The only word Julia could choke from her in exasperation was Why.
Why was Salem doing this? Why is this happening to them? Why her?
She had massively underestimated Salem, his chilling words and exterior almost as equally threatening as the gun he had firmly pointed at the two of them. What felt even worse was his clear lack of remorse. Salem appeared completely unfazed, if anything a little excited about the whole situation as if he as getting a twisted kick from it. Revelling in the fear and upset he was causing as each breath Timothy or Julia took increased the probability that it would be their last.
To make things worse, Julia had never wronged Salem. Sure, they were not friends by any stretch, but they had drunk beers together. Probably even done a shooter or two. They had invited him in to their home and he had come to enjoy the party. And yet now none of that meant anything now. He completely ignored her past hospitality to make sure he had a good time, ignored the smiles or waves from across the hallway if she passed him and even ignored the fact they were classmates. Less than a week ago they were sat on a bus all together so excited about the school trip, planning the parties and how to make the most of the trip.
Yet five days later here she was. Standing tall up against the wall of a sleepy, cold room with a metallic gun pointed in her face. This felt very different to her previous encounter with a gun-wielding maniac but it was definitely the most severe. It was clear she was the actual target of this one. Karin wanted Victor and risked the lives of the three of them there with her distressed shooting but now there was no distress. This man wanted to harm her. To kill her.
However in juxtaposition to the frozen reaction she had last time, of helplessness and weakness, this time she knew if she didn’t do something drastic that it would all be over.
No more chances of becoming a doctor. Of making something of her life. No more music concerts or karaoke sessions with her sister singing full albums of the Jonas Brothers. No more life.
Julia couldn’t let that happen. She cast her eyes around the room, being careful not to appear distracted to her assailant. She remained compliant to his demands, backing up where needed, keeping quiet. Timothy wasn’t doing so well at being submissive in this power dynamic but it gave her good time to scan the room.
Her tub of melted ice cream with no lid on was perched on the bed just out of her reach. The saving grace of the ridicule Timothy gave her when she pulled her weapon from her bag.
She still had that canister of tear gas in her coat pocket. Her only fear being the unknowns around using this, would it take long for it to go off? Enough time for Salem to gently plant three bullets in to her head?
Salem has also left the door wide open, the creeping cold ironically offering a veil of safety.
Most importantly, she had options.
The cold metal in Salem’s hand grew heavier by the second on both Timothy & Julia. The prospect of the striking bullets cutting the tension in the room, slaying both teenagers in the process, felt more and more insurmountable. If she was going to do something then it was going to have to be quick.
Salem had, perhaps foolishly, given her an opening here. You could probably put it down to his ego as he remained cool as a cucumber, but a smart person would’ve just gotten it over with now. If that was your intention, go on, finish the job, put the bullet in their bodies. Turn their warmth to cold corpses and move on with your life. He had after all chosen this path, yet he either lacked the conviction to follow through or was getting too much sick pleasure from taunting the pair. Fortunately, Timothy being Timothy and Salem’s clear as day disregard for him was making her life a little bit easier in the moment. Salem was unrelenting in his taunting, getting that remorseless stimulation from sneering at the shaggy boy. As soon as he has stopped being distracted by being even more of a psychopath, it would probably be over quickly so she knew she had to move fast.
Vivere il momento.
She thanked her parents for insisting on keeping up with the swimming over the years as it was the only way she really kept active nowadays. It gave her strong legs which she was going to have to rely on now to save her life.
With Salem too busy trying to agitate Timothy even further she knew what had to be done. With more conviction than she had ever shown in her entire life, Julia launched forward one step to grab the opened tub of ice cream slush on the edge of the bed. She grabbed it and swung her body with all her might. She wasn’t great at playing baseball but loved to watch it. In this moment her body was positioned akin to a Yankee’s batter, expecting, no… knowing, that the bullets would be flying within the second.
The frozen slush released from the tub and flew across the sky in what could only be described as slow motion. It was her very own Matrix moment. It was hard to describe what Julia was seeing but time really did slow down. As expected, as soon as Julia lunged out of the way Salem turned and instinctively pulled the trigger at her. The bullets flayed through the intercepting ice cream on its way to coat Salem in the sticky substance as Julia released the tub, crashing hastily to the ground as soon as she could to get out of his line of sight. She had hoped it would be comparable to the ice bucket challenge. Those few seconds would be paramount in hopefully desensitising Salem and keeping him preoccupied for enough time for her to flee.
“RUN!!”
Julia screamed to her ally Timothy as the ice cream splattered against Salem’s face, gripping his left hand tightly with hers as she pulled him in her direction, scooping up her backpack with her other hand. She pushed down hard on her right leg to catapult her back up to a standing position, as if she was on the starting line of a very important 100m race. She felt like Sha’Carri Richardson, minus the sharp nails, sprinting upright and towards the door, Timothy’s entire body weight in tow.
As Salem recovered from his big freeze, the gunfire resumed like lightning pulsating around the room with his thunderous spray. The only noise she could focus on was the ricocheting of the bullets around the tiled floor. It was nothing short of a laser crawl, luck on her side.
She scrambled to the exit, being met with the hostility of the outside which still seemed like a welcome relief to the hostility inside the infirmary. She didn’t dare to turn around until she was somewhere safe, as she raced to what resembled the entrance to a storm bunker around the side of the building.
It was as she ripped the door open and clambered in that she noticed the grip on her left had loosened entirely and Timothy was no longer being towed along.
[S119 - Julia Guercio - continued in Downwards Spiral]
The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters
Day 5 morning, private
Salem's attention had been on Timothy, and in those few seconds that his eyes weren't on Julia, she decided to go a disrupt the whole narrative. He only caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and had enough time to turn and shoot at it before he could think about what he was doing.
The tub of ice cream caught him right in the forehead, splattering its contents all over his face, hair, and clothes, running into his eyes and making him sputter. Stumbling back a few steps and swiping at his face with one arm, he didn't have time yet to feel anger or disappointment or anything other than shock and the ache of recoil running up his arm.
He blindly squeezed the trigger again, and the automatic pistol bucked in his hand like a live animal, spraying gunfire wildly across the room.
The tub of ice cream caught him right in the forehead, splattering its contents all over his face, hair, and clothes, running into his eyes and making him sputter. Stumbling back a few steps and swiping at his face with one arm, he didn't have time yet to feel anger or disappointment or anything other than shock and the ache of recoil running up his arm.
He blindly squeezed the trigger again, and the automatic pistol bucked in his hand like a live animal, spraying gunfire wildly across the room.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
Timothy couldn't wrap his head around everything that happened in so few seconds. All he could focus on was that fight or flight response when Salem revealed his trick and Julia returned the favor, and the warmth from her hand as she snatched Timothy's and pulled him away towards the exit.
He remembered the festival of gunfire popping off in the infirmary like fireworks as they scrambled for the entrance. He remembered the chill of the cold morning air smacking him in the face and greeting him once more as they crossed the threshold.
He remembered when he fell and crumpled into the snow face first.
The warmth and love from Julia's hand was ripped from his, replaced by the jealous cold of the ice and the alien stings from several streams of something wet running down his back and pooling around him into the snow.
He tried to push himself up or call Julia back, but by the time he could rationalize what happened or how many times he got shot he only had the strength left to think about if this was what Eden felt too when she bled out into the snow.
He remembered the festival of gunfire popping off in the infirmary like fireworks as they scrambled for the entrance. He remembered the chill of the cold morning air smacking him in the face and greeting him once more as they crossed the threshold.
He remembered when he fell and crumpled into the snow face first.
The warmth and love from Julia's hand was ripped from his, replaced by the jealous cold of the ice and the alien stings from several streams of something wet running down his back and pooling around him into the snow.
He tried to push himself up or call Julia back, but by the time he could rationalize what happened or how many times he got shot he only had the strength left to think about if this was what Eden felt too when she bled out into the snow.
S070 - TIMOTHY ADAMS - DECEASED
81 TO GO
81 TO GO
The burst of noise and chaos was over as quickly as it began, and Salem was left standing alone in the infirmary, half-blinded and ears ringing. He turned and stumbled after Julia and Tim, though some part of him knew it didn't matter. The cards already lay where they'd fallen, or however the saying went.
The ice cream was still cold, even half-melted, and it stung his eyes. The stickiness clung to his hair and skin, and - yep, some of it had gotten under his collar and ran down his back, sticking his undershirt to his spine between his shoulder blades. He dropped to his knees in the snow and grabbed a fistful, scrubbing it over his face with a gasp to clear some of the mess away. There were still drops clinging to his eyelashes as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Everything looked brighter, washed out.
Salem's whole body ached as the adrenaline faded. He felt like he'd been tossed in a cocktail shaker and rattled around. He sat there for a long time, gasping and limp. The gun sat next to him, useless.
When the world finally brought itself back into resolution in front of him, he saw the body. Timothy.
Salem let out a weak chuckle.
He got unsteadily to his feet and walked over, nudging Tim with the toe of his shoe. No response. The amount of blood seeping out from under him meant that was probably a mercy.
Salem's gorge rose, and he turned to the side to retch. He hadn't eaten this morning; all that came out was bile, but he kept heaving until his chest ached. He spat out onto the snow again and again until the shudders subsided and then weakly staggered back into the infirmary. Tim's bag had been left behind inside.
Upon finding it, Salem yanked the zipper open and grabbed the first water bottle he saw, and he chugged without care as to whether he was getting Tim's backwash. He needed the sour taste out of his mouth. When he'd drained the bottle, he tossed it carelessly into the corner of the room and flopped onto the nearest bed.
Salem heaved a sigh at the ceiling and lay there bonelessly for a few minutes, listening to the buzzing of his head. So that had gone tits-up in record time, everyone could agree on that. Tim was collateral that Salem hadn't particularly cared about, but only that, and Julia was gone without even giving Salem the opportunity to tell her that she at least had to buy him dinner before she creamed all over his face. And he couldn't stop shaking.
Eventually, he picked himself up and went to investigate the other contents of Tim's bag. Everything looked the same as what Salem had found in his own supplies, save for the shiny silver canister. Removing it, he turned it over in his hands, mouthing the words riot smoke as he read them.
That could be a fun surprise for later. Salem took the grenade and tucked it into his bag alongside most of Tim's remaining food. He patted himself down in search of the gun before realizing he'd left it laying outside.
"Pro gamer move," Salem muttered under his breath and went out to retrieve it. He was done here anyway. He kicked a bit of snow over Timothy's corpse before leaving the area, and vaguely hoped that once the shock wore off, he'd feel... something. Or maybe he didn't.
((Salem Fox continued in cower and præy))
The ice cream was still cold, even half-melted, and it stung his eyes. The stickiness clung to his hair and skin, and - yep, some of it had gotten under his collar and ran down his back, sticking his undershirt to his spine between his shoulder blades. He dropped to his knees in the snow and grabbed a fistful, scrubbing it over his face with a gasp to clear some of the mess away. There were still drops clinging to his eyelashes as he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Everything looked brighter, washed out.
Salem's whole body ached as the adrenaline faded. He felt like he'd been tossed in a cocktail shaker and rattled around. He sat there for a long time, gasping and limp. The gun sat next to him, useless.
When the world finally brought itself back into resolution in front of him, he saw the body. Timothy.
Salem let out a weak chuckle.
He got unsteadily to his feet and walked over, nudging Tim with the toe of his shoe. No response. The amount of blood seeping out from under him meant that was probably a mercy.
Salem's gorge rose, and he turned to the side to retch. He hadn't eaten this morning; all that came out was bile, but he kept heaving until his chest ached. He spat out onto the snow again and again until the shudders subsided and then weakly staggered back into the infirmary. Tim's bag had been left behind inside.
Upon finding it, Salem yanked the zipper open and grabbed the first water bottle he saw, and he chugged without care as to whether he was getting Tim's backwash. He needed the sour taste out of his mouth. When he'd drained the bottle, he tossed it carelessly into the corner of the room and flopped onto the nearest bed.
Salem heaved a sigh at the ceiling and lay there bonelessly for a few minutes, listening to the buzzing of his head. So that had gone tits-up in record time, everyone could agree on that. Tim was collateral that Salem hadn't particularly cared about, but only that, and Julia was gone without even giving Salem the opportunity to tell her that she at least had to buy him dinner before she creamed all over his face. And he couldn't stop shaking.
Eventually, he picked himself up and went to investigate the other contents of Tim's bag. Everything looked the same as what Salem had found in his own supplies, save for the shiny silver canister. Removing it, he turned it over in his hands, mouthing the words riot smoke as he read them.
That could be a fun surprise for later. Salem took the grenade and tucked it into his bag alongside most of Tim's remaining food. He patted himself down in search of the gun before realizing he'd left it laying outside.
"Pro gamer move," Salem muttered under his breath and went out to retrieve it. He was done here anyway. He kicked a bit of snow over Timothy's corpse before leaving the area, and vaguely hoped that once the shock wore off, he'd feel... something. Or maybe he didn't.
((Salem Fox continued in cower and præy))
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."