Morning Comes Slowly
Posted: Tue Sep 04, 2018 7:20 am
[Boy #61 - William Hearst. Continued from Everybody's Changing.]
Minutes ran into hours, and the hours bled away as night came, as their pace slowed and the only things lighting their way were the twilight peeking through the canopy and the bright, piercing cones of artificial salvation from their flashlights; The darkness was an enemy, one of fear and of the unknown, one that hid the threats behind its veil and kept the weary ones ever watching and paranoid. At least, one of them was watching, one of them was paranoid and panicked as the moon rose higher and the hands of time ticked by without any signs of the precise moment; He clutched the items in his hands, the handgun and the flashlight, with an ever vigilant and fear-filled grip.
The wandering couple in the dark, the girl and her would be protector, had been walking for hours, through the woods and the edges of the swamp, past a road a long ways past and over a river; The boy made a point of resting there, at first, and refilling empty bottles with fresh water. But they didn't stay in one spot for too long, always getting up and moving before someone could find them; They had passed by the voices in the distance and the gunfire and the explosions, avoiding confrontation as they worked to get their bearings. The boy had read the map, tried to point them in the right direction, but they had passed their would-be destination by a long time ago. Now, it was just wandering at a trudging pace as energy and willpower slipped away from them.
Day gave way to dusk, and dusk gave way to night, and their legs refused to carry them much farther without rest, without recovery; More time slipped away as the boy worked feverishly to conjure up fire with what they had available, to make a decent place to rest and sleep in short order. But thanks to the trees, to the very woods that surrounded them hours earlier, their fire would last the night, the warmth and protection enduring as they recovered from their long and harrowing journey; Fear ruled the trip, but safety was found within the crackling flames, within the light from the ever reliable torches they carried through the night, always hoping that the batteries would last.
They had come a long way, from the emptiness and desolation of fallen woods, passing the river teeming with life in this land of death, through the thick and shadowed woods, finally arriving at the edge of the choking wood to the welcome sight of the sea; The boy had worked to make camp, and they spent the remainder of their night resting, the calming noises of the sea and its lapping waves slowly lulling the protector and his protectorate into the welcoming arms of sleep and dreams.
Throughout their trip, from the river to the woods to the very sea they would sleep by, they had spoken; About their lives and their loved ones, about those they wished to find and their hopes of survival, about those they would fear and the paranoid contemplations that came when the word 'Player' was uttered, the realization that this twisted game could claim their lives, using their once beloved classmates as pawns.
"I hope Peter and Alex are alright. I hope Colin and Everett and Maddy.. and everyone else, I hope they aren't getting dragged into the world of this 'game'."
The contempt in William's voice when he uttered the final word, when he addressed the nature of their situation with that one word summary, was clear; Behind the fear and the worry, behind the scared young man with the weak arm and the overwhelming power in his hand, there was hatred and anger, there was contempt and a frustration that was just barely being held back by the floodgates of self control. Hatred for the situation they were in, for the people behind it and the leader of them all; Anger directed at himself, at his weakness and his fear, at his panic and paranoia filled mind. Contempt for those responsible, for the ones who would kill and the ones who would disregard the lives of their classmates; Frustration at his inability to do anything, at the hopelessness of their situation and his apparent lack of control, and at the belief that he may not be able to protect the only person he'd connected with despite the circumstances.
"In the morning, we can start looking for them. If I'm right, we should be here on the map, and we can actually make use of the compass they gave us."
As he spoke, he unfolded his map, showed the spot he had marked to Tiffany, their probable path outlined and their current position marked upon the laminate coating; They'd certainly come a long way, though their pace was slow and their path was inefficient. But with new bearings, with the sight from their clearing and the landmarks they'd located on their route, their next foray into the unknown would be better informed; He handed over the map, the intention for Tiffany to copy the information wherever she saw fit. With a stick, the young man probed the crackling flames, shifting the tinder; He tested the heat and hung a plastic bottle above the soothing warmth, suspended by a shoelace from a quickly built and potentially unstable framework of branches. A trick he'd been shown during camping, one important thing he'd learned from Alex, the purification of water; He didn't know what was in the river and wouldn't chance sickness, the bottom of the plastic bottle slowly turning black and beginning to sag as the water inside heated, the occasional bubble rising to the surface. He didn't have a pot, so he made due with the materials on hand, the exact time and place he learned this trick slipping from his mind as he watched the water slowly boil.
"Heh, I suppose the things I learned weren't completely useless."
As they sat and spoke, he offered up what few personal items he had in his backpack to Tiffany; A bottle of juice with some of its contents missing, a slightly crushed bag of chips and a broken granola bar, the bread he'd been given and a half melted bar of chocolate. He emptied his bag in his pursuit of taking inventory and arranging the contents to make it easier to carry; An old sports jacket and an extra pair of khaki slacks, a pair of jeans and a couple shirts, a handful of unmentionables and little else. A couple of books showing wear, signs of use and a sign of their place on his list of favorites; Marabou Stork Nightmares and The Tempest, The Hobbit and The Blade Itself. The temptation to begin reading was there, to escape from this nightmare into a world that was not his own, but fear and worry prevented him from opening any of the books.
"Brought all these along thinking that the trip would be boring. I guess I was wrong."
No, it wasn't boring, but it certainly wasn't entertaining; He hated being there, being on that island and part of that twisted game. He hated having to hold on to a gun like letting go would kill him, knowing that was very close to the reality he was facing; He hated not knowing what was going to happen and being afraid of every little noise, every little movement spotted out the corner of his eye. But most of all, he hated not having his friends nearby, having the people he loved and cared for, the people he held dear, the people he wanted to spend his last high school trip with... he wanted to know they were safe more than anything, to know that they were alive and well, to know that they hadn't become victims or players of this game.
"I hope we can find them tomorrow. Peter, Alex, Everett, Colin, Maddy... I miss them now."
He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the slowly building flood that threatened to overtake him, letting out a heavy and shuddering sigh as he probed the fire once more; The last thing he wanted was to break down in front of Tiffany, to lose what little strength he had and to let the young woman down, the very one he'd decided to help and protect hours earlier. He struggled to fight back the tears though, as he continued to think about his friends, about what could be happening to them and what they could be capable of doing, of how they would react to this and how others might react to them. He didn't want to think about them getting hurt, about them dying in horrible ways or even about them being willing to kill others in order to survive. He didn't want them to make those choices, those horrible decisions that they would regret.
"You don't have a weapon, do you?"
He hadn't seen her carrying one, nor had he seen any signs of one by looking at her bag, and he'd begun to wonder what happened to it; Had someone taken it or had she not been given a weapon? Or had she abandoned it? Abandoning the weapon... he wondered if he would ever be capable of doing that, abandoning his weapon, leaving behind his only means of survival and his only tool in his fight. He'd come to rely upon the power in his hand, knowing he'd have to make the choice to pull the trigger again eventually, that it was inevitable that he would repeat his actions with Dominic, potentially with a fatal end. It was his power to use, his choice to make, and he'd chosen to protect Tiffany, to protect himself and to survive as long as he was capable.
"I've thought about throwing this away before, when I first woke up and when I held it on Dominic. After you had left, I sat there for so long just staring at it... But I can't throw it away."
He looked up from his hands, from the silvery weapon held within them, looking to Tiffany; Resignation and determination in his eyes. He'd long since resolved to keep this tool, this power, the weapon he held; He would bear the weight, the responsibility and the consequences. But he would not throw it away and would not leave it behind, and he never truly wished to ever let go of it, even for a moment; For it was his power, his strength in this time of weakness, the only thing that could guarantee his survival in this, the grandest of all fights. If he was to survive, if he was to help others survive, he would need that power, that strength and the will to use it.
"You understand, right? I can't just let it go. It's the only thing that will stand between me and death, the only thing that could ensure I have the strength to survive this. I don't want to use it and I don't even know if I could... but I still can't bring myself to let it slip from my hands. Does... Does that make me weak?"
It had been hours since they'd fallen asleep, since they'd drifted into the land of dreams and nightmares next to the warmth and protection of the fire; William had been awake long into the night, long after Tiffany had drifted off, watching the dark horizon and the sleeping form nearby. He'd kept watch early on, looking into the woods and then out to sea, forgetting himself in the movement of the waves and letting everything slip away in the soothing sound of the crashing waters; For a long time he sat and stared, he broke down and cried, he let everything out under the light of the moon above and the fire behind. He wouldn't want to wake Tiffany, hoping the sound of the sea would drown out his freed emotions, his weeping and his cursing, his lament and his sorrow, his anger and his rage. Nothing had been safe from his curses, not Danya or his lackeys, not the island that would become their grave or those who would put them below; Not even the lord on high had been safe from his curses at the night, for the once skeptical young man had broken down and spoken to God, questioning the decisions and cursing the apparent malevolence.
The crackling fire had long since burned out, the resin soaked wood having given its last to warm the sleeping young man and woman, leaving the pair to the mercy of the sun in its stead; Just as the first orange and red rays appeared on the horizon and the lapping waves of the ocean began their slow transition of the tides, the screech of feedback woke the sleeping pair, the herald of death making his announcement at dawn on the second day. With a clouded, sleep addled mind and a sore, aching body, William rose from his chosen bed, looking to Tiffany and the coat he'd lain upon her in the night; He didn't remember when, but it must have been late. Before he could realize what was happening, the nightmarish voice that had been echoing through his dreams came in loud over the speakers positioned in unknown places, the very voice he'd heard in the auditorium before darkness descended upon his mind once again; His heart leaped into his throat as his stomach tied into knots, and a sudden wave of nauseating anxiety struck him hard.
"Oh god."
He choked back the urge to empty the contents of his stomach, to run as far as he could and hide from the voice of death, the voice of fear and paranoia; The voice of Danya. With every word that bellowed forth from that man's mouth, that came out over the loudspeakers with as much sick satisfaction as in person, he fought back the sickness, frozen in place by a chilling fear. He didn't want to listen, he didn't want to hear that man take pleasure in telling everyone who had died and who had killed and who he admired for the shear brutality behind their actions, but he had no choice; No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to cover his ears, to drown out the noise of the herald and forget where he was.
Remi.
Dallas.
Warren.
Eric.
Reika.
Chris.
Sally.
Cyrille.
Daniel.
Petrushka.
Megan.
Nothing seemed right or real, and he wished it was a dream, with all his strength he wished this, he prayed for this, he hoped for this; But it would not be. It was real, as real as things would ever get, and it only got worse as everything stopped moving, as his mind began to spin and nothing at all registered for the young man as tears streamed down his face in full force; They came fast and they came hard, as he struggled to find his voice and his lungs refused to obey. The only thing he could do as the voice sounded out from above, as the messenger of death spoke the next name, was collapse to the ground as all strength left his body, as the tears fell from his eyes harder than they ever had and the only thing he could hear was his own shuddering breath.
Everett.
One of the last names he ever wanted to hear come out over those loudspeakers, Death's crier speaking out his recent acquisition with twisted pleasure and a sick grin; A cold communication issued forth to announce the death of a close friend, a recent friend, someone who was loved and cared about by many, dismissed with nothing more than a single sentence as if their life meant nothing. The words rang in his ears for the longest period, the name echoing and everything he ever experienced with Everett, everything he'd ever done or said, all rushing to the fore front of his mind; Everything they'd enjoyed after prom, the slowly building friendship over the last moments of their senior year, the happiness and the laughing and everything he'd ever done or said, every last little memory.
"Everett... I'm so sorry... I..."
A dear friend had been lost, a life gone without any warning, without any chance to say goodbye or offer any last words, without any way of telling him how much he was appreciated and how much his friendship was cherished. Now there was nothing... no way to offer those goodbyes or those words, no way to tell him how much he was adored, how much he was respected or admired. Would it always be that way, never getting a chance to say goodbye to those he cared about and those he loved? Slowly, everything started to move again and his mind returned to him, his sorrow present for all to witness, as sound returned to the world and his tears flowed with less force. Death's crier was still reading off the list.
Keith.
Paige.
Robert.
Brent.
Maria.
Tony.
Amber.
Colin.
That last name was not among the dead, not on the list of those collected by the reaper, but among those that had participated in his harvest; Those that had killed their classmates, their friends, someones son or daughter or grandchild or lover. Those that he'd held in such contempt, the one he worried about and the ones he feared; The very ones he was seeking to protect Tiffany from, the ones he sought to protect those he cared about from, the ones that he would have to find the willpower to strike down with the power in his hand. But what would he do if one of his friends, someone he was close to and someone he cared for, someone he had spent time with and someone he thought wouldn't hurt anyone... what would he do now that one of those beloved friends had killed?
"Colin... He... he killed someone?"
He didn't know how to process that, how it should register with him or how he should react to that news. But nothing came to him; No explanation, no excuses, no possible reasons for Colin to have killed someone, to have gone that far. Not hate nor anger nor contempt, not worry nor fear nor paranoia, nothing but confusion came over William as he tried to process that information, as he tried to figure out why Colin would kill someone, how he would be capable of doing such a thing. But before he could figure out what to think, how to react, he heard the loudspeaker continue with its broadcast. The announcement of the danger zones, the places where none would enter and survive from this day forward; None of the names made much sense until he looked to the map that lay nearby. Resigned to the task, he outstretched a trembling hand to the laminate document, as he marked the locations on his map as ones to avoid.
"I..."
He couldn't think, he couldn't talk, he could barely even move as he sat there in shock, trying to process what had just happened and everything he had just heard. He didn't know what to do or what to say to Tiffany, looking to her with tears still streaming down his own cheeks. He wanted out of this game, off of this show; He wanted to leave this reality behind, to run from everything that had been happening and to take anyone he could with him. Without saying anything, he turned away from Tiffany and pulled his knees up.
He hung his head.
He buried himself in the darkness.
He wanted out.
Minutes ran into hours, and the hours bled away as night came, as their pace slowed and the only things lighting their way were the twilight peeking through the canopy and the bright, piercing cones of artificial salvation from their flashlights; The darkness was an enemy, one of fear and of the unknown, one that hid the threats behind its veil and kept the weary ones ever watching and paranoid. At least, one of them was watching, one of them was paranoid and panicked as the moon rose higher and the hands of time ticked by without any signs of the precise moment; He clutched the items in his hands, the handgun and the flashlight, with an ever vigilant and fear-filled grip.
The wandering couple in the dark, the girl and her would be protector, had been walking for hours, through the woods and the edges of the swamp, past a road a long ways past and over a river; The boy made a point of resting there, at first, and refilling empty bottles with fresh water. But they didn't stay in one spot for too long, always getting up and moving before someone could find them; They had passed by the voices in the distance and the gunfire and the explosions, avoiding confrontation as they worked to get their bearings. The boy had read the map, tried to point them in the right direction, but they had passed their would-be destination by a long time ago. Now, it was just wandering at a trudging pace as energy and willpower slipped away from them.
Day gave way to dusk, and dusk gave way to night, and their legs refused to carry them much farther without rest, without recovery; More time slipped away as the boy worked feverishly to conjure up fire with what they had available, to make a decent place to rest and sleep in short order. But thanks to the trees, to the very woods that surrounded them hours earlier, their fire would last the night, the warmth and protection enduring as they recovered from their long and harrowing journey; Fear ruled the trip, but safety was found within the crackling flames, within the light from the ever reliable torches they carried through the night, always hoping that the batteries would last.
They had come a long way, from the emptiness and desolation of fallen woods, passing the river teeming with life in this land of death, through the thick and shadowed woods, finally arriving at the edge of the choking wood to the welcome sight of the sea; The boy had worked to make camp, and they spent the remainder of their night resting, the calming noises of the sea and its lapping waves slowly lulling the protector and his protectorate into the welcoming arms of sleep and dreams.
Throughout their trip, from the river to the woods to the very sea they would sleep by, they had spoken; About their lives and their loved ones, about those they wished to find and their hopes of survival, about those they would fear and the paranoid contemplations that came when the word 'Player' was uttered, the realization that this twisted game could claim their lives, using their once beloved classmates as pawns.
"I hope Peter and Alex are alright. I hope Colin and Everett and Maddy.. and everyone else, I hope they aren't getting dragged into the world of this 'game'."
The contempt in William's voice when he uttered the final word, when he addressed the nature of their situation with that one word summary, was clear; Behind the fear and the worry, behind the scared young man with the weak arm and the overwhelming power in his hand, there was hatred and anger, there was contempt and a frustration that was just barely being held back by the floodgates of self control. Hatred for the situation they were in, for the people behind it and the leader of them all; Anger directed at himself, at his weakness and his fear, at his panic and paranoia filled mind. Contempt for those responsible, for the ones who would kill and the ones who would disregard the lives of their classmates; Frustration at his inability to do anything, at the hopelessness of their situation and his apparent lack of control, and at the belief that he may not be able to protect the only person he'd connected with despite the circumstances.
"In the morning, we can start looking for them. If I'm right, we should be here on the map, and we can actually make use of the compass they gave us."
As he spoke, he unfolded his map, showed the spot he had marked to Tiffany, their probable path outlined and their current position marked upon the laminate coating; They'd certainly come a long way, though their pace was slow and their path was inefficient. But with new bearings, with the sight from their clearing and the landmarks they'd located on their route, their next foray into the unknown would be better informed; He handed over the map, the intention for Tiffany to copy the information wherever she saw fit. With a stick, the young man probed the crackling flames, shifting the tinder; He tested the heat and hung a plastic bottle above the soothing warmth, suspended by a shoelace from a quickly built and potentially unstable framework of branches. A trick he'd been shown during camping, one important thing he'd learned from Alex, the purification of water; He didn't know what was in the river and wouldn't chance sickness, the bottom of the plastic bottle slowly turning black and beginning to sag as the water inside heated, the occasional bubble rising to the surface. He didn't have a pot, so he made due with the materials on hand, the exact time and place he learned this trick slipping from his mind as he watched the water slowly boil.
"Heh, I suppose the things I learned weren't completely useless."
As they sat and spoke, he offered up what few personal items he had in his backpack to Tiffany; A bottle of juice with some of its contents missing, a slightly crushed bag of chips and a broken granola bar, the bread he'd been given and a half melted bar of chocolate. He emptied his bag in his pursuit of taking inventory and arranging the contents to make it easier to carry; An old sports jacket and an extra pair of khaki slacks, a pair of jeans and a couple shirts, a handful of unmentionables and little else. A couple of books showing wear, signs of use and a sign of their place on his list of favorites; Marabou Stork Nightmares and The Tempest, The Hobbit and The Blade Itself. The temptation to begin reading was there, to escape from this nightmare into a world that was not his own, but fear and worry prevented him from opening any of the books.
"Brought all these along thinking that the trip would be boring. I guess I was wrong."
No, it wasn't boring, but it certainly wasn't entertaining; He hated being there, being on that island and part of that twisted game. He hated having to hold on to a gun like letting go would kill him, knowing that was very close to the reality he was facing; He hated not knowing what was going to happen and being afraid of every little noise, every little movement spotted out the corner of his eye. But most of all, he hated not having his friends nearby, having the people he loved and cared for, the people he held dear, the people he wanted to spend his last high school trip with... he wanted to know they were safe more than anything, to know that they were alive and well, to know that they hadn't become victims or players of this game.
"I hope we can find them tomorrow. Peter, Alex, Everett, Colin, Maddy... I miss them now."
He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the slowly building flood that threatened to overtake him, letting out a heavy and shuddering sigh as he probed the fire once more; The last thing he wanted was to break down in front of Tiffany, to lose what little strength he had and to let the young woman down, the very one he'd decided to help and protect hours earlier. He struggled to fight back the tears though, as he continued to think about his friends, about what could be happening to them and what they could be capable of doing, of how they would react to this and how others might react to them. He didn't want to think about them getting hurt, about them dying in horrible ways or even about them being willing to kill others in order to survive. He didn't want them to make those choices, those horrible decisions that they would regret.
"You don't have a weapon, do you?"
He hadn't seen her carrying one, nor had he seen any signs of one by looking at her bag, and he'd begun to wonder what happened to it; Had someone taken it or had she not been given a weapon? Or had she abandoned it? Abandoning the weapon... he wondered if he would ever be capable of doing that, abandoning his weapon, leaving behind his only means of survival and his only tool in his fight. He'd come to rely upon the power in his hand, knowing he'd have to make the choice to pull the trigger again eventually, that it was inevitable that he would repeat his actions with Dominic, potentially with a fatal end. It was his power to use, his choice to make, and he'd chosen to protect Tiffany, to protect himself and to survive as long as he was capable.
"I've thought about throwing this away before, when I first woke up and when I held it on Dominic. After you had left, I sat there for so long just staring at it... But I can't throw it away."
He looked up from his hands, from the silvery weapon held within them, looking to Tiffany; Resignation and determination in his eyes. He'd long since resolved to keep this tool, this power, the weapon he held; He would bear the weight, the responsibility and the consequences. But he would not throw it away and would not leave it behind, and he never truly wished to ever let go of it, even for a moment; For it was his power, his strength in this time of weakness, the only thing that could guarantee his survival in this, the grandest of all fights. If he was to survive, if he was to help others survive, he would need that power, that strength and the will to use it.
"You understand, right? I can't just let it go. It's the only thing that will stand between me and death, the only thing that could ensure I have the strength to survive this. I don't want to use it and I don't even know if I could... but I still can't bring myself to let it slip from my hands. Does... Does that make me weak?"
It had been hours since they'd fallen asleep, since they'd drifted into the land of dreams and nightmares next to the warmth and protection of the fire; William had been awake long into the night, long after Tiffany had drifted off, watching the dark horizon and the sleeping form nearby. He'd kept watch early on, looking into the woods and then out to sea, forgetting himself in the movement of the waves and letting everything slip away in the soothing sound of the crashing waters; For a long time he sat and stared, he broke down and cried, he let everything out under the light of the moon above and the fire behind. He wouldn't want to wake Tiffany, hoping the sound of the sea would drown out his freed emotions, his weeping and his cursing, his lament and his sorrow, his anger and his rage. Nothing had been safe from his curses, not Danya or his lackeys, not the island that would become their grave or those who would put them below; Not even the lord on high had been safe from his curses at the night, for the once skeptical young man had broken down and spoken to God, questioning the decisions and cursing the apparent malevolence.
The crackling fire had long since burned out, the resin soaked wood having given its last to warm the sleeping young man and woman, leaving the pair to the mercy of the sun in its stead; Just as the first orange and red rays appeared on the horizon and the lapping waves of the ocean began their slow transition of the tides, the screech of feedback woke the sleeping pair, the herald of death making his announcement at dawn on the second day. With a clouded, sleep addled mind and a sore, aching body, William rose from his chosen bed, looking to Tiffany and the coat he'd lain upon her in the night; He didn't remember when, but it must have been late. Before he could realize what was happening, the nightmarish voice that had been echoing through his dreams came in loud over the speakers positioned in unknown places, the very voice he'd heard in the auditorium before darkness descended upon his mind once again; His heart leaped into his throat as his stomach tied into knots, and a sudden wave of nauseating anxiety struck him hard.
"Oh god."
He choked back the urge to empty the contents of his stomach, to run as far as he could and hide from the voice of death, the voice of fear and paranoia; The voice of Danya. With every word that bellowed forth from that man's mouth, that came out over the loudspeakers with as much sick satisfaction as in person, he fought back the sickness, frozen in place by a chilling fear. He didn't want to listen, he didn't want to hear that man take pleasure in telling everyone who had died and who had killed and who he admired for the shear brutality behind their actions, but he had no choice; No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't bring himself to cover his ears, to drown out the noise of the herald and forget where he was.
Remi.
Dallas.
Warren.
Eric.
Reika.
Chris.
Sally.
Cyrille.
Daniel.
Petrushka.
Megan.
Nothing seemed right or real, and he wished it was a dream, with all his strength he wished this, he prayed for this, he hoped for this; But it would not be. It was real, as real as things would ever get, and it only got worse as everything stopped moving, as his mind began to spin and nothing at all registered for the young man as tears streamed down his face in full force; They came fast and they came hard, as he struggled to find his voice and his lungs refused to obey. The only thing he could do as the voice sounded out from above, as the messenger of death spoke the next name, was collapse to the ground as all strength left his body, as the tears fell from his eyes harder than they ever had and the only thing he could hear was his own shuddering breath.
Everett.
One of the last names he ever wanted to hear come out over those loudspeakers, Death's crier speaking out his recent acquisition with twisted pleasure and a sick grin; A cold communication issued forth to announce the death of a close friend, a recent friend, someone who was loved and cared about by many, dismissed with nothing more than a single sentence as if their life meant nothing. The words rang in his ears for the longest period, the name echoing and everything he ever experienced with Everett, everything he'd ever done or said, all rushing to the fore front of his mind; Everything they'd enjoyed after prom, the slowly building friendship over the last moments of their senior year, the happiness and the laughing and everything he'd ever done or said, every last little memory.
"Everett... I'm so sorry... I..."
A dear friend had been lost, a life gone without any warning, without any chance to say goodbye or offer any last words, without any way of telling him how much he was appreciated and how much his friendship was cherished. Now there was nothing... no way to offer those goodbyes or those words, no way to tell him how much he was adored, how much he was respected or admired. Would it always be that way, never getting a chance to say goodbye to those he cared about and those he loved? Slowly, everything started to move again and his mind returned to him, his sorrow present for all to witness, as sound returned to the world and his tears flowed with less force. Death's crier was still reading off the list.
Keith.
Paige.
Robert.
Brent.
Maria.
Tony.
Amber.
Colin.
That last name was not among the dead, not on the list of those collected by the reaper, but among those that had participated in his harvest; Those that had killed their classmates, their friends, someones son or daughter or grandchild or lover. Those that he'd held in such contempt, the one he worried about and the ones he feared; The very ones he was seeking to protect Tiffany from, the ones he sought to protect those he cared about from, the ones that he would have to find the willpower to strike down with the power in his hand. But what would he do if one of his friends, someone he was close to and someone he cared for, someone he had spent time with and someone he thought wouldn't hurt anyone... what would he do now that one of those beloved friends had killed?
"Colin... He... he killed someone?"
He didn't know how to process that, how it should register with him or how he should react to that news. But nothing came to him; No explanation, no excuses, no possible reasons for Colin to have killed someone, to have gone that far. Not hate nor anger nor contempt, not worry nor fear nor paranoia, nothing but confusion came over William as he tried to process that information, as he tried to figure out why Colin would kill someone, how he would be capable of doing such a thing. But before he could figure out what to think, how to react, he heard the loudspeaker continue with its broadcast. The announcement of the danger zones, the places where none would enter and survive from this day forward; None of the names made much sense until he looked to the map that lay nearby. Resigned to the task, he outstretched a trembling hand to the laminate document, as he marked the locations on his map as ones to avoid.
"I..."
He couldn't think, he couldn't talk, he could barely even move as he sat there in shock, trying to process what had just happened and everything he had just heard. He didn't know what to do or what to say to Tiffany, looking to her with tears still streaming down his own cheeks. He wanted out of this game, off of this show; He wanted to leave this reality behind, to run from everything that had been happening and to take anyone he could with him. Without saying anything, he turned away from Tiffany and pulled his knees up.
He hung his head.
He buried himself in the darkness.
He wanted out.