Work Text:
A Way Out
By crabmoney3
Lonnie stares at the notice on her desk. It’s been staring back at her, grinning in anticipation for when she finally pries open its jaws. She doesn’t have to. She sees the ILB logo in the corner, she already knows what’s coming. The bay witches told her.
“To see this through to the end,” they told her, “You must be on the field.”
She hadn’t thought that “you” would mean her, specifically. And it doesn’t, not exactly. It means to watch the final end of a god they’d put to rest years ago, those who had a hand in it will need to play Blaseball. It’s the only way to get close enough to Debbie to watch it happen without risking your demise. It’s a gamble the players have to take—protect yourself from Deborah at the risk of incineration, or let her take you down with her.
Lonnie doesn’t want either risk.
She’s been here while everyone else got to live their own lives. She wants it to be her turn. Twenty-five years later and she hasn’t left the city. It’s not that she hates her job—she’s fine managing the archives at the historical society. She actually even enjoys when school groups stop by and she gets to teach them about the city they live in. It’s not that she’s bitter about having to stay behind while everyone else moved on. Lonnie Diomira is, simply put, exhausted.
There are things, too, that the bay witches didn’t warn her about when she first agreed to stay. They didn’t tell her that she’d be able to hear Debbie.
The first time it happened, she was in the basement of the historical society building. She was bringing down a box of old newspapers to file away. It was dark that day, with three of the main five lightbulbs needing replacements. She stumbled her way into the dim yellow glow and began to sort the papers.
L E O N A.
Lonnie dropped the article she was holding and turned around. Nothing. No one. It must have been the creak of the wood or a draft. The historical society was an old building, after all.
LEONA.
It was louder that time. Clearer. It was her name, though no one she knew would actually call her anything but Lonnie. No one except the god they’d put in the ground. Lonnie froze. The two remaining lightbulbs flickered.
Since then, Lonnie couldn’t get the voice out of her head. Deb has always been persistent. Her voice comes in waves, rising and falling with the tides of the harbor. Sometimes it’s easy for Lonnie to brush it off. Others she’d lay awake at night while the dying god begged for company. That’s what she wanted.
COME HERE LEONA.
For twenty-five years Lonnie had managed to ignore her demands. For twenty-five years, she felt the call of the one they’d tried so hard to kill holding on to life. It’s how Lonnie knew it wasn’t time for everyone to come back yet. It’s how Lonnie knew what she was doing was important, that someone needed to stay behind and hear the whispers from the water. It’s how she knew Debbie wasn’t finished with everyone yet.
Deborah wants to be seen again. She wants her vengeful apostles, the ones she’d turned against herself, to be close. Lonnie doesn’t want to find out why. Lonnie had done her part, Lonnie had listened, Lonnie had told Deb no over and over and over and over. She wouldn’t come closer. The envelope on her desk kept staring.
IT’S ALMOST TIME.
“Not for me,” Lonnie whispers. “I’ve finished my time here.”
She crumples the envelope and stormed out of the building.
Lonnie lives on the north end of the city, as far away from the bay as she can get while still keeping her promise to stay behind with the witches. Behind her house is a small creek. She comes to the creek to think.
She dips her toes into the cool water and feels tadpoles begin to stick to her feet. The feeling freaked her out the first time, slimy little black dots clinging to her skin and reminding her of how Debbie turned the water black and viscous as her classmates had fought. But once she learned all they were was tadpoles, barely aware of their place in the world, she got used to it.
The crumpled envelope sits in her lap.
OPEN IT.
“I’m not doing this for you,” she says.
The envelope pops open. Like she suspected, it’s the call to play blaseball, sent out to all who participated in Deb’s demise. It doesn’t say what position she’ll be playing, though. In fact, it says the roster and the shadows are still being decided.
There’s still time for her to get out.
Lonnie looks through the form, at the statistics they’ve provided her. She’s an alright player. Given the fact Thomas was the only one of them to play before they had to kill a god, she guesses she’s probably on the higher end of the bell curve. They’ll want her to play.
The creek is moving faster now. She hears thunder in the distance. What kind of storm it is, she’s not sure yet. With blaseball’s return it could be anything. She folds the letter from the ILB into a small paper boat and sets it free down the stream. It gets caught between two mossy rocks underneath an old red bridge a few yards away. She watches it flutter as the storm comes closer and thunder booms directly over her head.
That’s when she feels something scrape against her foot. Lonnie looks down and sees a peanut floating amongst the tadpoles. She swears and pulls her feet out of the water in hopes that the shell didn’t break skin. She has her EpiPen on her, but an allergic reaction still has consequences.
“Wait,” she whispers.
She thinks about the statistics the ILB provided her. She thinks about the fact they haven’t finalized the roster. This could be her last chance.
The nuts come down harder now. Lonnie’s sheltered by the trees above her, but that doesn’t stop all of them from getting through. She hears them plunk into the creek and smack against the rocks. She pulls out her EpiPen and takes a deep breath.
A peanut cracks on the stone next to her. She carefully picks out the nut from within the shell.
I’LL SEE YOU SOON.
Lonnie has spent twenty-five years waiting. She doesn’t want to be in Baltimore anymore. She doesn’t know where she will go, but she doesn’t want to be here. She did what she was supposed to while all the people she used to call friends got to live different lives separate from her. Now they’re all coming back. They can all take her place. They don’t need her to be here anymore, carrying the weight of a dying carapace on her shoulder while it whispers in her ear. She wants out, out before the end of it all comes crashing down on her.
This could be her way out.
Maybe if she plays worse than everyone else they’ll let her leave.
She places the peanut in her mouth and begins to chew. It doesn’t taste how she imagined it would. She swallows as her throat begins to close. She waits three seconds just to make sure there’s enough time for it to have consequences before jabbing the EpiPen into her thigh.
I’LL SEE YOU SOON, LEONA.