((Salem Fox continued from the only emperor is the emperor of ice cream))
The cold was twice as miserable after the brief reprieve Salem had spent cocooned in the hot spring. The trek back to town was nothing to write home about compared to all of the others he'd made over the past several days, but he could still feel it grinding him down bit by bit. Every heartbeat was a throb of pain throughout the rest of his body and a pulse of tension in his right temple.
He'd taken his coat back before leaving the hot spring, of course. He'd needed it.
He'd expected the body's eyes to be open and staring at him when he lifted his coat off of the face, but they hadn't been. He still imagined it so much that it might as well have been a memory.
The town was quiet. Everything was quiet now. Salem had trudged back up the hill to the church, mostly because it afforded him a decent vantage point of everything else, but he hadn't gone inside. He'd intended to, but then he remembered that Adam's body was probably still laying there, staring up at nothing. Salem should have made an effort to take out his other eye.
He sat on the church's front steps instead, breathing in and out slowly, watching the mist of his breath swirl and dissipate into the air. Maybe the church cellar was a good place to hole up for the rest of however long this took. If anyone was down there already, he could take care of them easily, and then he had a nice little place to spawn camp anybody else who came along.
These thoughts buzzed through his head like noise coming through radio static, and he flicked through and away from them just as quickly as they came. He stayed out on the steps, waiting, figuring he'd know just what he was waiting for when it came along.
my september
Private
my september
"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."
There. A red star on the horizon.
“This is the Interpol Incident Response team and SEALs. Your collars should no longer be active and you are not being monitored. Please make your way to the beach as soon as possible. You're going home.”
Salem stared, and he'd always considered religion a fairy tale, but brother he felt like a shepherd on Jesus's birthday, as his mind wound round and round that star until it flickered out, squeezing meaning out of the signal.
A weak chuckle escaped his lips.
“This is the Interpol Incident Response team and SEALs. Your collars should no longer be active and you are not being monitored. Please make your way to the beach as soon as possible. You're going home.”
Salem stared, and he'd always considered religion a fairy tale, but brother he felt like a shepherd on Jesus's birthday, as his mind wound round and round that star until it flickered out, squeezing meaning out of the signal.
A weak chuckle escaped his lips.
"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."
For every action, there is an equal and an opposite reaction.
Each moment of compassion, the potential start of a chain reaction.
For every action, two paths diverging in different directions.
It was impossible to predict, in a sport of life and death, which reactions would be sparked from the gentlest of actions, and the purest of intentions.
Or whether the directions of those actions would result in a happy ending... or not.
Yet it had felt, in many ways, her ending had already been decided a week ago, on day five.
[S119 - Julia Guercio - continued from If Walls Could Talk]
"S-Salem? Is that you?"
Each moment of compassion, the potential start of a chain reaction.
For every action, two paths diverging in different directions.
It was impossible to predict, in a sport of life and death, which reactions would be sparked from the gentlest of actions, and the purest of intentions.
Or whether the directions of those actions would result in a happy ending... or not.
Yet it had felt, in many ways, her ending had already been decided a week ago, on day five.
[S119 - Julia Guercio - continued from If Walls Could Talk]
"S-Salem? Is that you?"
It really felt like she should have been silhouetted against the setting sun, like the flare should have stayed hanging in the sky to provide ambient lighting. Julia, ascending the hill at whenever in the afternoon, with the echo of that call already faded, felt far too normal.
Salem rose to his feet and took a step towards her, leaving the rifle leaning against the church's doorframe.
"The one and only. I think you're a little turned around. The beach is that way." He raised a hand, pointer finger extended, and aimed it over her shoulder. Then he turned the hand and finger-gunned at her. "You know, unless you don't wanna take that risk and would rather risk it here with me."
Salem rose to his feet and took a step towards her, leaving the rifle leaning against the church's doorframe.
"The one and only. I think you're a little turned around. The beach is that way." He raised a hand, pointer finger extended, and aimed it over her shoulder. Then he turned the hand and finger-gunned at her. "You know, unless you don't wanna take that risk and would rather risk it here with me."
"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."
It was absurd really, and Julia knew that. This misplaced affinity she had found herself plagued by. Joshua, Salem, the church. Everything always deferred to the church. Julia hadn't been to a church congregation for many years, not since her Nonna and Nonno had herded the whole family like cattle and made them attend a midnight service to celebrate the first liturgy of Christmastide. As insane as it was, being there, at the church, made her feel that little bit closer to her grandparents. She missed everybody, but she especially missed them.
Yet it wasn't just that hopeful closeness that had her journey here one last time for.
So many unthinkable horrors had happened on this island; Ashlyn, Karen, Przemek, Joshua, Timothy, Victor, Karin, Lily, Salem. The darkness that shrouded over her every single step of her journey since waking up on that cold morning in the office toilet felt like it had already consumed her. She had fought against it as much as she could, the Puritan in her resisting the immorality of that darkness before it finally did annihilate her. The church was integral to so much that had happened. Her time with Joshua, that she still reflected fondly on despite the underlying tension she felt, the mixed feelings or the wicked deeds that had befallen upon her. Przemek's dying gaze.
Those chance encounters had defined her every fibre of who she was now. As silly as it sounded, Julia needed those final fleeting moments in that church before getting out of here, for good. Some kind of twisted atonement, perhaps just a measly attempt to purge her sinful mistakes.
There was an irony that could be found in her final confessions being thwarted by the constant thorn in her side. Funny, because Julia had felt like she mirrored that exact role for Salem.
A recurring tale of the fox and the hare.
Julia followed his finger with her eyes, biting at her cracked lips until she found her voice in the face of his predictable hostility.
"You don't need to be like that anymore."
She shrugged, nonchalant to the threat that Salem presented, "Didn't you hear them? We're going home."
Her gaze moved from his fingers to his eyes, the optimism from their last encounter now presented as a matter of fact.
"We're all going home."
Yet it wasn't just that hopeful closeness that had her journey here one last time for.
So many unthinkable horrors had happened on this island; Ashlyn, Karen, Przemek, Joshua, Timothy, Victor, Karin, Lily, Salem. The darkness that shrouded over her every single step of her journey since waking up on that cold morning in the office toilet felt like it had already consumed her. She had fought against it as much as she could, the Puritan in her resisting the immorality of that darkness before it finally did annihilate her. The church was integral to so much that had happened. Her time with Joshua, that she still reflected fondly on despite the underlying tension she felt, the mixed feelings or the wicked deeds that had befallen upon her. Przemek's dying gaze.
Those chance encounters had defined her every fibre of who she was now. As silly as it sounded, Julia needed those final fleeting moments in that church before getting out of here, for good. Some kind of twisted atonement, perhaps just a measly attempt to purge her sinful mistakes.
There was an irony that could be found in her final confessions being thwarted by the constant thorn in her side. Funny, because Julia had felt like she mirrored that exact role for Salem.
A recurring tale of the fox and the hare.
Julia followed his finger with her eyes, biting at her cracked lips until she found her voice in the face of his predictable hostility.
"You don't need to be like that anymore."
She shrugged, nonchalant to the threat that Salem presented, "Didn't you hear them? We're going home."
Her gaze moved from his fingers to his eyes, the optimism from their last encounter now presented as a matter of fact.
"We're all going home."
"Don't need to be like that?" Salem echoed. "Babe, I've always been like this." He let his hand drop to his side and closed his eyes.
"Just like you've always been the way you are." Again and again they'd come back to this. Maybe Julia supposed that the third time was the charm. Salem had already done his math for the day.
The number one only meant something if it was "one and only," not "one of many."
He wondered how many other people she'd done this routine with, begging and pleading for them to just see the heart of the cards and whatever good she insisted was there deep down if she just believed hard enough. He didn't ask, because he didn't really want the answer.
When Salem opened his eyes again, he kept them half-lidded, unfocused. With their surroundings blurred, he could imagine that they were in the middle of a crowd. No, that he was standing before a crowd. On the podium, on the stage. Camera lights flashing, the rustle of wind becoming a swell of hushed voices, murmuring amongst themselves as they waited for him to speak.
Only she remained clear, front and center.
"I heard them. Obviously. I guess you and all the other champions of friendship are having the last laugh now, huh?" The corners of his mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. There, and gone.
"Too bad they didn't get here earlier."
"Just like you've always been the way you are." Again and again they'd come back to this. Maybe Julia supposed that the third time was the charm. Salem had already done his math for the day.
The number one only meant something if it was "one and only," not "one of many."
He wondered how many other people she'd done this routine with, begging and pleading for them to just see the heart of the cards and whatever good she insisted was there deep down if she just believed hard enough. He didn't ask, because he didn't really want the answer.
When Salem opened his eyes again, he kept them half-lidded, unfocused. With their surroundings blurred, he could imagine that they were in the middle of a crowd. No, that he was standing before a crowd. On the podium, on the stage. Camera lights flashing, the rustle of wind becoming a swell of hushed voices, murmuring amongst themselves as they waited for him to speak.
Only she remained clear, front and center.
"I heard them. Obviously. I guess you and all the other champions of friendship are having the last laugh now, huh?" The corners of his mouth twitched into something that was almost a smile. There, and gone.
"Too bad they didn't get here earlier."
"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."
Salem wasn't wrong. He had always been difficult, they were worlds apart in many ways. Opposites attracted, though, which is perhaps how they kept coming back to each other.
Whilst Julia was busy in the background at school, Salem was occupied being the centre of attention. When Salem repetitively sought out conflict and a battle of words, Julia had just wanted him to stop and think about what he was doing. To consider that this wasn't the be-all and end-all of their existence. The rescue proved that their story's didn't have to end in such malevolent terms of absolution.
As always, Salem's tone of voice was ambivalent between sharp wit and lax venom.
Despite that, Salem's name hadn't come up on the final announcement. He hadn't struck again since the eleventh and final announcement. No more unfortunate names on his list, no more bloodshed spilled by his hands. Julia, naively, hoped that meant she really did get through to Salem. Of course he would never admit to it, what with his devoid of emotion exterior that he always performed, but perhaps her damage had been done. The seed sewn. It was probably this that gave Julia some awkwardly high level of confidence in the face of the threat that Salem radiated. After all, if he still wanted to kill her, he would've done so already.
Her plan was simple. Get to the bottom of his bullshit, pay her respects at the church, then go to the beach. Julia wasn't afraid of dragging Salem there herself if she had to.
"I wish they had come earlier," Julia deflected from his all-too-familiar mockery, "None of us deserved this. But we can't stay in that past. Things have changed now. It's time to go home."
Julia proceeded to take a few steps towards him. Not with the purpose of getting closer, he was simply blocking the door to the church.
"Don't you want to go home?"
Whilst Julia was busy in the background at school, Salem was occupied being the centre of attention. When Salem repetitively sought out conflict and a battle of words, Julia had just wanted him to stop and think about what he was doing. To consider that this wasn't the be-all and end-all of their existence. The rescue proved that their story's didn't have to end in such malevolent terms of absolution.
As always, Salem's tone of voice was ambivalent between sharp wit and lax venom.
Despite that, Salem's name hadn't come up on the final announcement. He hadn't struck again since the eleventh and final announcement. No more unfortunate names on his list, no more bloodshed spilled by his hands. Julia, naively, hoped that meant she really did get through to Salem. Of course he would never admit to it, what with his devoid of emotion exterior that he always performed, but perhaps her damage had been done. The seed sewn. It was probably this that gave Julia some awkwardly high level of confidence in the face of the threat that Salem radiated. After all, if he still wanted to kill her, he would've done so already.
Her plan was simple. Get to the bottom of his bullshit, pay her respects at the church, then go to the beach. Julia wasn't afraid of dragging Salem there herself if she had to.
"I wish they had come earlier," Julia deflected from his all-too-familiar mockery, "None of us deserved this. But we can't stay in that past. Things have changed now. It's time to go home."
Julia proceeded to take a few steps towards him. Not with the purpose of getting closer, he was simply blocking the door to the church.
"Don't you want to go home?"
"Do you actually care what I want?" Salem's tone wasn't accusatory, just curious.
Her flippancy should have irritated him. She'd gotten a little too big for her boots since catching a pie to the face instead of a bullet. He thought about pulling the handgun from his coat pocket, but his limbs felt heavy. The fresh wound Beatrice had given him throbbed in reminder, echoing Salem's choked-off, outraged utterance of Julia's name back at the mountain pass.
He didn't pull the gun, but he didn't step aside for her, either.
"You just can't make yourself stop caring, huh?" He envisioned himself fiddling around with a set of lockpicking tools, waiting to hear the click. Trying to blast the lock off at gunpoint hadn't worked.
Her flippancy should have irritated him. She'd gotten a little too big for her boots since catching a pie to the face instead of a bullet. He thought about pulling the handgun from his coat pocket, but his limbs felt heavy. The fresh wound Beatrice had given him throbbed in reminder, echoing Salem's choked-off, outraged utterance of Julia's name back at the mountain pass.
He didn't pull the gun, but he didn't step aside for her, either.
"You just can't make yourself stop caring, huh?" He envisioned himself fiddling around with a set of lockpicking tools, waiting to hear the click. Trying to blast the lock off at gunpoint hadn't worked.
"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."
Julia wished she had an immediate answer to his question, but even she struggled to figure that one out. Weird attachment issues? A kink for rescuing the bad boys? A hero complex?
What was the real answer? Lily had taught her that valuable lesson a few days prior; hate the game, don't hate the player. That coupled with a fear of losing herself, exacerbated by her unbridled vengeance against Victor, meant that choosing to believe in people was the only thing she could do. It had got her this far, and besides, Julia genuinely did believe that her entire class were inherently good. Even those that flipped out and went on a killing spree, like Salem, only did it out of fear, out of that desire to survive, or go home.
The impurity of their actions may have been unjust or misguided, but if you take a step back Julia understood the purity behind their motivations.
"Why? Shouldn't I?"
Julia stared up at Salem's face. Right down the middle, behind his eyes.
"You'll think it's stupid either way-" Julia hesitated, more bothered by his imminent judgement than she had anticipated when starting. "Wanting everybody not to die isn't some idealistic flaw. I care because I want to believe the best in people. I don't want to lose more friends. I don't want to die. I want to go home. I want us all to go home."
Her speech had inadvertently turned into word vomit, so she decided to rail it in a little before all the pent up emotion from the past two weeks resulted in her bursting into tears.
"I don't blame you... for what you've done. You did what you felt you had to, to survive. I know you probably will, I know I do for what I've done on this island. But I hope you don't blame yourself."
Julia brushed past him, blushing slightly and gawking youthfully.
What was the real answer? Lily had taught her that valuable lesson a few days prior; hate the game, don't hate the player. That coupled with a fear of losing herself, exacerbated by her unbridled vengeance against Victor, meant that choosing to believe in people was the only thing she could do. It had got her this far, and besides, Julia genuinely did believe that her entire class were inherently good. Even those that flipped out and went on a killing spree, like Salem, only did it out of fear, out of that desire to survive, or go home.
The impurity of their actions may have been unjust or misguided, but if you take a step back Julia understood the purity behind their motivations.
"Why? Shouldn't I?"
Julia stared up at Salem's face. Right down the middle, behind his eyes.
"You'll think it's stupid either way-" Julia hesitated, more bothered by his imminent judgement than she had anticipated when starting. "Wanting everybody not to die isn't some idealistic flaw. I care because I want to believe the best in people. I don't want to lose more friends. I don't want to die. I want to go home. I want us all to go home."
Her speech had inadvertently turned into word vomit, so she decided to rail it in a little before all the pent up emotion from the past two weeks resulted in her bursting into tears.
"I don't blame you... for what you've done. You did what you felt you had to, to survive. I know you probably will, I know I do for what I've done on this island. But I hope you don't blame yourself."
Julia brushed past him, blushing slightly and gawking youthfully.
"Hit and a miss," Salem muttered as Julia pushed past, like he didn't pose any real obstacle at all. It was the brief moment of physical contact that really threw him off-balance. It was casual, unconcerned. The way you'd push past someone in the school hallway.
It was the first time since he'd hugged Kitty so many days ago that anybody had touched him without violence.
"I get it, though," he said to the empty space and phantom crowd in front of him, the space that she'd left. "You're all ready for the credits to roll."
And Salem was just the villain who would neither see devastating triumph over the good guys nor get his just desserts at their hands. Julia had decided that it was over. She was done with him. The people over the loudspeaker had decided that they were pulling the plug, cutting the reel short, robbing him of his denouement, whatever it was supposed to have been.
How was this how it ended? Julia just got to twist the knife and then decide she was done, thanks to the fucking cavalry deciding to actually show up just short of the finish line? She got to say she was right all along, and it had to actually mean something, because the powers that be decided they didn't like the obvious ending, so they were shoving in a shitty twist, like his life had been taken over by the writers of goddamn Game of Thrones?
No. Salem didn't play that way.
Everyone else could be trapped in the narrative, see what was happening around them and decide that they were just going along with it. They could be swept along by the tide, just waiting to see if it carried them home or threw them over the edge of the world.
Salem? Salem was his own hero and villain, and he was the one writing the story that he starred in, and this-
He pulled the handgun from his coat pocket and reveled in the way the crowd in his imagination wheeled back in fear. "Don't you fucking walk away from me," he said as he turned to face Julia again, voice shaking with an emotion that he couldn't name.
This was the story that would be told.
It was the first time since he'd hugged Kitty so many days ago that anybody had touched him without violence.
"I get it, though," he said to the empty space and phantom crowd in front of him, the space that she'd left. "You're all ready for the credits to roll."
And Salem was just the villain who would neither see devastating triumph over the good guys nor get his just desserts at their hands. Julia had decided that it was over. She was done with him. The people over the loudspeaker had decided that they were pulling the plug, cutting the reel short, robbing him of his denouement, whatever it was supposed to have been.
How was this how it ended? Julia just got to twist the knife and then decide she was done, thanks to the fucking cavalry deciding to actually show up just short of the finish line? She got to say she was right all along, and it had to actually mean something, because the powers that be decided they didn't like the obvious ending, so they were shoving in a shitty twist, like his life had been taken over by the writers of goddamn Game of Thrones?
No. Salem didn't play that way.
Everyone else could be trapped in the narrative, see what was happening around them and decide that they were just going along with it. They could be swept along by the tide, just waiting to see if it carried them home or threw them over the edge of the world.
Salem? Salem was his own hero and villain, and he was the one writing the story that he starred in, and this-
He pulled the handgun from his coat pocket and reveled in the way the crowd in his imagination wheeled back in fear. "Don't you fucking walk away from me," he said as he turned to face Julia again, voice shaking with an emotion that he couldn't name.
This was the story that would be told.
"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."
Salem waving his gun in Julia's face felt chillingly familiar. It was like an echo pounding once again, his little gun waving menacingly in her direction. Pointed right at her face, locked eye contact like an icy death stare.
The girl he had pointed his weapon at before wasn't the same girl., scared and hopeless, like a rabbit in the headlights. This time she felt wiser, more experienced. Her first encounter with Salem was essentially the catalyst for everything that had followed. The first time she really had to fight for her life. The odds had been so stacked against her, with nothing but a tub of melted ice cream to defend her. Yet she managed to get away, escape the claws of her psychotic hunter. Since then, it had been a vicious cycle of near-death experiences, surviving only through sheer determination to survive. Or rather, out of the stench of desperation to survive.
The girl he had pointed his weapon at before wasn't the same girl as the one now staring down the muzzle of his gun. Her clothes were tattered, stained with the blood of countless classmates. Her face, war-torn, dark circles prevalent under her eyes. Hair no longer braided neatly, instead her thick hair was messy, overwhelmed by long days out in the elements.
If Salem could detect the same symmetry, the intricate pattern between that hospital room and now, then maybe he felt the same as she did in this moment. A shudder, not out of fear, but retaliation to the replay she was living through.
It was like they were watching a movie, the clock turning back and reversing everything.
Julia wasn't the same girl he had pointed weapon at before, and that is why she refused to be broken by him once again. Not now. Not when it was all over.
Despite all of that intention for it to be different this time, to be stronger, to be unafraid, the mirror image could only continue.
She felt winded by it all. The harsh reality of that nightmare she thought she had survived encroaching back in her personal space. It wasn't the exasperation that killed her, it was the misguided hope. That flare, the announcement, the bomb... everything. Julia felt stupid for actually believing that this reality she had found herself stuck in was drawing to a close, that chapter of the book closing and a fresh, optimistic new page being turned as she miraculously found herself back at home.
It was the first time in almost two weeks she really believed that she would be going home. That's what winded her, like the jagged flash of post-traumatic stress disorder as her nightmare came back to life. Re-emergence from the brooding shadows that had been cleared, if only for twenty minutes or so.
The only word she could think to mutter was the same word she had used all those days ago, recrimination in the face of evil.
"Why?"
Julia's eyes looked empty, the whites of her eyes reddened with exhaustion.
"Why would you want to play this games again?"
The exasperation on her tongue had mounted a counter-attack. The phlegm clinging to her throat with each and every road sounding more hollow than the last.
"It's over, Salem."
With every word she inched herself closer to that muzzle, until it was almost pressed against her forehead.
"Is this what you want?"
The girl he had pointed his weapon at before wasn't the same girl., scared and hopeless, like a rabbit in the headlights. This time she felt wiser, more experienced. Her first encounter with Salem was essentially the catalyst for everything that had followed. The first time she really had to fight for her life. The odds had been so stacked against her, with nothing but a tub of melted ice cream to defend her. Yet she managed to get away, escape the claws of her psychotic hunter. Since then, it had been a vicious cycle of near-death experiences, surviving only through sheer determination to survive. Or rather, out of the stench of desperation to survive.
The girl he had pointed his weapon at before wasn't the same girl as the one now staring down the muzzle of his gun. Her clothes were tattered, stained with the blood of countless classmates. Her face, war-torn, dark circles prevalent under her eyes. Hair no longer braided neatly, instead her thick hair was messy, overwhelmed by long days out in the elements.
If Salem could detect the same symmetry, the intricate pattern between that hospital room and now, then maybe he felt the same as she did in this moment. A shudder, not out of fear, but retaliation to the replay she was living through.
It was like they were watching a movie, the clock turning back and reversing everything.
Julia wasn't the same girl he had pointed weapon at before, and that is why she refused to be broken by him once again. Not now. Not when it was all over.
Despite all of that intention for it to be different this time, to be stronger, to be unafraid, the mirror image could only continue.
She felt winded by it all. The harsh reality of that nightmare she thought she had survived encroaching back in her personal space. It wasn't the exasperation that killed her, it was the misguided hope. That flare, the announcement, the bomb... everything. Julia felt stupid for actually believing that this reality she had found herself stuck in was drawing to a close, that chapter of the book closing and a fresh, optimistic new page being turned as she miraculously found herself back at home.
It was the first time in almost two weeks she really believed that she would be going home. That's what winded her, like the jagged flash of post-traumatic stress disorder as her nightmare came back to life. Re-emergence from the brooding shadows that had been cleared, if only for twenty minutes or so.
The only word she could think to mutter was the same word she had used all those days ago, recrimination in the face of evil.
"Why?"
Julia's eyes looked empty, the whites of her eyes reddened with exhaustion.
"Why would you want to play this games again?"
The exasperation on her tongue had mounted a counter-attack. The phlegm clinging to her throat with each and every road sounding more hollow than the last.
"It's over, Salem."
With every word she inched herself closer to that muzzle, until it was almost pressed against her forehead.
"Is this what you want?"
"No," Salem said, frustrated into honesty. His arm was trembling too, from the pain and strain of injury and exhaustion. The end of the gun wavered.
This was familiar, yes, but not the same. It hadn't been the same the last time they'd met in this church. That first moment, the first line crossed, when Salem was pulling all the strings, had well and truly passed. He couldn't bring it back. Julia looked just as exhausted as he felt, but she wasn't afraid. She looked like a parent driven to the edge by dealing with a bratty kid.
"I'm not playing," he spat, fighting to articulate the feeling crawling under his skin and clawing its way up his throat. He wasn't playing, but he was; Julia was the one who was doing it wrong.
Who's going to love you now?
"All of you are all the same," he muttered, and the handgun dropped a few inches, hovering somewhere around Julia's shoulder instead of her face. "You think that's it now? The gig's up and everything's peachy, and I'm just going to- to throw everything away and come hold hands and sing kumbaya with you? Where do you get off with that crap?" His words didn't have the eloquence or the impact that he wanted, no matter how much force he put behind them. If anything, Salem felt like he was wedged in the backseat of someone's car as they veered down an uneven road, rattling him to pieces.
"What I want-"
Salem, are you awake?
"What I want," he breathed again, drawing the gun back and pressing the barrel to his own temple. The cold metal against his skin did shock him into feeling more awake.
"What I want is for you to understand that no matter what I decide to do, there is nothing that you can do about it."
This was familiar, yes, but not the same. It hadn't been the same the last time they'd met in this church. That first moment, the first line crossed, when Salem was pulling all the strings, had well and truly passed. He couldn't bring it back. Julia looked just as exhausted as he felt, but she wasn't afraid. She looked like a parent driven to the edge by dealing with a bratty kid.
"I'm not playing," he spat, fighting to articulate the feeling crawling under his skin and clawing its way up his throat. He wasn't playing, but he was; Julia was the one who was doing it wrong.
Who's going to love you now?
"All of you are all the same," he muttered, and the handgun dropped a few inches, hovering somewhere around Julia's shoulder instead of her face. "You think that's it now? The gig's up and everything's peachy, and I'm just going to- to throw everything away and come hold hands and sing kumbaya with you? Where do you get off with that crap?" His words didn't have the eloquence or the impact that he wanted, no matter how much force he put behind them. If anything, Salem felt like he was wedged in the backseat of someone's car as they veered down an uneven road, rattling him to pieces.
"What I want-"
Salem, are you awake?
"What I want," he breathed again, drawing the gun back and pressing the barrel to his own temple. The cold metal against his skin did shock him into feeling more awake.
"What I want is for you to understand that no matter what I decide to do, there is nothing that you can do about it."
"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."
Salem looked entranced, a sinister frustration slipping from his tongue as he lost control. The fear bubbling out from beneath his pores was tangible as his eyes widened with that visceral mixture of anger and despair. The hopelessness Julia had herself been intimidated by seemed to be erupting from Salem's every expression after brimming to the surface. The eruption metaphorically representing the final breakdown of Salem's nerve.
He had lost it, and Julia fretted for the first time since she had shown up at the church.
Julia sighed quietly, emptying her lungs of their charred breath as she used those seconds, a wrinkle in time, to determine her next steps. The only thing more dangerous than a man with a gun was an unhinged man with a gun. Once again, at the core of everything bad happening was this little antique church. This place really was cursed. Some may have used this shadowed cathedral as a place of worship, but Julia's retaliation to her series of unfortunate churchly events was a reassurance that atheism was the right way, blighting any optimistic agnosticism she had clung to.
"S-Salem..."
It probably wasn't the look she wanted to carry at this point in time, the jeopardy still pointed very much at her innocuous face, but Julia couldn't help but feel sorry for Salem. She hoped that her tone wasn't too pitiful, as she decided to do her best to pull Salem back from that cliff he had found himself dangling from.
"I just want to help you. Please. Just calm down. Put the gun down."
Gifting her assault rifle to Aracelis before leaving them to reach the beach, Julia had nothing left to defend herself with. No ice cream, no gun. Just those smoke grenades Timothy had shared with her, that had gone unused up to this point.
But instead of reaching for those in her coat pocket, Julia chose to reach out her hand and delicately grip on to Salem's shoulder. She could tell he didn't actually want to do this. The whole two weeks had been so incredibly overwhelming that it was mind-boggling that anybody would not be having an adverse mental reaction by this point. Salem just needed her to nurse him back to health, like the others did. She was happy to offer him a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold if that is what he needed. Anything to help him back down, to lead him off the island with her and get him the help that he needed. The mental fatigue of all he had done, the last whimpers of his victims, would undoubtedly be playing on his mind. Julia hadn't been able to block out those recurring images of Przemek, or Victor, since it had happened. Their faces haunting her each time she closed her eyes.
"It's going to be okay... I promise."
He had lost it, and Julia fretted for the first time since she had shown up at the church.
Julia sighed quietly, emptying her lungs of their charred breath as she used those seconds, a wrinkle in time, to determine her next steps. The only thing more dangerous than a man with a gun was an unhinged man with a gun. Once again, at the core of everything bad happening was this little antique church. This place really was cursed. Some may have used this shadowed cathedral as a place of worship, but Julia's retaliation to her series of unfortunate churchly events was a reassurance that atheism was the right way, blighting any optimistic agnosticism she had clung to.
"S-Salem..."
It probably wasn't the look she wanted to carry at this point in time, the jeopardy still pointed very much at her innocuous face, but Julia couldn't help but feel sorry for Salem. She hoped that her tone wasn't too pitiful, as she decided to do her best to pull Salem back from that cliff he had found himself dangling from.
"I just want to help you. Please. Just calm down. Put the gun down."
Gifting her assault rifle to Aracelis before leaving them to reach the beach, Julia had nothing left to defend herself with. No ice cream, no gun. Just those smoke grenades Timothy had shared with her, that had gone unused up to this point.
But instead of reaching for those in her coat pocket, Julia chose to reach out her hand and delicately grip on to Salem's shoulder. She could tell he didn't actually want to do this. The whole two weeks had been so incredibly overwhelming that it was mind-boggling that anybody would not be having an adverse mental reaction by this point. Salem just needed her to nurse him back to health, like the others did. She was happy to offer him a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold if that is what he needed. Anything to help him back down, to lead him off the island with her and get him the help that he needed. The mental fatigue of all he had done, the last whimpers of his victims, would undoubtedly be playing on his mind. Julia hadn't been able to block out those recurring images of Przemek, or Victor, since it had happened. Their faces haunting her each time she closed her eyes.
"It's going to be okay... I promise."
A thin giggle, dancing on the verge of hysteria, escaped Salem.
"Yeah," he said. "You just want to help. I know." He didn't lower the gun from his temple.
She was so close to him, hands on his shoulders. As close as he had been to Shu in those last moments.
"And you can't. You don't get to have this one. You're just gonna have to live with that."
Salem stared into Julia's eyes, and some of the high-strung tension in him relaxed.
"You're gonna have to live with it," he repeated, and the closest thing to a real smile that maybe had ever existed there spread across his face. "You're gonna carry that weight. Aren't you happy? You're going home."
"Yeah," he said. "You just want to help. I know." He didn't lower the gun from his temple.
She was so close to him, hands on his shoulders. As close as he had been to Shu in those last moments.
"And you can't. You don't get to have this one. You're just gonna have to live with that."
Salem stared into Julia's eyes, and some of the high-strung tension in him relaxed.
"You're gonna have to live with it," he repeated, and the closest thing to a real smile that maybe had ever existed there spread across his face. "You're gonna carry that weight. Aren't you happy? You're going home."
"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."
Physically, there was not much separating them in distance anymore, and, equally, the tune of the hunter-prey paradigm that they had spent all week masquerading around to was being distorted into nothing short of indifference. The dissonance was unyielding. The exasperation in his gaze countered the warmth in his breath. Julia could almost hear his heartbeat, his muzzle pinching against the skin on his temple. The palpitations that she felt riddled her with inharmonious torment.
Digging deep for a trump card was her only play. Salem made her skin crawl, yet she couldn't stand by any let this happen to him. They were saved, the rescuers were here, some sort of twisted miracle after watching so many fall to the exposure and fatigue of the death games. She refused to let Salem trip up on the last hurdle of the race, he wasn't allowed to fall flat on his face just shy of the finishing line. Tears would be welling up through her eyes had her tear ducts not been so exhausted.
"Stop being stupid. We are both going home. Why don't you get that?"
Julia hesitated, if only for a second, but knew she had to mention the s-word. She had been listening out for California's name ever since she first met Salem on this island, impressed that she herself hadn't shown up yet on any announcement. Neither as victim or predator.
"Is this what your sister would want?"
What were the odds? That of the 140 odd students that got kidnapped in the first place, both of the Fox siblings would still be standing at the last stop. Of the twenty or so lucky, allegedly, classmates both Fox's would be able to get on those rescue boats down at the beach.
"I bet she is already at those boats down at the beach. Right now, she's probably boarding, looking around for her brother."
Julia bit her tongue, naturally bringing her to a pause. Her voice was wobbling more and more as she went along. The teetering in her voice duplicating the quiver down Salem's body, even her dehydrated ducts splintering with the burst dam of dry tears.
"You didn't fight through all of this. Not for you to just take the easy way out. This doesn't get to be your ending.
This doesn't get to be our ending."
Digging deep for a trump card was her only play. Salem made her skin crawl, yet she couldn't stand by any let this happen to him. They were saved, the rescuers were here, some sort of twisted miracle after watching so many fall to the exposure and fatigue of the death games. She refused to let Salem trip up on the last hurdle of the race, he wasn't allowed to fall flat on his face just shy of the finishing line. Tears would be welling up through her eyes had her tear ducts not been so exhausted.
"Stop being stupid. We are both going home. Why don't you get that?"
Julia hesitated, if only for a second, but knew she had to mention the s-word. She had been listening out for California's name ever since she first met Salem on this island, impressed that she herself hadn't shown up yet on any announcement. Neither as victim or predator.
"Is this what your sister would want?"
What were the odds? That of the 140 odd students that got kidnapped in the first place, both of the Fox siblings would still be standing at the last stop. Of the twenty or so lucky, allegedly, classmates both Fox's would be able to get on those rescue boats down at the beach.
"I bet she is already at those boats down at the beach. Right now, she's probably boarding, looking around for her brother."
Julia bit her tongue, naturally bringing her to a pause. Her voice was wobbling more and more as she went along. The teetering in her voice duplicating the quiver down Salem's body, even her dehydrated ducts splintering with the burst dam of dry tears.
"You didn't fight through all of this. Not for you to just take the easy way out. This doesn't get to be your ending.
This doesn't get to be our ending."