Trent was in between classes at the moment, but he didn't have enough time to go home, so he just chilled in the common area of the school, the lounge where students usually just did homework or waited for class to start again. He had his hand in his pocket, petting the little kitten he had brought to school.
His head pounded with acetaldehyde from yesterday's bender. It wasn't his fault though. Taylor had come over and done what she always did when they were together: got him roaring drunk. It didn't matter that it was just a Thursday. To her, any day was a good day to get her little brother drunk. Trent supposed it made sense; Tayler didn't have many friends due to her long work hours.
Trent didn't have many friends either, so it was hopefully just hereditary.
He supposed it depended on how he counted them. He probably wouldn't count Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and even Kenny. Once today was over, they would leave. He also probably couldn't count Craig either. Just looking at him sent shivers down his spine. Yes, the more he saw him, the more aware he became that Craig was not the same as the guard. In fact, he noticed little things in him that made him different from the guard.
His teeth were whiter, his smile brighter, his laugh not mocking, his eyes bigger and softer, his right hand free of any black rose tattoo. But every time Craig even touched him, he felt that familiar electricity, the churning of his stomach, the unsettling memories. Trent took a deep breath, trying to shake off the intrusive thoughts that lingered in the corners of his mind. He needed to calm down. If he didn't, he would start hearing his voice again, and he wasn't sure he could handle that.
His nerves were already going crazy today, surprisingly enough. The kickboxing tournament was today, and that meant that he would have to fight Rick today and then Tweek afterward. Usually, this would be far from worrying; he had beaten a lot of people up before, but today was different. Today, he couldn't stop his leg from bouncing.
He put his hand in his pocket, feeling the little kitten's purr vibrate against his hand. He just needed something to distract himself, when God himself answered his prayers in the form of a ding from his phone.
He immediately took it out, checking the text he had received.
'They lied to us!"
Ah, great. That really calmed his nerves.
His brow furrowed. Ominous. He had received the text from a guy named Tommy Baxter, one of the few guys from juvie whom Trent kept in touch with. He was one of the few people Trent considered his friend. The words seemed to peel themselves off the screen and float around in the air. He quickly texted back, 'Who?
Then it struck him. Tom was the kind of guy to leave someone on 'delivered' for days. He really couldn't deal with that. Quickly, he hit the call button.
The distant sounds of students chatting and the low hum of activity in the common area served as a backdrop to the tension building in him. The little kitten in his pocket continued to purr, seemingly attuned to Trent's need for comfort.
After a few rings, Tommy picked up, "Trent, dude, you won't believe this shit!"
When Trent answered, he felt like his voice was way higher pitch than it needed to be, "I probably will, actually." Tommy was an investigative journalist-level gossip; he could weasel any secret out of anyone within mere minutes of talking. Trent trusted pretty much anything Tommy said.
"Alright, do you remember that day when all the guards started raving about how they had found a dead body on campus?" Tommy asked. Such a stupid question. Of course, he remembered. That was the day he was finally free from the guard.
"Mhm," Was all Trent uttered as he waited for Tommy to continue.
"Well, it turns out…" He held a long dramatic pause, "They were lying. That guard never died."
Trent's eyes widened as he processed Tommy's revelation. The common area around him seemed to fade into the background as he focused on the words coming through the phone.
"What do you mean he never died?" Trent asked, his mind racing with a mix of confusion and anxiety. "But… but Henry confessed to killing him!"
The earth was cracking beneath him. He couldn't handle this. If the guard never died that meant he was still alive. And if he was still alive then he was busy manipulating other kids the way he did to them. It meant he could still run into him.
"Henry was a nutcase, Trent, you know that," Tommy said, "He was in love with him and wanted to follow him to his new facility."
Shit. Jesus, fuck. Trent should've realized something was up. He had always been a little confused when Henry just got bounced between two juvie halls instead of being sent away. But then again, Henry was never someone to mess with. Even someone like Trent would never dare go up against Henry.
"But… why? Why was he moved?" Trent could barely breathe.
The small sliver of security brought on by the thought that the guard was dead vanished like a paper shield in a hurricane. He was alive. The man who had haunted him for half a decade, the man whose voice whispered taunts in his ear when he was trying to live his fucking life, the man whose tattooed phantom hands traced his back in the night.
"Because he almost killed you. Don't you remember?" Tommy's voice was like a distant siren, alerting him to danger he didn't know was ever there. How could he possibly go on with his life now?
"No! No, I don't fucking remember!" He hadn't intended to yell, but now his heartbeat had sped up so much he could barely hear his own thoughts. He barely even registered the other students in the common area turning their heads to him.
Tommy, of course, was unbothered as he explained, "You had one of your seizure things. But, like, you refused to let him help you, so you guys started fighting, and he dragged you into the lake and almost drowned you." He acted like it was a perfectly natural thing for Trent to forget. Then again, it was pretty normal for all the inmates to forget their 'seizures'.
Now that he was more educated, he knew that it was the poison from the Reginae Adiutor that made him forget. Still, he was so sure he had gotten most of his memories back after he pricked himself on one. The thought made him queasy. He had gotten most memories back, but he sure would've lived happier if he hadn't.
"Yeah, Alex ran into him like yesterday in Denver. They moved him to Denver!" Tommy said. "Well, no, Alex said that he had worked as a regular cop for a few years, then switched to working in Denver's juvie center."
Denver? He had been moved so he could work in Denver? But it was so close. Denver was at most an hour away from South Park.
He could cry. He could vomit. He needed to get away. Fast.
"I don't… I don't even remember his name…" Trent admitted. Somewhere in his mind, not remembering his name was a very strange detail, but he said it anyway.
Maybe his mind had blocked it in an attempt to protect him.
"Really?" Tommy asked, his voice almost skeptical. Still, he must have come to the same conclusion Trent did, because he explained anyway. "Blackthorn. Officer Blackthorn."
The name did not stir anything in Trent. It was a spooky name, sure, but he could not remember it at all. He took a few minutes to gather his thoughts, maybe catch his breath.
"Tom…" He said, mildly thankful Tommy hadn't hung up on him. "I think you should know something about those seizures."
He needed to calm down. This didn't mean anything. So what if the guard, no, Blackthorn was still alive. He was one of 8 billion people on the earth. There was no need to freak out.
In the end, he told Tommy everything he knew and hung up the phone. Even after that, he could feel the world spinning, his palms going clammy.
Without a word to anyone around him, Trent pushed himself up from the lounge and stumbled towards the nearest restroom. The echo of his footsteps resonated through the corridor, and the murmur of other students became a distant hum. His mind raced, images of the guard, Officer Blackthorn, flooding his thoughts like a tsunami. He always knew Blackthorn had done something to him all those years ago. But only within these last few days did he learn exactly what he had done.
Sometimes, he could feel it, feel him. Feel his fingers on his skin, leaving a forest of goosebumps in their wake.
Entering the restroom, Trent took the first stall, his breathing rapid and shallow. The cold tiles beneath him seemed to mock the heat rising within. Leaning over the toilet, he emptied the contents of his stomach, his body convulsing with each retch.
The revelation that Officer Blackthorn was alive and close by shattered the fragile sense of security he had managed to build over the years. The memories he thought he had reclaimed from the Reginae Adiutor now seemed like a double-edged sword, cutting through his defenses.
I told you; you can never get rid of me, dog.
Blackthorn's voice drawled in his ear. The hot breath was almost tangible against his ear.
As he tried to regain control of his breathing, he heard the restroom door creak open. Tensed, he hoped whoever it was would just use the facilities and leave him to wallow. However, the sound of footsteps approached his stall, and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, even through the thin metal door.
"Trent?" a familiar voice spoke, the tone filled with concern.
Trent's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the voice. Kenny McCormick. Of all people, it had to be Kenny. The last person he wanted to see him like this.
"No…" He mumbled back. "Not him."
Why lie to him, dog? Do you think you can be strong now?
"Trent," Kenny's footsteps came closer to the stall. "Are you okay?"
With a gentle, gentle hand, Kenny opened the stall door.
"Yes," Trent muttered. But the sight of him told a different story. Hunched over the toilet, pale, having obviously puked. "Just working off that hangover."
Trent could've sworn he had tears in his eyes. But when he went to check, they were as dry as the Sahara. Of course, Trent rarely cried, so he guessed this made sense. But the tears would've explained why Kenny looked so strange right now. With the light behind his head, his blond hair looked almost like a halo around his pretty face.
He was holding onto his crutches for dear life. "Come on, that's not fair, Trent. You can tell me."
Trent stood up and turned to face Kenny, taking a moment to register his words, realizing that his attempt to brush off the situation wasn't fooling him. Kenny's eyes pierced through Trent's feeble defenses. It was funny in a way, how the roles had reversed. Now Kenny was the one interrogating him, tearing his defenses down.
As if to make the parallel clearer, Kenny placed his hand on Trent's cheek, letting his thumb gently brush against the aching bruise Rick had given him. It was such an ugly bruise. But it felt nice.
Taking a deep breath, Trent responded, "His name is Blackthorn."
"Okay?" Kenny's thumb got even gentler somehow. He leaned against the wall. "I mean, it's a cool name, for sure. I guess it sounds a little familiar. But I dunno…" He was rambling. Uncomfortable. Leave it to Trent to make Kenny feel uncomfortable.
He shuddered a bit, thinking of just how distressed Kenny must've been when Trent showed up drunk at his house yesterday. The whole thing was blurred by alcohol though. So, Trent couldn't remember exactly what happened and what he said.
"Whose name is Blackthorn?" Kenny asked.
"The guard."