Marceline, yet he knows that it is. He's starting to come to terms with the fact that the daughter he knew might not even be real. He swallows down the bitterness in his throat as the camera zooms in close on her expression. The fear is still there. Claude can almost imagine that the last minute didn't actually happen.
He slips to the ground and inches towards the television screen. He still hasn't found the console table. He promised his wife that he would assemble it before today, but she's likely grown used to broken promises by now. She tells him that she understands. He hopes, for her sake, that she doesn't.
Claude's mind has always been the clearest thing about him. He prided himself on studying, on learning, on teaching. It was one of the virtues he hoped to pass onto his daughter. She had such a curious little heart, always wanting to sit on the floor of his study with a book even before she could read.
For the life of him, Claude can't pinpoint where things went wrong. How old was she when he stopped paying attention? For how long did she keep trying to get it, if she even did? Claude looks at the screen as if studying one of his beloved manuals, but all he can read in his daughter's expression is fear.
"It's okay," he whispers. "I'm here."
Yet, when the camera zooms in on Dominique's injuries, Claude can't stop himself from looking away.
Hamilton, ON
Solene stands up so quickly that she almost knocks her younger sister off with her. She can feel the burning threat of tears in her eyes, but they haven't gotten that far yet. She wipes them anyway, as if maybe that will keep them away. Her hands are so tightly curled into fists that her knuckles leave red marks under her eyes.
She knows she should say something, not for her but for Lea. Lea just watched the exact same thing that she did. She's only a teenager. Yet, when Solene's eyes refocus all she can see is the screen zooming in on her unconscious sister's bruised face.
Solene turns to her youngest sister and opens her mouth, but that's when the tears decide to make an appearance. She tries to force them away, digging both fists against her eyelids but the tears fall regardless. It isn't fair. Dom tried to do the right thing. She was trying to help the girl even though she had no reason to. And now-
"Sol'." She looks up and sees Lea still curled on the couch. Her arms are outstretched and she beckons Solene to sit back down. Solene just shares her head.
"I'm sorry Lea," she says, every attempt to keep her voice even lost before it can make a difference. "It's over."
Lea shakes her head. "Not yet."
Solene squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head right back. Lea has always been the most optimistic person she's ever known. It used to bother her when they were younger, but she's missed it so much since Dom left. She had started to wonder if she'd ever see that part of Lea again. Still, there's nothing to be optimistic about. Their sister might not be dead, but she's gone. She's not going to get back up and fight. Solene knows Dom. She's strong; if she could've gotten up, she would've by now. Her eyes haven't even opened for fuck's sake.
Still, Solene can't bring herself to say so. She tries to wipe the tears away but Lea grabs her hands and leads her down beside her on the couch. The two of them haven't sat like this since they were kids. Solene wraps her arms around her sister and rests her chin on the top of Lea's head. She missed this. She can almost imagine Dom walking in and rolling her eyes, jokingly telling them that the house can't be that cold.
Solene doesn't want to believe that she'll never hear that again.
Level 4 - 7:28 AM
Every inch of Bridget aches as she drags herself to her feet. She doesn't remember falling, only waking up to screams that didn't sound like her own. She tested every joint, every limb, but besides a general ache she couldn't find anything. Her back feels like one large bruise, but that won't stop her from walking.
She doesn't know where they are. She doesn't know where Dom is.
The prison has gone silent once more.
As Bridget moves her neck to relieve some of the ache, she starts to remember. She looks down to find dozens of scratches and cuts littering the palms of both hands. She looks around, but it's impossible to tell which pieces of rubble fell with the collapse and which she threw herself.
No one pushed her. Dom didn't throw anything back. Bridget fell because she wasn't paying attention to her crumbling surroundings. She was more focused on Dom. She fell because she was more worried about hurting someone else, about hating someone else enough that maybe she would forget about herself. She wishes this would stop feeling so familiar.
Bridget looks slowly around the levels, but there's no movement. It feels as still as it did through the hours she spent here alone. Each step feels wrong, like it might be leading her into something she won't be prepared to face. At this point it's impossible to pretend that Bridget isn't afraid.
Like Dom, she thinks. Bridget remembers throwing chunk after chunk of debris down at her. She remembers the way the other girl ran. Was she afraid?
Is she afraid of me?
Her first instinct is to be proud of the answer - yes. She should be afraid. Anyone left in this prison should be afraid because Bridget isn't going to stop fighting. She isn't going to give up. Yet, the more the thought sticks around the more Bridget wants to push it away. Scared of me? Bridget never wanted anyone to be afraid of her - not even with the fires she set. She was only trying to force them to remember.
All Bridget wants now is to live, to take that second chance even though it was she who threw the first away. She doesn't want anyone to be scared of her; Bridget doesn't want to be someone who people should fear. She just wants to get out. She just wants to live. She doesn't want that to feel wrong.
Yet the hatred Bridget felt as she threw anything she could get her hands on doesn't leave so easily.
When Bridget takes the next corner around a tall pile of rubble, she doesn't recognize the eyes that face her. Bridget jumps and scrambles back a step, the hammer in her hand reaching out so it's the first thing the other girl will see. 006 holds a large chunk of concrete at almost the same level.
This girl's eyes look afraid too. They're bright, the colour of the rooftop haze, yet to Bridget they're indistinguishable from Dom's. They stare back at her with quiet accusations. It's as if they already know what she's going to do before the weapon in Bridget's hand even twitches.
If the metal weren't so rusted, so coated in dust and whatever else she hasn't been able to clean away, maybe she could see her own eyes. Maybe Bridget would see that she's just as afraid. Maybe she would be able to have some understanding of this person that she hates so much but can't control. Yet she can only see the girl staring back at her, the girl that Bridget has to kill if she wants even a chance at fixing any of this.
She needs to do this.
If she doesn't, she'll die the same person she despises.
If she lets it end now, the girl she could've been will be nothing but a hope. She'll be nothing but a person that Bridget made up so that she wouldn't have to hate who she is so deeply. If Bridget can't pretend that she has the capacity to do better, she might as well be no one.
She might as well let them forget.
Marcy sees nothing but a corpse in front of her. She sees the fluttering eyelids that she tried to leave upstairs. She sees the dust that's crusted to the contours of her face and the bruises hiding beneath them. It terrifies her. It's another haunting, another ghost, except this one has a face and eyes that stare back at her. She's not a puff of smoke like Ramsey, a person that Marcy can't truly remember. She's not a crash of concrete like Casimir.
She's real.
She's not dead. She's not even the same.
Marcy looks down at the concrete still locked in her grip. It feels like it has its own heartbeat, its own wishes that she won't be able to control. Except she's not talking about the weapon. Marcy knows she can't blame the debris.
She forces herself to drop it. The concrete cracks down the middle as it hits the ground but the girl doesn't move away. If anything she gets closer. Marcy can see the blood that's dried in her blonde hair but maybe the girl upstairs had that too. She can't remember. Though their faces were so different minutes ago, they've morphed into the same features.
Dead, they're both dead.
Dead because of her.
The entire level blurs as Marcy looks wildly around. It looks like smoke but she can breathe. She gulps down more air but it doesn't feel like enough. Her body shivers though she can feel sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Marcy puts her hands up as the girl gets closer. She isn't ready. She can't. Everything needs to stop. Everything needs to stop for a moment so Marcy can think but if anything it keeps moving faster.
"Is it working?"
The voice doesn't sound like any that Marcy's ever heard. It crackles with static that feels like it doesn't belong here. It sounds broken yet she's still able to make out the words.
"Contestants."
Bridget feels the hammer loosen in her grip as she looks around. The voice feels so similar in the way that it seems to infiltrate her thoughts. Yet, there's nothing monotone about it; Bridget can hear the rush in the man's words. It's as if she can feel his hands shaking around the microphone.
"Who are you?" She whispers. The prison has never felt more silent than it does as they wait for an answer.
"I don't have much time before they'll take it back." The words are faster, harder to understand through the static. "You don't have to do this. There's another way."
Bridget's heart skips in her chest. She looks at the girl in front of her, but her gaze is pointed solely at the ground. She looks behind her, as far as she can see around the rubble. None of it moves.
"The show isn't live. They edit you into whatever they want you to be, but if you wait long enough." There's a pause as the man seems to catch his breath. "If you don't fight, they'll have nothing to edit. The Cut will have to show them the truth, that you don't want to do this."
Marcy can't see anything through the tears in her eyes. She's still fixated on the broken concrete at her feet, on the crack down the middle and the dust that sheds from it. You don't want to do this. She swallows but the bitterness doesn't go away. That's what he said - you don't want to do this. She doesn't. Marcy doesn't want to do this.
"Wait them out. Sit here. Don't hurt each other. If you refuse, what can they do? The country is waking up, they're learning the truth. You're not monsters. You didn't choose this. Canada needs you to prove it to them."
"And they'll release us?" Bridget whispers as a tear drips from her chin. She doesn't know if the stranger can hear her or if this is some kind of pre-recorded message. She can't even be certain he's real. She so badly wants him to be.
You're not monsters. You didn't choose this.
"You have the power. If you wait them out, what other choice will they have? The finale is set to air in just over an hour. The entire nation will be watching. It will work."
Bridget swallows. She doesn't understand much of what he's saying. The entire nation will be watching. Haven't they been? He says The Cut isn't live, but that can't be true. Everything Bridget has ever known about the show tells her that can't be true. And if the country is watching right now and they're learning the truth then why is she still here?
She closes her eyes and violent memories whip past in a frenzy. How easily her knife slid easily into Lilliana's chest. The way Omar's skin flinched around her blade despite his stillness. The blood that seemed to streak every inch of the rooftop until Riley's face was so pale it looked like wax.
How is anyone supposed to believe that Bridget isn't a monster?
"How do we know?" She asks, her voice trembling along with the rest of her. She's all but forgotten the other girl, Dom. Their faces don't appear in her memories. Maybe the world will believe that they haven't done anything wrong. Maybe they'll see the two of them refusing to play. But who would ever believe Bridget?
Outside of these walls, is anyone going to see me without blood on my hands? Bridget looks down but she only sees her pale fingers for a moment before they're dripping with blood she knows isn't there. This was supposed to be her final chance. Get through this and what's behind Bridget won't matter. All this time, was she just kidding herself?
"You don't."
All of Bridget's attention lands on 006 as she shifts slightly on her feet. Silently, Bridget wonders what she's done. She wonders if it's even comparable. There's some stains on the girl's uniform, but when Bridget looks down, her own is absolutely drenched. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are damp with tears that make Bridget feel both guilty and furious.
Marcy can feel the energy shift as she stares at the blonde contestant. Her eyes are wet with tears that glisten against the dried streaks in her hair. She trembles from head to the tip of the hammer in her grip. Marcy can't tell if 004 believes the stranger. She doesn't even know if she believes him herself. His words go against The Cut almost completely.
Yet isn't stopping exactly what Marcy wants?
The announcement for the girl upstairs hasn't come yet. There's still a chance. There's a way for one less ghost to be my fault.
"Why now?" 004 is still looking up at the ceiling, but her voice carries so much venom that Marcy takes an instinctive step back. "Where have you been?"
Bridget takes a step without even thinking. Static clouds her thoughts but the questions are still crystal clear in her mind. Why now? Why not when there were more of us left? Why not before I did all of this? He's asking her to pause the one thing that is supposed to get her out of here. He's asking her to trust two inmates not to guarantee their own freedom. He's asking her to assume both of them will do something that she's not certain she's willing to do for them.
(He's asking her to believe that, when Canada sees her today, they'll still think she's worth saving.)
Bridget doesn't know if she can do that. Yet her grip still loosens on the hammer. She looks at 006 without knowing what to say. She doesn't know anything about this girl, but maybe she needs this chance just as badly as Bridget does.
Maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other.
Maybe it never had to be.
Marcy's back is so close to the rubble when the girl takes another half step forward. She can feel her heart pounding against her ribcage, her lungs screaming for her to take a breath but Marcy can't remember how. Her eyes lock to the hammer, then to the broken concrete on the floor. Her hands feel so empty. The static that the stranger left behind is all she can hear even though she can see the girl's lips moving.
I'll try to make it fast.
That's not what she said. Marcy doesn't know what she said.
Victoria, BC
"No!"
Helene's scream is the only thing she can hear long after the word leaves her lips. She clamours across the coffee table, spilling every half-drank glass but she doesn't feel the water coat her bare knees. She reaches for the screen as tears blur the fight. It's not a fight. Helene screams again but even she doesn't understand the words.
Her daughter's hammer hit the ground mere seconds before the smaller girl grabbed her by the shoulder. Helene doesn't understand what happened. She doesn't know why Bridget dropped it. The two were staring at one another, but when the camera returned to Bridget she saw the change. Helene knew what her daughter was going to do before a single second of it happened.
It's the same look as when Helene finally got through to her after an argument. It's the same pursed lips that came before an apology. It's the same.
Why?
Helene hits the screen as hard as she can but the only thing that breaks is the skin over her knuckles. Marceline grabs her daughter and pushes her against the rubble. Helene watches Bridget's head slam back as it crashes against a pointed piece of concrete. She sees the limp limbs before Marceline lets her drop to the ground, unable to hold Bridget up. Helene sees it all but nothing she says can stop it.
"Bridge," she whispers. The camera isn't watching her daughter, but Helene finds her in the background of every shot. She begs the unfocused hand or torso to move as the camera watches the girl with the charred bangs. She tells them to get up no matter how many seconds pass. Then, Helene sees her twitch. "Bridge."
She screams as the other contestant slams her foot into the side of her daughter's head. Tears blur until she's unable to see what comes next but she hears it. Helene hears every blow between panicked breaths that she holds no sympathy for. She drags her hand along the screen. She tells herself that it's not over. She promises that what she's hearing isn't what it is, that it's her daughter getting up and fighting and coming home.
Helene squeezes her eyes shut even after the room falls silent again.
This time, at least, she knows better than to look.
Level 5 - 8:57 AM
The only thing that Marcy can hear between the rubble is the sound of her own breaths. She crouches at the highest point of the room, her knees drawn in close on top of the storage boxes. If her eyes weren't smokey with tears, she would be able to see everything from up here.
Her hands shake every time she tries to open them. Marcy can still feel the sting of stray concrete shards that have burrowed under her skin. She squeezes her fists even tighter against her stomach.
Tears shake again as Marcy turns to her left. She can only see the girl's legs from this angle, curled up halfway to her core as if they couldn't make it the whole way. She can't see her face. She can't see the swollen bruises that had already started to settle under her skin by the time Marcy came back up here. She can't see the ring of blood that sits around her bottom lip, nor the bloodshot half-eyes that her eyelids refuse to cover.
Marcy clenches her teeth and curls even more tightly atop the boxes. On the contrary, she can see the entirety of the second girl. Her body makes no effort to comfort itself, still as limp as Marcy had left her. She's too far down for Marcy to be able to see most of the details of her injuries. However, she can still make out the large spot of red on the side of her forehead from Marcy pushing against the rubble.
She was going to hurt me. She was going to-
The longer Marcy thinks about that, the longer she stares at the weapon that's almost a meter from where the girl's body dropped, the more she doubts her own account. For the hammer to have ended up there, 004 would've had to have let go of it almost as soon as Marcy grabbed her if not before.
She squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to stop herself from reasoning further. Please let it not have been before.
Marcy still doesn't know what 004 said after the stranger left. She thought she knew, but now she has no idea. It could've been anything. She could've really been meaning to hurt Marcy. The longer she sits here, the more she doubts it.
Just like the first girl, Marcy doesn't remember all of what happened. Her shoes feel sore around her feet. There's more concrete shards in her hands than before. Along with the girls' injuries, it's not hard to put the pieces together.
Marcy bites her lip hard as a fresh cascade of tears starts without warning. Guilt creeps up so closely behind it that it's impossible to tell which came first. She's not even certain that it matters.
"Are you still coming?" She whimpers so quietly that she's not sure the stranger would hear her even if he were still listening. He told them to wait. Neither of them have been announced dead, which should mean that there's still a chance. Either that, or Marcy's just prolonging their unconscious lives for nothing.
She turns to the first girl, the one where she can only see her legs sticking out. It's so easy to pretend it's him again and that she's back on the rooftop. Except her pants aren't covered in blood and Marcy can't stop thinking about what the girl said to her.
I'll try to make it fast.
Marcy can't even promise the same. How long has it been? Hours? If someone told her right now that she's been sitting up here for days, Marcy wouldn't have enough evidence to argue. The girl doesn't deserve this. She doesn't deserve to suffer; neither of them do. Yet that feels like exactly what Marcy is doing to them.
"Please." She doesn't know what she's asking for anymore. Marcy doesn't know what else to do but hope. She can't bring herself to kill them. If there's any hope of them all making it out of here, she has to take it, right? Or did that chance leave hours ago with the static and now she's just forcing them to suffer to relieve her own guilt?
Marcy doesn't bother to wipe the tears that drip from her chin. It doesn't feel like she deserves that much. She lifts her head to the slightest tingle of static, but it's not the stranger's voice that greets her.
"Dominique Briones has been eliminated. Two contestants remain."
Her hands hold tight to the tops of her knees as her entire body starts to tremble again. Marcy looks to the side, but she can't see anything through the tears. It's as if the girl has already been taken. Marcy covers her face, unable to even force herself to take a breath. How long did she suffer? Marcy wonders. How long did she suffer for nothing?
It feels like only seconds pass before the static comes again. This time, there's no hope blossoming in Marcy's chest. She knows. The guilt in her tight breaths tells her that she's always known, that she never really believed that anyone would come, that she did all of this just to make them suffer.
"Bridget Francis has been eliminated. One contestant remains. Congratulations Marceline Toussaint, Winner of The Cut Season 10."
3rd: Dominique Briones, 17
2nd: Bridget Francis, 18
A/N: And with that the games are officially over. Well, not the mind games but you know what I mean.
First, I would like to thank the two submitters of our fallen finalists. Jade, Dom was a fan favourite and I have no questions around why. I loved writing her transition from frightened criminal to a tough fighter even as her world collapsed around her. She was stronger than I think even she realized, and a joy to bring to life. Lily, Bridget was someone that I clicked with immediately and I hope that showed. She was certainly on the villainous side of things, but deep down her narrative spoke to me a lot. She was just someone that needed that second chance, not only from the world but herself. I adored writing both of these characters and it was incredibly hard letting them both go. Thank you so much for trusting me with your amazing creations.
Next, a huge thank you to Goldie and Moose for helping me fine tune this chapter. Also thank you to Goldie who has promised to teach me how to use a semicolon (we all clap). This chapter would not be what it is without your help.
And finally, congratulations and thank you (and oopsie daisy /j) to rb who created Marcy! I think I can confidently say that very few people saw this one coming, but she has always been someone waiting in the back of my mind. She has been a joy to write and another one that clicked for me from intros. She's gone through one of the more subtle arcs of the story, and I think it's been one of my favourites. Thank you for trusting me with her and please do not send the balloon army after me.
Next chapter will be our last and include not only Marcy's epilogue, but the verse epilogue as well. It's going to be a chonk and I'm not sorry.
~ Olive