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Six months. Twenty-seven and a half weeks. One hundred and ninety-two days.
That’s how long Pratt had been free from that bunker, free from the cult, free from Jacob Seed.
Three days into that freedom and the Junior Deputy had completely shut down Project at Eden’s gate. The leader of the entire operation had been hauled into a dinky prison cell in a very large and very secure jail. He was there for life, until his body broke down and his bones turned to dust. The rest of his men were either in rehabilitation or jails all over the country. The human husks named Angels were put down with the other bliss-crazy animals, the corpses given back to the family for a proper burial. Nobody from the Project at Eden’s Gate was allowed to be together in a group larger than three, too high of a risk for an uprising to get their Father back. No, there was not going to be anything from the Peggies ever again. The saviour herself was currently with her family, still trying to recuperate from the events just as Pratt had been. She needed the rest, the wounds she had suffered from the constant gunship, the mental trauma from all the lives she’d taken, she was allowed to stay away for an entire year before she even thought about returning to life as a person again.
Joey Hudson, ripped away from the cult’s clutches first, had recovered and returned to work by week six of Pratt’s freedom, however, she didn’t stop her therapy until week twelve. Earl Whitehorse returned as soon as he could, keeping his mind active to fight off the infection that is the Bliss. It hid in the crevices of his mind, gently stimulating his senses every now and then, whispering sickeningly sweet secrets and promises that sounded like the long dead siren. He worked to stop it from driving him mad and burned every field that even had the possibility of having a seedling of the wretched flower that drove so many mad.
And Pratt? The man who had been with the Seeds for the longest, the one who had been the Soldier’s pet; what of him? Deputy Staci Pratt had his mother move back in with him, to take care of him. He Monday and Friday every week at the therapist, 55 days since his freedom, 165 hours. Only recently has it gotten through, has it actually helped rather than uncovered bad memories.
The nightmares still haunted him every night. The face of Jacob Seed as he punished him, scolded him, showed him how he should and shouldn’t act. The face of Jacob Seed as he held him, as he challenged him, as he fought him. Even when his mind wandered, a simple daydream, it would drift to these fragments that haunted his every life, chomping slowly at his skin, tearing him apart piece by piece. Some days it could even completely consume him where he just couldn’t function anymore. Every inch of his body was overwhelmed by the memories of the time with Jacob Seed, from the pit in his stomach as it swarmed with anxiety, the tightening of his chest as stress filled his lungs with the oxygen, the pounding of his heart at it hammered with desire for Jacob, all the way to his head that spun with all these emotional contradictions.
Finally, however, he’d started to be able to gain control of himself, or at least, the day time thoughts. Time has finally begun to have it’s hand in healing, the techniques that had been given to him were finally returning the power to him, and for the first time in one hundred and ninety-two days, he was able to return to work.
Pratt was nervous, his mother hadn’t left his side for longer than an hour. Able to work at home, her focus was almost entirely on her son and making sure he was managing. Now, he didn’t have that comfort. Hudson, however, stepped up to fill that role. While he loved his closest friend though, it wasn’t enough to make him feel at ease like family. However, she was determined to do her best, picking him up from his home, even going so far as to escort him. Originally, when they would carpool, she’d honk the horn and yell for him to come out, but she was scared if she did that now he would break like glass. No, today she went to his door, knocking on it with hesitation at first. When that didn’t catch anyone’s attention, she steeled herself, pounding her fist firmly on the door in three bangs.
Not a moment later was it opened, a small lady revealing herself. She was aged, deep brown hair speckled with grey as it cascaded over her shoulders. Deep-set doe-eyes looked up to meet Joey’s. She smiled at the familiar face, exactly like Pratt’s smile whenever he was uncertain.
“You’re early for once.” The woman spoke lightly.
“Yeah, well, first day back is always an important one,” Joey returned the upbeat tone, “does this mean he’s still sleeping?”
Before Pratt’s mother had the chance to respond, the deep voice of Pratt cut through the air.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, you’re as pushy as always.”
“Punctuality is important.”
“Ironic coming from you.”
The irritation in his voice was a betrayal of how Pratt really felt. His anxiety was soothed as the way he and Joey acted reminded him of before, when the Project at Eden’s Gate was barely even heard of, and he hadn’t been Jacob Seed’s favourite pet. The butterflies in his stomach hadn’t completely settled, but their fluttering had dulled down. He was grateful for Hudson, for someone as tough as nails, she had a certain way to make a situation almost comfortable to be in. The butterflies were always at peace around her, no matter who’s stomach they were in.
“Let’s hit it then, see you later, Maria.” Hudson calls over her shoulder as she turns, heading back to the car. A kiss on his mother’s cheek, a soft ‘see you, Ma,’ and Pratt was following.
The ride to the jail was filled with senseless talk and Pratt feeling strangely disconnected. Hudson talked, filling the silence with her voice and the music coming through the radio. She asked all sorts of questions, from Pratt’s general wellbeing to his mother. Sometimes she went to completely random things, but above all, she avoided speaking about the cult. He replied to everything, although his conversation was a little lacking. That didn’t stop Hudson from continuing to speak, she had a feeling his mind would wander, and Pratt was grateful for that.
At work, he didn’t get this comfort. At work, it was different. At work, he was left to his own devices, given paperwork and easy jobs that wouldn’t remind him of the Project at Eden’s Gate. Whitehorse thought so at least, he personally saw through all the documents he gave Pratt, but everything he was given reminded him of that damn cult. Hudson was sat down at her desk for a maximum of twenty minutes before she was sent out on the roads. They had been short on staff as it was, she needed to be out there.
He needed her by his side.
He told her to go, that he’d be fine when she went to go argue with Whitehorse about his instructions. He promised her that Whitehorse would be enough right now.
It wasn’t.
Petty thefts brought him back to the cages, where people would steal food from each other to survive, to avoid dying from hunger. Physical assaults reminded him of all the fights he participated in when he was in conditioning; his trials. He was proving he was strong, he was proving he was able to fight for himself, he was proving he was worth more rations and to be out of those fucking cages.
Pratt needed a break.
He got up, heading to the water cooler to get a drink of water. He needed it so bad. His mouth had run dry, so, so dry. He picked up one of the plastic cups, filling it up, listening to the soft patter of the water hit the cup and rise slowly.
Pratt didn’t get a break.
Another reminder. Another moment he’s brought back to when the water surrounded his feet, touching the burning hot skin of his ankles, soaking his pants. The dryness in his mouth got worse. When his throat was so dry it felt like he had swallowed fire. His stomach was hit with phantom pangs of the emptiness it felt when he was in that bunker.
He remembered why he was there.
When everything went from bad to good to worse. When Jacob began believing in him, not just using him as bait for the Rook, but pulling him close in the end. It would always be so clear in his head. When his fight contained by his subservience brought the Wolf’s body to him. Their relationship developing into some kind of sick and twisted love, Pratt really felt like he loved him. His hands helped Jacob plan, his hands held him at night, his hands pushed the Junior Deputy down onto the truck, ensuring her freedom. He betrayed Jacob. The final turn of their relationship, it went back to sour, and even now he could feel the wrath Jacob had wanted to release on him. The distinct sharp pain in his nose as it had connected with the fist of the redheaded Herald. That was all the punishment he got from Jacob until Joseph came. The Chosen dragging him away.
The water poured over the cup, spilling on the floor. Pratt was still frozen, the water was pooling at his feet just like that time.
He wanted to cry again.
His chest ached.
Jacob’s eyes, the sadness in them.
It hurt the most that night.
His hand clenched, the plastic cup squashed easily. Water went everywhere, it soaked the concrete floor. Pratt’s knees hit the floor before he realised he couldn’t hold his balance anymore. His pants were soaking, he was surrounded by water again. His head leaned forward, forehead resting against the cooler as his visioned blurred and his eyes leaked salty tears.
He wasn’t crying from the days he’d spent without food, he wasn’t crying for the months he was stuck in Jacob’s care, he was crying because he betrayed Jacob and he hated himself for it.
He was weak.
Pratt couldn’t tell how long he was there, weeping softly, his body shaking like a chihuahua, it felt like an eternity. In reality, it was probably only a few minutes, Tracey, who wound up as the woman that was replacing the traitor Nancy, had gotten Whitehorse, he was the one helping Pratt to his feet and to a seat, consoling him, trying to bring him back down to Earth rather than being held up on the nightmarish clouds of his memories. Tracey cleaned without a problem, she was getting rid of the water Pratt had spilled everywhere. The words Whitehorse was saying hadn’t started registering in his brain. They hit his ears, but it sounded as if Earl was speaking to him underwater, the blur of words never penetrating, just a dull hum. Another eternity later were they clearing, Pratt heard his mother’s name. That was all. It was repeated a few times as he looked around stupidly, his cheeks still stained with the tears he’d shed. Inhale and exhale were the next words he could register, Whitehorse was in front of him now, directing him to control his breathing. Pratt followed obediently, clarity finally returned to him. He called Whitehorse’s name softly, sadly.
“Sorry, Pratt, but it’s probably best you go home for now.”
He wasn’t ready to return to work yet… One hundred and ninety-two days was obviously too soon for him.